#which is apparently from gaelic wedding vows

[kataraavatara]

since we’re all rereading wings and embers rn (thanks hattie) i just ran into Nesta describing cassian as “fire made flesh”….hmm…

[scotianostra]

Castle of the Day,  Dunstaffnage, near Oban.

Dunstaffnage Castle was built before 1275 by the MacDougall clan, Lords of Lorne. However, there had been a stronghold here in the 7th century built by the kings of Dalriada, hold on to your seats this is one of the most historic castles on the west of Scotland.

The name Dunstaffnage (In Gaelic Caisteal Dhùn Stadhainis)  comes from "Dun stafr-nis", Dun meaning "fort" in Gaelic of course, the rest of the name deriving from the Norse stafr-nis, "headland of the staff".

The Castle has seen more than its fair share of intrigues and incidents over the centuries, it was once home to The Stone of Destiny, the Scottish coronation stone. 

Dunstaffnage was built as the seat of Duncan MacDougall, Lord of Lorn and grandson of Somerled. Duncan was unsuccessfully attacked by his Norwegian-backed brother, Uspak, who later died in an attack on Rothesay Castle with Norse forces in the 1230s. He travelled to Rome in 1237 and as well as this castle, was the founder of nearby Ardchattan Priory.

Duncan's son Ewen MacDougall (builder of Dunollie Castle) inherited his father's title in the 1240s and expanded the MacDougall influence, styling himself "King of the Isles". It is probable that Ewen built the three round towers onto the castle and constructed and enlarged the hall inside.

The enormous power of the MacDougalls and their comparatively brief tenure of Dunstaffnage came to an end with their defeat by the newly crowned Robert Bruce. The exact date is uncertain, but probably in August 1308, Bruce and his supporters came west to have a reckoning with the MacDougalls. Their chieftain, Alexander MacDougall, was too old and sick to take part in the fighting and remained here at Dunstaffnage. His son, John Bacach was left with the task of dealing with the onslaught. Having placed his forces in ambush positions in the Pass of Brander, he retired to a galley on Loch Awe to watch proceedings.

Bruce however was no longer mug enough to fall into so simple an ambush, having learned his lesson at the Battle of Dalry in which he had fallen into a similar trap. He sent a party of his men, under the command of 'The Good' Sir James Douglas, to climb above the MacDougalls. Bruce then deliberately triggered the ambush himself, but as the ambushers started shooting arrows and rolling rocks down the hillside, the previously unobserved force under the Black Douglas swept down from above. The MacDougalls wavered and then broke, before being chased westwards across the River Awe and all the way back to Dunstaffnage.

John Bacach, safe in his galley, escaped down the loch, eventually taking refuge in England. Alexander MacDougall, Lord of Argyll, surrendered Dunstaffnage after a brief siege and did homage to Robert Bruce, but the following year he joined his son in exile, dying in 1310 in the service of Edward II.

In time, the power vacuum created on the west coast by the defeat of the MacDougalls was to be filled by the MacDonalds and the Campells. Following its capture by the king, the Chiefs of Clan MacArthur were appointed as hereditary Captains of Dunstaffnage Castle, although it is recorded that James I had to seize the castle in 1431, following the Battle of Inverlochy, 'as his enemies were hiding inside'.

In 1455 following the downfall of the House of Douglas at the hands of James II, James Douglas, 9th Earl of Douglas stayed at Dunstaffnage, on his way to treat with John MacDonald, Lord of the Isles - a meeting that led to the signing of the fateful Treaty of Westminster-Ardtornish.

The MacDougalls seem to have maintained an interest in Dunstaffnage as a later keeper, John Stewart of Lorn, who had formed a rivalry with Alan MacDougall, was stabbed by MacDougall's supporters on his way to his marriage at Dunstaffnage Chapel in 1463. Apparently he survived long enough to make his wedding vows. MacDougall took the castle but was ousted by King James III, who subsequently granted Dunstaffnage to Colin Campbell, 1st Earl of Argyll in 1470.

Dunstaffnage saw action during the Civil War, holding out against Montrose's army in 1644. The castle was burned by royalist troops following the failure of the rising of the 9th Earl of Argyll in 1685, against the Catholic James VII. During the Jacobite risings of 1715 and 1745, the castle was occupied by government troops. Following the collapse of the last Jacobite rebellion, Flora MacDonald, who had helped Bonnie Prince Charlie to escape from Scotland, was briefly imprisoned here while en route to imprisonment in London.

The Earls of Argyll appointed Captains to oversee the castle and continued to more or less hold it over the centuries, building a new house over the old west range in 1725, however the rest of the castle was already decaying. In 1810 an accidental fire gutted it and the Captains ceased to live here full time, moving to Dunstaffnage House, a mile or so away to the south-east, until this too burned down in 1940. A tenant lived in the 1725 house within the castle until 1888, but quirkily, the title of Captain of Dunstaffnage still remains and each year whoever holds the post must spend three nights of the under the gatehouse roof.

Restoration work was undertaken in 1903 by the Duke of Argyll, the castle's owner. This was followed in 1912 by a court case, in which the Court of Session ruled that Angus Campbell, the 20th hereditary Captain, had right of residence notwithstanding the Duke of Argyll's ownership. Works were delayed by World War I, and the planned total restoration of Dunstaffnage was never completed. In 1958, the 21st Captain and the Duke agreed to hand the castle into state care, and it remains a property of Historic Scotland.

And of course  Dunstaffnage has a ghost - or at least it did. Known as the "Ell-maid of Dunstaffnage", it is said to have been a type of gruagach or  a br��naidh, which translate in English to a Brownie.  The ghost's appearances are said to be associated with events in the lives of the hereditary keepers and is known as the "Ell-maid of Dunstaffnage" and is said to wear a green dress.  . If she is smiling, good fortune is on its way; if she is crying, the Clan knows that trouble lies ahead.

Dunstaffnage has recently reopened after lockdown and it is £6 entrance fee for adults, £3.60 for bairns. 

[scapegrace74-blog]

Saorsa, Chapter 28

A/N  Here is the next installment of Saorsa.  I’m not sure how I feel about this chapter.  I knew I wanted them handfast, couldn’t work it into the modern marriage ceremony (which we don’t see anyway), but wanted there to be some acknowledgement of their deepening relationship.  In the series, that happens because Claire doesn’t go through the Stones.   This is my equivalent.

Rather than link to all previously posted chapters, I’ll just direct those of you wanting to catch up on your Saorsa-reading to my AO3 page, where the fic is posted in its entirety.

Thank you to each of you liking and reblogging!  It does my little fanfic writer’s heart good.

She wasn’t a demonstrative person by nature.  The circumstances of Claire’s childhood had seen to that.   Practical, pragmatic, emotionally cautious: the nomadic life of an orphan following her scholarly uncle about the globe had shaped her for an adulthood of no-nonsense behaviour.

Which didn’t explain why she was swallowing back tears the Monday evening after Easter.  She sat on their bed watching Jamie pack a simple change of clothes and slip a few spare coins in a hidden slit inside his tall leather riding boots.   She could blame her pregnancy, but it had been many months since her last hormonal outburst.   In truth, she was afraid for Jamie.  He was undertaking a difficult twentieth-century journey with only his eighteenth-century wits to guide him.   She was going to miss him horribly.  A nagging premonition gnawed at her, that he would leave and never come back.

“Dinna fash, Sassenach,” he said, noticing her discomposure.  “I may be new tae these times, but I ken a thing or twa about keeping safe on a long journey.  An’ Rupert will watch o’er me, leastaways as far as Edin’bra.”

“I know that, Jamie.  I just…”   She broke off, hands unconsciously cradling her swollen belly, as though comforting the child within her was the best she could hope for.

“What is it, mo chridhe?  Are ye worrit about the bairn coming early?”

“No.  Not really.  First babies are often born late.  I’m worried about…” she broke off, at a loss to articulate the swirling mix of emotions she was feeling.

Jamie must have intuited her ambivalent state of mind, for he settled next to her and enveloped her hands in his.

Still new to the art of husbanding, he had learned that the best way to induce Claire to talk was to offer her silence to fill.  He therefore sat quietly, tangling and untangling their fingers.

“I can’t help but feel…” she began hesitantly, “that once you leave Lallybroch you’ll… oh, I feel stupid saying it…”

“Out wi’ it, Sassenach.  If it’s causin’ ye tae fret sae badly that ye didna remind me tae pack spare socks, then it needs to be given voice, aye?”

She grinned ruefully, then tried to collect her scattered thoughts.

“I know you chose to stay here, in this time, rather than return to your own.  Given what you know about the aftermath of Culloden, it was a reasonable choice.  But Jamie…” He could see how dearly this was costing her.   A furrow of worry bisected her brow, and her molten eyes looked haunted.  “Jamie, you’re a Highland warrior, and I can’t help but feel that I’ve turned you into some kind of glorified field hand and future babysitter.  And that once you leave Lallybroch, you’ll not want to return.”

Having blurted out her fears, Claire’s gaze sheered away from her husband, focusing instead on the patterned wall coverings.

“Claire…” he breathed, stunned by her revelation.   “Sassenach, look at me, will ye?”

Their eyes met, and the look he was giving her was so pained that she blinked in shock.

“Have I given ye reason to doubt my commitment to ye and yer bairn?”

“No,” she answered plainly.

“And was it no’ me who asked ye, ripe wi’ another man’s child, to be marrit?” he continued.

“Yes, it was.”

“It’s true that I’m a Highlander, Sassenach, an’ a proud one a’ that.  But I was a warrior by necessity, no’ by desire.  I fought because to do ought would ha’ been craven, an’ my Da didna raise me tae be a coward.  Twas the only way I kent tae protect my family, my clan.   Now ye and this bairn are my family, an’ those who serve Lallybroch are my clan.  I may no’ ken much about yer science an’ industry, but I can provide for my own, an’ tis my great honour tae do so.  And if so doin’, I help ye raise a braw wee Scot tae be laird or lady of this home of my heart, weel, I will one day die knowin’ I was a credit tae the Fraser name.  In my time, I would be ded, or just as well.  Here, I can do wha’ I was born tae.  Now I ask ye, why would I turn from that?  Why would I turn from ye?”

It was the most he’d ever spoken about matters neither practical nor routine, and she took the words inside her heart where they lit a spark in the tinder of her newborn love.

“It does pain me, though, that ye feel I asked ye tae be my bride merely because it was prudent.  I havna done my duty as yer husband, if ye dinna ken…”

Jamie stood abruptly and held out his hand.  She grasped it gratefully to leverage herself from the bed.

“Follow me, Sassenach.  It’s high time tae address my neglect.”

***

Murtagh looked mildly perturbed to have his evening’s routine interrupted, but scarcely more so than usual.  A few murmured words in Gaelic from Jamie and he grunted in surprise, appraising Claire’s hastily donned overcoat and pale blotchy skin.

Claire was surprised to find the small croft next to the stables comfortably appointed, its solid wooden furniture decorated with heavy woolen throws and the occasional cushion.    An ornate picture frame adorned the mantlepiece, displaying a dour couple posed stiffly in outmoded wedding clothes.

Disappearing through a darkened doorway into the croft’s only other room, Murtagh returned carrying several objects: a long strip of frayed tartan, a two-handled tarnished silver cup, and a short dagger in its sheath.  Murtagh placed the items on a low table and exchanged a significant look with Jamie before returning to the adjacent room.

“Claire,” he began, and she could sense the air in the room shift with his pronouncement of her Christian name, muted but sure.  “I ken that you and I, weel, we’re still new.  But the lady I’ve come to know, she’s… weel, she’s all that I could e’er want in a wife.  Canty.  Brave.  Strong and fierce tae make me heed, but soft and gracious and sae, sae beautiful, she can make the sun shine on a cloudy day.  I could travel through the stones across the ages, and no’ find a better companion fer my heart.  So I’m asking ye, Claire Beauchamp Randall Fraser, will ye do me the ‘onour of becoming my wife?  No’ because ye’er wi’ child.  No’ because ye need me tae drove yer sheep or mend yer fences or tend yer hearth.  I want to be marrit’ to ye because ye’er the only future I wish tae know.”

He was balancing both her hands on his open palms.  She fixated on their size; broad and calloused, yet always gentle with her.  She smiled and felt him take a deep inward breath.

“Jamie… I… that… but we’re already married!” she blurted.

“Aye.  The church ‘as blessed us, and a good thing too.  I feared I would be goin’ tae ‘ell fer all the lustful thoughts I had of ye, bonnie wee thing that ye are.  Tis a relief tae be back in God’s good graces.”

His impudent smirk released the tension from the room.

“Very funny,” she retorted.  “But seriously, Jamie, why are we here?  And what is all this…” she gestured towards the table.

“Have ye ne’er heard of handfasting, my Sassenach lass?  Tis the proper Scottish way tae be marrit’.  When ye’er bound together in the auld way, they say nought can come between ye for a year an’ one day.  Sae I’ll ask ye again, Claire, will ye accept tae be my wife?”

“Of course, you ridiculous man.  Why else would I be standing in Murtagh’s croft in the dead of night, wearing nothing but an overcoat atop my nightgown and slippers?  I swear, James Fraser…”

Any further chastisement was halted by his sudden, emphatic kiss.  She nearly lost herself in his mouth before she remembered Murtagh was only a few feet away, waiting for them to finish their quiet conversation.  Jamie called him back to the room with a shrill whistle.

Standing before the fire, Murtagh first unsheathed the dagger and drew it roughly across Jamie’s outstretched palm.   Claire flinched, but only a few scarlet beads of blood rose from the shallow cut.  Understanding what was coming next, she extended her right hand and received a matching slash.  Jamie then pressed their bleeding palms together.  Murtagh quickly enveloped them in several loops of the tartan sash.

“Is that…?” she asked in wonder.

“Aye, tis a wee strip of my plaid.  Murtagh saved me a piece a’fore ye burned the rest, ye heathen,” he joked, calm now that the ceremony was underway and she hadn’t laughed in his face.

“What now?” Claire asked, feeling the slippery warmth of their co-mingled blood against the fine skin of her wrist.

“We repeat our vows.  I ken ye dinna understand the Gàidhlig, but would ye consider sayin’ the Fraser oaths?  I could translate them for ye and…”

“Jamie,” she interjected.  “Of course I want to use your family’s vows.  I am a Fraser, after all,” she asserted proudly.

Slowly, using only their free hands, Claire and Jamie each grabbed an end of cloth.  Staring at his mouth to capture the nuance of the unfamiliar sounds, Claire slowly repeated after Jamie:

‘S tu smior de mo  chnàimh , na mo chuislean ‘s tu ‘n  fhuil

Bheir mi dhut-sa mo chorp, gum  bith ‘n  dithis mar  aon

Bheir mi dhut-sa  slàn m’  anam , gus an  crìochnaich ar  saoghal

With each phrase, they clumsily tied a knot above their pressed hands, until the room was silent and their hearts were full.  Unsentimental to the last, Murtagh quickly unbound their hands and wiped the blade of his dirk on the plaid.

Jamie opened a nearby cupboard with apparent familiarity and withdrew a half-empty bottle of whiskey, pouring a generous amount in the double-handled cup. Murtagh growled something unintelligible in Gaelic.

“Tis my wedding day, ye auld coot.  Dinna be parsimonious,” Jamie replied easily.

“Tis yer handfasting day, ye muckle-sized eejit, an’ tha’s my only bottle,” Murtagh retorted with no malice.

Claire grinned at their easy banter, happy that Jamie had made a friend in the older man.  Besides her, Murtagh was the only person to know Jamie’s secret.

“Here, Sassenach.  A’fore Murtagh here drinks it himself.”

Grasping the offered cup, which Jamie informed her was called a quaich, in both hands, she took a hasty sip while looking at him over the bowl.  His blue eyes danced in merry amusement.   Receiving the quaich, Jamie finished the amber liquid, watching her all the while.   Something crackled between them, and both could feel the buzz of it in their veins, stronger than any liquor.

“Weel,” Murtagh interrupted, “if tis all the same wi’ you, I’ll be goin’ tae bed.  There’s sheep that require dipping t’morrow.   Godspeed tae ye, lad.  Dinna forget what I told ye about the roads beyond Edin’bra.”

With a polite goodnight to Claire, Murtagh fled to the other room.

“Well,” Claire began.

“Aye.”

At this rate they’d still be standing in the croft’s living area when Murtagh rose at dawn, staring at one another.

“What did you have me say, exactly?” she asked.

“You are the marrow in my bones and the blood in my veins.

I shall give you my body, that we two might be one.

I shall give you my whole soul, until our lives shall be done.”

“Until our lives shall be done?” she asked in a timorous voice.

“Aye, Sassenach.  Ye’er stuck wi’ me,” he tried to jest while they slowly made their way across the courtyard and up the stairs of the main house, leading each other through the dark towards home.

“It’s a good thing I love you then,” she confessed.

“And I you, mo nighean donn.  Come.  Let me show ye how much.”

[tipsycad147]

Lugh – Master of Skills

By shirleytwofeathers

Lugh (pronounced LOO) was known to the Celts as a god of craftsmanship and skill — in fact, he was known as the Many-Skilled God, because he was good at so many different things. In one legend, Lugh arrives at Tara, and is denied entrance. He enumerates all the great things he can do, and each time the guard says, “Sorry, we’ve already got someone here who can do that.” Finally Lugh asks, “Ah, but do you have anyone here who can do them ALL?”

Origin: Celtic

Attributes: Magical spear, harp

Bird: Raven

Animal: Lion, horse

Planet: Sun

Plant: Red corn cockles

Lugh, Lord of Craftsmanship, Light, Victory and War, is a master builder, harpist, poet, warrior, sorcerer, metalworker, cupbearer and physician. It’s hard to envision anything at which Lugh does not excel.

Also known as: Lug, Luc, Lugos, Lleu Llaw Gyffes, Bright One of the Skilful Hand

Favoured people: Artisans, crafts people, poets, artists, physicians, soldiers, and warriors.

Manifestation: Shining, handsome, charming and witty. He has a silver tongue to match his skilful hands.

Consorts: Lugh has different consorts in different locations but he was frequently linked to Rosemerta.

Spirit Allies: Lugh shared the city of Lyon with Kybele and Paris with Isis. In battle, Lugh used his own weapons but also those belonging to Manannan.

Lugh was venerated throughout the ancient Celtic world. Modern scholars perceive him as especially significant because his veneration indicates the existence of pan-Celtic spiritual traditions. (Celts once ruled a huge swathe of continental Europe before being forced to the very edges of the continent.)

At least fourteen European cities are named for Lugh including Laon, Leyden, Loudon and Lyon. Lyon’s old name was Lugduhum, meaning “Lugh’s Fort.” Tat city is believed to have been his cult centre. Its coins bore the images of ravens which may be a reference to Lugh. Carlisle in England, the former Lugubalium, is also named in Lugh’s honor. Some theorize that Lugh’s name is reflected in an older name for paris: Lutetia.

The Romans identified Lugh with Mercury. Many European churches dedicated to Michael the Archangel are believed to have been built over sites once dedicated to Lugh. Post-Christianity many of Lugh’s sacred functions were reassigned to saints like Patrick and Luke.

Lugh apparently travelled westward through Europe. Irish and Welsh myths describe his first appearance in their pantheon. He is greeted with resistance from women in Wales. His first public act in Ireland is to join battle with the Tuatha De Danaan (his father’s people) against the Fomorian, his mother’s people. Lugh chooses allegiance with the paternal line; the myth may be interpreted as indicating the beginnings of patriarchy in Ireland.

Feast: August 1st

August 1st is the festival of Lughnasadh. Lughnasadh (sometimes spelled Lughnasa) means “the marriage of Lugh.” Lugh the sun and the Earth Mother renew their wedding vows annually during the full moon in August and invite all to gather and revel with them. Lughnasadh celebrates the consummation of their sacred relationship.

Once upon a time, Lughnasadh was a four week festival.: the last two weeks of July and the first two weeks of August, roughly corresponding to when the sun is in Leo, the astrological sign that belongs to the sun and epitomizes its power. In modern Irish Gaelic, the month of August is Lunasa. However the modern Wiccan sabbat of Lughnasadh is almost always devoted solely to the eve of July 31 leading into Lughnasadh Day on August 1st.

Celebrating Lugh Today:

Lughnasadh is a pagan holiday is dedicated to this capable God, and is celebrated every year on August 1st.

Take the opportunity this day to celebrate your own skills and abilities, and make an offering to Lugh to honour him, the god of craftsmanship.

Here’s How:

Before you begin, take a personal inventory. What are your strong points? Everyone has a talent — some have many, some have one that they’re really good at. Are you a poet or writer? Do you sing? How about needlecraft, woodworking, or beading? Can you tap dance? Do you cook? How about painting? Think about all the things you can do — and all of the things you’d like to learn to do, and the things you’d like to get better at. Once you sit down and think about it, you might be surprised to realise how accomplished you really are.

Decorate your altar with items related to your skill or talent. If your skill relates to something tangible, like sewing or jewellery-making, put some of your craft supplies on the altar. If it’s an ability to DO, rather than MAKE, such as dancing or singing, put some symbol of your ability on your altar. Do you have a favorite outfit you wear when you dance? A particular song lyric that you know you’re fabulous with? Add as many items as you like to your altar.

You’ll need a candle to symbolise Lugh, the god. Any harvest colour is good, because he came up with the idea of a grain festival to honour his foster mother, Tailtiu. Place the candle on your altar in the centre. Feel free to add some stalks of grain if you like — you can combine this rite with one honouring the harvest, if you choose.

Light the candle, and take a moment to think about all the things you are good at. What are they? Are you proud of your accomplishments? Now’s your chance to boast a little, and take some pride in what you’ve learned to do.

Announce your own talents in the following incantation. Say:

Mighty Lugh, the many-skilled god, he who is a patron of the arts, a master of trades, and a silver-tongued bard. Today I honour you, for I am skilled as well. I am deft with a needle, strong of voice, and paint beauty with my brush strokes.*

*Obviously, you would insert your pride in your own skills here.

Now, consider what you wish to improve upon. Is your tennis-playing out of whack? Do you feel inadequate at bungee jumping, yodelling, or drawing?

Now’s the time to ask Lugh for his blessing. Say:

Lugh, many-skilled one, I ask you to shine upon me. Share your gifts with me, and make me strong in skill.

At this time, you should make an offering of some sort. The ancients made offerings in exchange for the blessings of their gods — quite simply, petitioning a god was a reciprocal act, a system of exchange. Your offering can a tangible one: grain, fruit, wine, or even a sample of your own talents and skills — imagine dedicating a song or painting to Lugh. It can also be an offering of time or loyalty. Whatever it is, it should come from the heart.

Say:

I thank you, mighty Lugh, for hearing my words tonight. I thank you for blessing me with the skills I have. I make this offering of (whatever it is you are offering) to you as a small token of honour.

Take a few more moments and reflect on your own abilities. Do you have faith in your skills, or do you deflect compliments from others? Are you insecure about your abilities, or do you feel a surge of pride when you sew/dance/sing/hula hoop? Meditate on your offering to Lugh for a few moments, and when you are ready, end the ritual.

Tips:

If you are performing this rite as part of a group, family or coven setting, go around in a circle and have each person take their turn to express their pride in their work, and to make their offerings to Lugh.

Sources: Encyclopedia of Spirits and PaganWiccan

https://shirleytwofeathers.com/The_Blog/powers-that-be/tag/sun/

[barpurplewrites]

Under the Fairground Lights

@a-monthly-rumbelling non-smut prompt Runaway Bride.

Rumbelle, Swanfire, mild swearing, fluff.

-x-x-x-

Her mother has planed a dream wedding, but it’s become a nightmare for the bride.

“Damn it! Buggeration! Oh Fuck!

Belle hopped around the lobby of the Grand Hotel as she tried to simultaneously kick a crystal sparkle high heel from one foot while she pulled a sneaker onto the other. The puffy sleeved, pencil skirted pink monstrosity she was wearing wasn’t helping either her actions or her mood. Wearing a matching dress Ruby tottered across the lobby carrying Belle’s oversized purse, the bright pink highlights she’d replaced her usual red streaks with made her panic-stricken face look even more washed out that it would have done under normal circumstances.

“I’m so sorry Belle. I only went to the loo. You know how hard it is to pee in these bloody dresses. I came back and she was gone.”

Belle finally succeeded in changing her footwear and was bitterly pleased to see that the sparkles from one of her shoes were now scattered all over the lobby floor. She grabbed her purse from Ruby and dug around for a moment to find her cell.

“Right, tell everyone to stay calm, for the love of all that is holy keep Milah and Killian away from Rum,” – Belle found her cell and stuffed it into her bra, - “I’ll go and find our runaway bride. Where’s your cell?”

Ruby flexed her shoulders and leaned forward so Belle could see her cell phone shoved in between her breasts. They rolled their eyes at each other, a look that screamed for the lack of pockets in these bloody dresses. Belle hefted her bag onto her shoulder and caught the car keys that Ruby tossed at her.

“See you soon, hopefully with a bride in tow.”

Ruby chuckled; “I should have kept those handcuffs from the hen night.”

Belle managed a laugh as she ran towards the door in search of the overwhelmed bride. If her gut feeling was right there was a chance that there would still be a wedding today. Maybe.

 Henry ran across the lobby towards Ruby and grabbed onto her arm as he gasped in a breath.

“Ruby, Ruby! Grandfather and Grandma are shouting at each other!”

Ruby hitched up her pencil skirt and started towards the ballroom only to skitter to a halt after a few strides when she realised that Henry wasn’t following her.

“Hey kid, where are you going?”

Henry turned on his heal and shrugged; “I’m going to the kids room. Jefferson is doing magic tricks.”

“Henry! Why aren’t you more stressed about all of this?”

He shrugged and gave her a grin; “My folks love me, and they love each other. I tried to get them to go to Vegas. All of this is grown-up stuff.”

Ruby sagged as Henry grinned and tugged at his tie; “I know, I’m pretty well adjusted for a ten year old in a bow tie,” – he gave her a double thumbs up, - “Good luck.”

Ruby rolled her eyes and ran towards the sound of Gaelic swearing and an irate teacher voice inside the ballroom, all the while wondering if she’d be better off in the kid’s room watching Jefferson pulling a rabbit from his top hat.

 It was Emma’s bright yellow Bug that Belle spotted first. How the hell she had managed to drive that tiny car in the meringue of a dress her mother had chosen for her would go down as one of the mysteries of today. Belle swung Ruby’s car into the parking lot and just remembered to pull the keys from the ignition before she threw herself out of the door and ran towards the deserted fairground. It wasn’t hard to work out which ride she needed to run towards, but she breathed a sigh of relief when she found a confection clad run-away bride sat on the steps of the chair swings.

 Ruby was having less success. On the positive side Milah and Killian had parked themselves at the bar and seemed content to watch the drama unfold with the rest of the wedding guests, which took one potential powder keg out of the volatile situation. Neal had ducked away to the kid’s room on the pretext of looking after Henry, in Ruby’s opinion it would be Henry looking after his Dad, Neal looked on the verge of tears. Unfortunately that left Gold in the room with Emma’s parents and in between the snide comments, accusations and colourful language Ruby was learning that it was not wise to insult a Scotsman’s kilt.

 Belle had sat down next to Emma and handed her a tissue. For a long while they didn’t say anything, and then Emma gave a watery laugh.

“I must look like a fright.”

Belle tilted her head to one side and took a good look at the ruins of Emma’s heavy make-up. Mascara and eye liner were streaked down her face and her lipstick was smudged, in truth she could have been the demon bride from any number of horror films, but that probably was not the best thing to say to her at the moment.

“Not too bad, I think I looked worse during my Goth phase.”

That made Emma chuckle, the brief sound of merriment faded quickly and she curled in on herself.

“Is Neal alright?”

“From the looks of him he wanted to run too.”

“This all just go too much. Mom was so excited to be able to do something really mom like for me that I just let her take over.”

Belle could understand how Emma had gotten into this situation. She was an adult when she found parents, and Mary Margaret clearly had a lot of bottled up mothering to release. Her daughter’s wedding had to be perfect, a dream come true, that it wasn’t Emma and Neal’s dream wedding apparently hadn’t occurred to Mary Margaret.

“Neal and I wanted to get married here.”

Belle smiled and nodded, she knew about their first date, which was why she’d made a beeline for the fairground in the first place.

“It was going to be casual and fun,” - Emma tugged at one of the many flounces on her dress in frustration, - “And I’d be comfortable.”

“Yeah, comfortable would be nice right about now.”

“Oh Belle, I’m sorry. I should have held my ground like Gold did.”

Rum had refused point blank to wear the ivory suit Mary Margaret wanted all the men to be dressed in, his son was getting married and he would wear his tartan. The red, purple and black plaid clashed horribly with the bright pinks and ivory of the wedding colours, which had irked Mary Margaret no end. Belle suddenly smothered a laugh.

“Can you imagine having the wedding here and Rum in his kilt on the chair swings.”

Emma’s eyes widened and then she snorted; “Oh my God! That would be hilarious,” – her nose scrunched, - “And highly disturbing if he’s traditional about what he wears underneath.”

Belle gave her a grin and a suggestive wink that made Emma raise her hands.

“Oh no, don’t tell me. I don’t want that mental image!”

Their laughter faded and Belle felt it was time.

“So, what do you want to do?”

That Emma wanted to get married wasn’t in question, the only thing to decide was if they would go back to the Grand Hotel, or if Belle and Rum’s Plan B would come into play.

 Rum leaned against the rail of the terrace and stared at the unlit cigarette between his fingers. He’d quit over a year ago, but the stress of this bloody wedding had pushed him to bum a smoke from one of the waiters. He clicked the lighter he’d never got out of the habit of carrying and considered his current options. He could spark up and hope the head rush of his first cigarette in twelve months would calm his anger, or he could go back inside and shout at Emma’s parents some more. Belle would be disappointed if he smoked, but she probably wouldn’t be thrilled if he really lost his temper with Mary Margaret. The bloody woman had been a nightmare mother-of-the-bridezilla since Neal and Emma announced their engagement. He’d held his tongue at her under handed comments that it was a shame that this was all in the wrong order. So what if Neal and Emma had a child before they wed? Mary Margaret was oblivious to the fact her words made it sound like she wish Henry didn’t exist, she was only upset because in her mind it meant her daughter couldn’t wear white for her big day. Thankfully Henry had his head screwed on right and hadn’t let his Grandma’s thoughtlessness get to him, that hadn’t stopped her comments getting under Gold’s skin.

Gold hunched his shoulders and slipped the cigarette between his lips, feeling every bit like a naughty teenager. He’d almost got the flame to the end when Belle’s ringtone blared into life, sounding like an accusation to his guilty almost having smoked mind. He spat the cigarette over the rail and fumbled his cell phone from his sporran.

“Belle! What’s happening? Are you alright? Is Emma alright?”

“Take a breath, sweetheart. We’re putting Plan B into motion.”

Rum’s shoulders sagged with a relief that was better than any nicotine rush.

“Thank feck for that. Okay, I’ll get everyone over there. Give my daughter-in-law a hug from me, and tell her we’ve got this. See you soon, sweetheart.”

“Love you, see you soon.”

 Ruby never thought that she would be pleased and relieved to see Gold stride into a room with a smirk on his face, but she thanked any gods that were listened that he did. She’d had to stop Mary Margaret from calling the sheriff to report Emma as a missing person. David’s explanation that she’d been gone for less than an hour was holding no sway over the frantic mother of the bride. Gold strolled across to the stage where Emma and Neal were to exchange their vows and had a fast, whispered conversation with Archie who was to officiate. Ruby watched as Archie’s face lit up with a wide smile and he waved Gold towards the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please.”

Like a true showman Gold waited until everyone had fallen quiet and was focused on him, but it wasn’t until Neal and Henry entered the ballroom that he continued. The anticipation was buzzing in the air.

“Ladies and gentleman, we are moving this wedding to the venue of choice of the happy couple, the fairground!”

A cheer went up from the guests as Gold directed them to the waiting bus outside that would transport them to the bride. Mary Margaret looked mutinous until Neal had a few words with her. Ruby would never know what he said to her, but the steely look of determination on his face and Mary Margaret’s subsequent nod convinced Ruby that he was standing up to his mother-in-law to be.

The wedding was perfect, if a little unconventional. Emma and Neal exchanged their vows on the steps of the chair swings, and in place of a first dance they took a turn on the ride that had featured in their first date. There had been a bit of emergency dress alteration so Emma could actually get on the ride, but Belle and Ruby had been very enthusiastic about cutting out the layers and layers of netting, while Mary Margaret trimmed the loose threads with a pair of nail scissors. The destruction of the loathed wedding dress was a strange bonding moment for mother and daughter that had seen a few tears and yet another hasty reapplication of make-up.

Ruby had shrieked with delight when Gold handed her and Belle garment bags containing simple summer dresses free of all flounces and thankfully not pink.

Gold had flatly refused to go on the chair swings, which saved everyone’s blushes since as Belle could attest he did wear his kilt in the traditional fashion. Henry did manage to talk him on to the bumper cars and that led to Neal and Emma swearing their son was never going to be allowed behind the wheel of their car.

The throwing of the bride’s bouquet was replaced with a teddy bear from the hook-a-duck game since Emma had left her flowers in the hotel. Neal had still had the garter to throw which he pinged at his father with a knowing wink and the comment of, “Make an honest woman of my step-mom, Pops!”

Rum wrapped an arm around Belle’s waist, “What do you say sweetheart shall we tie the knot?”

There was a wicked twinkle in his eyes that made Belle chuckle, she pulled him in close and whispered in his ear, “Shall we tell them we’ve got the plane tickets to Vegas booked?”

Rum nuzzled at her neck, “No we’ll surprise them after the fact. I think there’s been enough wedding stress for one day.”

[tipsycad147]

Lugh – Master of Skills

By shirleytwofeathers

Lugh (pronounced LOO) was known to the Celts as a god of craftsmanship and skill — in fact, he was known as the Many-Skilled God, because he was good at so many different things. In one legend, Lugh arrives at Tara, and is denied entrance. He enumerates all the great things he can do, and each time the guard says, “Sorry, we’ve already got someone here who can do that.” Finally Lugh asks, “Ah, but do you have anyone here who can do them ALL?”

Origin: Celtic

Attributes: Magical spear, harp

Bird: Raven

Animal: Lion, horse

Planet: Sun

Plant: Red corn cockles

Lugh, Lord of Craftsmanship, Light, Victory and War, is a master builder, harpist, poet, warrior, sorcerer, metalworker, cupbearer and physician. It’s hard to envision anything at which Lugh does not excel.

Also known as: Lug, Luc, Lugos, Lleu Llaw Gyffes, Bright One of the Skilful Hand

Favoured people: Artisans, crafts people, poets, artists, physicians, soldiers, and warriors.

Manifestation: Shining, handsome, charming and witty. He has a silver tongue to match his skilful hands.

Consorts: Lugh has different consorts in different locations but he was frequently linked to Rosemerta.

Spirit Allies: Lugh shared the city of Lyon with Kybele and Paris with Isis. In battle, Lugh used his own weapons but also those belonging to Manannan.

Lugh was venerated throughout the ancient Celtic world. Modern scholars perceive him as especially significant because his veneration indicates the existence of pan-Celtic spiritual traditions. (Celts once ruled a huge swathe of continental Europe before being forced to the very edges of the continent.)

At least fourteen European cities are named for Lugh including Laon, Leyden, Loudon and Lyon. Lyon’s old name was Lugduhum, meaning “Lugh’s Fort.” Tat city is believed to have been his cult centre. Its coins bore the images of ravens which may be a reference to Lugh. Carlisle in England, the former Lugubalium, is also named in Lugh’s honour. Some theorise that Lugh’s name is reflected in an older name for paris: Lutetia.

The Romans identified Lugh with Mercury. Many European churches dedicated to Michael the Archangel are believed to have been built over sites once dedicated to Lugh. Post-Christianity many of Lugh’s sacred functions were reassigned to saints like Patrick and Luke.

Lugh apparently travelled westward through Europe. Irish and Welsh myths describe his first appearance in their pantheon. He is greeted with resistance from women in Wales. His first public act in Ireland is to join battle with the Tuatha De Danaan (his father’s people) against the Fomorian, his mother’s people. Lugh chooses allegiance with the paternal line; the myth may be interpreted as indicating the beginnings of patriarchy in Ireland.

Feast: August 1st

August 1st is the festival of Lughnasadh. Lughnasadh (sometimes spelled Lughnasa) means “the marriage of Lugh.” Lugh the sun and the Earth Mother renew their wedding vows annually during the full moon in August and invite all to gather and revel with them. Lughnasadh celebrates the consummation of their sacred relationship.

Once upon a time, Lughnasadh was a four week festival.: the last two weeks of July and the first two weeks of August, roughly corresponding to when the sun is in Leo, the astrological sign that belongs to the sun and epitomises its power. In modern Irish Gaelic, the month of August is Lunasa. However the modern Wiccan sabbat of Lughnasadh is almost always devoted solely to the eve of July 31 leading into Lughnasadh Day on August 1st.

Celebrating Lugh Today:

Lughnasadh is a pagan holiday is dedicated to this capable God, and is celebrated every year on August 1st.

Take the opportunity this day to celebrate your own skills and abilities, and make an offering to Lugh to honour him, the god of craftsmanship.

Here’s How:

Before you begin, take a personal inventory. What are your strong points? Everyone has a talent — some have many, some have one that they’re really good at. Are you a poet or writer? Do you sing? How about needlecraft, woodworking, or beading? Can you tap dance? Do you cook? How about painting? Think about all the things you can do — and all of the things you’d like to learn to do, and the things you’d like to get better at. Once you sit down and think about it, you might be surprised to realise how accomplished you really are.

Decorate your altar with items related to your skill or talent. If your skill relates to something tangible, like sewing or jewellery-making, put some of your craft supplies on the altar. If it’s an ability to DO, rather than MAKE, such as dancing or singing, put some symbol of your ability on your altar. Do you have a favorite outfit you wear when you dance? A particular song lyric that you know you’re fabulous with? Add as many items as you like to your altar.

You’ll need a candle to symbolise Lugh, the god. Any harvest colour is good, because he came up with the idea of a grain festival to honour his foster mother, Tailtiu. Place the candle on your altar in the centre. Feel free to add some stalks of grain if you like — you can combine this rite with one honouring the harvest, if you choose.

Light the candle, and take a moment to think about all the things you are good at. What are they? Are you proud of your accomplishments? Now’s your chance to boast a little, and take some pride in what you’ve learned to do.

Announce your own talents in the following incantation. Say:

Mighty Lugh, the many-skilled god, he who is a patron of the arts, a master of trades, and a silver-tongued bard. Today I honour you, for I am skilled as well. I am deft with a needle, strong of voice, and paint beauty with my brush strokes.*

*Obviously, you would insert your pride in your own skills here.

Now, consider what you wish to improve upon. Is your tennis-playing out of whack? Do you feel inadequate at bungee jumping, yodelling, or drawing?

Now’s the time to ask Lugh for his blessing. Say:

Lugh, many-skilled one, I ask you to shine upon me. Share your gifts with me, and make me strong in skill.

At this time, you should make an offering of some sort. The ancients made offerings in exchange for the blessings of their gods — quite simply, petitioning a god was a reciprocal act, a system of exchange. Your offering can a tangible one: grain, fruit, wine, or even a sample of your own talents and skills — imagine dedicating a song or painting to Lugh. It can also be an offering of time or loyalty. Whatever it is, it should come from the heart.

Say:

I thank you, mighty Lugh, for hearing my words tonight. I thank you for blessing me with the skills I have. I make this offering of (whatever it is you are offering) to you as a small token of honour.

Take a few more moments and reflect on your own abilities. Do you have faith in your skills, or do you deflect compliments from others? Are you insecure about your abilities, or do you feel a surge of pride when you sew/dance/sing/hula hoop? Meditate on your offering to Lugh for a few moments, and when you are ready, end the ritual.

Tips:

If you are performing this rite as part of a group, family or coven setting, go around in a circle and have each person take their turn to express their pride in their work, and to make their offerings to Lugh.

Sources: Encyclopedia of Spirits and PaganWiccan

https://shirleytwofeathers.com/The_Blog/powers-that-be/lugh-master-of-skills/