#Arthur did not remember a peasant’s name after meeting him once
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Dating Disney: The Sword in the Stone
As per a request, I’ll be examining Disney’s 1963 film The Sword in the Stone, based on T.H. White’s tetralogy The Once And Future King. In particular, the first book titled The Sword in the Stone, written in 1938. In the novel, Merlyn ages backwards through time and teaches Wart by transforming him into various animals to prepare him for this future as king.
The Mytho-History of Arthurian England
(image courtesy of Legends Summarized: King Arthur)
So, to keep the history lesson as short and non-boring as possible, let me try to give you the diet bullet points version of early English history. So, England used to be called Albion, and Rome ruled it for a time, even building Hadrian’s Wall to keep the Picts in Scotland out of their territory. Eventually, the Romans pulled out of Albion, and England was ruled by quasi-Roman Britons. Then, with the Fall of Rome on September 4th, 476 AD the Medieval period officially began (yep, the Middle Ages is a Virgo) and England was later sacked and partially conquered by the Angles and Saxons sailing in from the Jutlands in Germania. The Britons were predominantly Celtic, while the Angles and Saxons were Germanic. The Angles and Saxons eventually overtook England, resulting in Anglo-Saxon (aka Old English) to become the official language of England. Don’t worry though, they got what was coming to them in 1066 when William the Conqueror came from Normandy, France, and kicked the Anglo-Saxons out of power and French-speaking rulers had power over England for the rest of the Medieval period. This is also why French names for things are the fancier or more classy words for something. Simple words came from Anglo-Saxon while “fancy” words used by the ruling class come from French. Which is why it’s more “fancy” to call yourself intelligent instead of smart.
So, how does this all pertain to Arthurian Myth? Well, the roots of Arthurian Legend supposedly come from Welsh folklore. One need only look at some key players’ names, such as Guinevere’s original name Gwenhwyfar. Arthur is also frequently referred to as King of the Britons, which is important to remember that the Britons did not refer to the land, but rather to the Celtic peoples living in England before the Anglo-Saxon incursion. So, as a mythos, Arthur has his roots in Welsh-speaking Celtic origins as a Pseudo-mythic king. This is actually not uncommon in Celtic culture, as Ireland has a long and proud history of High Kings of Ireland that very likely never existed, claiming to be ruled from 1514 BCE - 841 AD by legendary mythic kings of Ireland, with the first actual historical High King of Ireland not appearing until 846 AD with Máel Sechnaill I. Arthur’s wife, Guinevere, is supposedly descended from an important Roman family, and thus her marriage to Arthur could also be interpreted as the bond between the Britons and their status as quasi-Roman citizens.
The idea of Arthur as an actual living breathing person first appears in the Annales Cambriae, which states that in the year 72 (c. 516 AD) Arthur won the battle of Baddon, and in the year 93 (c. 537 AD) Arthur and Mordred fell in the Battle of Camlann and there was death in Britain and Ireland. The Annales Cambriae were written around the middle of the 900s AD, so they’re already about 400 years late to the party for being trustworthy eyewitnesses to any shenanigans involving Artie. Arthur’s mythos began to be fleshed out more by Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia Regum Britanniae in the early 1100s, which lays a lot of the groundwork for Arthurian myth, introducing Guinevere, Merlin, and Caliburn, that would later be Frenchified into Excalibur. This is, however, not a book of Arthurian Legend so much as a largely fictitious account of all of the kings of England from Brutus, who settled England, up to Cadwaladr who ruled until 682 AD. This source is a large part of why people suspect Arthur might have been a real person, as he was essentially included in a textbook of England’s kings. There were later stories and updates to the tradition, but the last version came from Thomas Malory’s addition to the Arthurian Mythos in Le Morte d’Arthur at the end of the Medieval Period in 1485. Which also means that yes, Arthurian Legend actually spans the entire breadth of the Medieval Period. From the Fall of Rome in 476 to the end of the War of the Roses in 1485. Le Morte d’Arthur is the most famous version of Arthurian legend, and served as the major inspiration for T.H. White’s Once and Future King. The key feature we’re focused on is that like Le Morte d’Arthur, Arthur was taken from Uther and Igerna and raised by Sir Ector in the country-side until such a time that he pulled the Sword in the Stone, and was deemed the one true King of England.
So, if Arthur was based on a real person, he was probably a quasi-Roman Briton living in the 6th century, and fighting against the Scandinavian invaders. However, there’s also a reason for Arthur to not have existed. The Anglo-Normans who ruled England from 1066 onward had a very low opinion of England. It was rainy, dreary, and full of sheep. It’s speculated that Arthur was hoisted up as a real life legend of British history to effectively give England a more interesting and glorious history and make itself look and/or feel more important, and possibly even to promote nationalist pride. Whether he was a real man turned into a legend, or completely made up, he still is important to English history even to this day. However, as the Arthurian myth grew up, Arthur became more and more distant from his Celtic roots, and it’s not hard to say that the Arthur in the Disney Film is probably an Anglo-Norman, rather than a Celtic Briton. The technology and fashions are simply far too advanced for the 6th century.
Merlin
During his squirrel lesson, Merlin teaches Wart about the principles of gravity, referencing Newton’s Law of Universal Gravitation, first published in 1687. Upon meeting Wart, he also displays a Da Vinci flying contraption, and a wooden toy train engine. One might assume this is an anachronism, as Merlin also states while lecturing to Wart about his future “in these dark, uncertain medieval times”, and very firmly setting the film between 476 - 1485 AD. However, in the source material, Merlin ages backwards through time. And in other accounts of the Arthurian mythos, Merlin is gifted with a perfect knowledge of the past and future, making him essentially omniscient. The movie takes this a step further, as he not only sees into the future, but can travel through time as well. So, it’s perfectly valid for him to spout off knowledge and lessons that mankind would not discover for centuries afterward. We also see in Merlin’s possession a great number of books. This is important because in the medieval period, books were incredibly valuable, as they had to be written and copied by hand, and were so valuable that libraries chained them to the wall to keep them from being stolen. However, the sheer volume of his collection suggests that the printing press may have been invented, and thus, the film taking place after 1439. However, Merlin’s ability to travel through time makes his ownership of books hard to discern, as he could have easily brought those books back from later time periods.
Fashion
We see Sir Ector wearing faulds under his cuirass. Faulds are strips of plate armor tied at the hip to protect the hip from harm, looking something akin to skirting. Faulds first appeared in 1370. Sir Kay is wearing a Great Helm, noted for its very bucket-like shape, worn from the late 12 to 14th centuries.
However, during the fish lesson, Merlin takes cover inside of what appears to be an Armet helmet, developed in the 15th century. Which means that either Merlin found a helmet from the future, or Kay is training in a century old helmet. Which is why you can’t just throw medieval stuff willy-nilly onto the screen. the Medieval Period covers 1,009 years.
Toward the end of the film, we see Sir Ector wearing a Bycocket, a unisex hunting hat preferred by the nobility of the 13th and 14th centuries.
Culture
We can see in Arthur’s throne room the Fleur-de-Lis, a symbol of French royalty. The symbol emerged as a symbol of French royalty in the late 13th century. In England, the Fleur-de-lis was used in the royal standard for the Plantagennet family, which ruled England from the Norman Invasion of William the Conqueror in 1066 until Henry Tudor won the War of the Roses in 1485. The Fleur-de-lis was used in the Plantagenet standard beginning in the 13th century. Merlin also specifies teaching Wart English, Latin, and French. As the Plantagenet family were Anglo-Normans, they all spoke French, and all of the nobility also spoke French. Having Wart learn French would allow him to converse with his royal court, English with his subjects, and Latin with his faith. These three languages would be the most vital tools of an English king in this period to rule justly and to hear the voices of all of his subjects. Too bad the Plantagenets were notorious for not speaking a lick of English. Most of the nobility didn’t. The Peasants and the Aristocracy didn’t even speak the same language, making the gap between the classes wider. However, during the 13th century, the French language finally began to take a backseat to English among the royal court, and the Hundred Years War between England and France (1337-1453) bolstered nationalist pride for the English language among the ruling elite. By the end of the 15th century, English had finally become the mother tongue of the English nobility. So, young Wart living in the 13th or 14th century would certainly have a reason to learn English as an English King.
Conclusion
For the most part, like other Medieval-based movies from older Disney, they didn’t do enough research to really pin-point a clear time period. The movie sort of wants to be in this nebulous timeless part of England’s mytho-history, so I’m really left with guessing a time period based on the general clothing, look, and feel of the setting, which feels like it could be set at the same time or even slightly earlier than Sleeping Beauty. The most things seem to line up with a late 13th, early 14th century setting. So, I’ll conclude that we’re slightly ahead of the Italian Renaissance, as Arthur Plantagenet takes up the English Throne. In fact, this also aligns with the real life history of England. In 1377, Edward III died after his eldest son, causing a succession crisis that sparked the War of the Roses. Likewise, the Sword in the Stone was used in the film to prevent a war for succession after the King of England died without a known heir. The parallels line up nicely enough that since Disney tends to run on its own logic that the succession of King Arthur would likely be their alternate history solution to the War of the Roses. More still, after Edward III died, 12-year-old Boy King Richard II was chosen to succeed Edward III, and his uncles who had been passed over for the crown opposed his rule. Likewise, Wart is 12 in the film, becomes king, and Arthur did canonically have to fight dissenters who opposed his claim to the crown. So, Wart is, according to this movie, a very nice stand-in for Richard II of England. Both Arthur and Richard II were also eventually foisted from his throne by power-hungry relatives. In Arthur’s case, his nephew or illegitimate son Mordred tries to usurp his throne and both kill each other in the process. In Richard’s case, he was deposed by his cousin Henry IV in 1399. They even ruled for about the same amount of time, as Arthur became king canonically in 512 at the age of 15, and died in 537 at the age of 40. Arthur ruled for 25 years, and Richard ruled for 22. So that’s an admittedly uncanny series of parallels. So, Wart is the Disney Alternate History version of Richard II the Boy King of England. (reign 1377-1399) And to think, the same king helped inspire the sadistic boy king Joffrey Baratheon in Game of Thrones.
Setting: England
Kingdom: The Kingdom of England (927 - 1707 AD)
House: House Pendragon/House Plantagenet (1066-1485)
Era: the War of the Roses
Period: The Late Middle Ages (1250 - 1500 AD)
Year: 1377 AD
Historic Counterpart: Richard II of England (1377-1399)
Language: Middle English (1150-1500 AD)
Anglo-Norman French (1066-1500 AD)
Medieval Latin (927 - 15th century)
#dating disney#disney#the sword in the stone#th white#t.h. white#wart#king arthur#arthurian legend#excalibur#sir kay#sir ector#the once and future king#merlin#plantagenet#medieval#medieval history#history#middle ages#annales cambriae#geoffrey of monmouth#thomas malory#le morte d'arthur#the volgate cycle#guinevere#lancelot#lady of the lake#briton#celts#celtic#anglo-saxon
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it has hit me that some of y’all might want to READ the wolf star fic i wrote for school so here it is
that is the assignment she gave us in case ya’ll wanted to know why some parts gave out information that did nothing for the story
anyways here is it on ao3 or you could just read it here lmao
I woke just as the sun hit my face. I smiled immediately because this day had finally come; Star was finally back. I got dressed quickly and ran down the stairs of his Manor. I opened the front door to see what was waiting for me on the steps. A single red letter with a wax seal marked with the familiar red insignia that turned golden in the sunlight lay on the steps. I hid the letter in the fold of my clothes and quietly tipped toed into my father’s study and grabbed a letter opener. Once back in my room, I began to open the letter.
Remus,
It has been MONTHS how are you doing? Do you still remember me? Is your cousin Peter still a massive pig?
Star’s dad is also a Lord. King Chea always has him traveling to try and earn the kingdom more money. That means that he has to leave from time to time to sell things. Either my family for the Malfoy’s watch over their land when they go. Usually, Star and I can find ways to communicate, but this time they were too far away for three long months. I missed her so much.
How’s being a squire? My brother tells me they make you do all their dirty work. Honestly, I think it’s quite lazy of them to make you have to do all the work. We hardly even go to war in the first place so what is even the point.
She’s right, and I’m not even technically a “real” squire. I’m the first-born boy in my family, so I���m going to inherit this Manor, and my dad wanted me to learn to fight before I do, but Star doesn’t know that. To her, I’m Just Remus, not the heir to a massive piece of land. And I like it very much like that. We already have enough Knights here anyway. There’s Sir James and Sir Frank who guard Orion Black’s land, and then there’s Sir Crabbe and Sir Goyle who defend Lucious Malfoy’s land and Sir Fabian and Sir Gideon who guard my father Lyall Lupin’s land.
Anyways, this time my dad had to go all the way to Spain. SPAIN of all places and I am tired of it. Next time, I swear to you, I will finally gain the courage and ask him if I can stay with you and your family.
Star and I have never even met in person. The only reason we know each other is because of some mess up with Sir James, the knight who trains me. I don’t know how Star plans on meeting me unless her family knows the Blacks. That family knows everything about everyone, yet no has ever even seen their children- or if they even have children. Some think they have two boys, but who knows. Despite that, Star is brilliant, if anyone could figure it out, she could.
This time was completely different than the last time my dad had to go on one of his business trips. He had decided that me and Regulas were old enough to go out into town alone!
She’s sooo lucky my parents never even let me leave the immediate area of the Manor. They say that the peasant will beg at my feet for food or money. Little do they know I have already met with some of them. I met Alice and Arthur when I was giving my tithes to the church. They gave grain while I gave a 10 cent pence. Star told me that she once met two serfs named Mary and Marlene before they went to work in the field. I was appalled, but she said that they were friendly and even taught her a little about farming.
Once Regulas had finished his squire duties we found this old shoppe and they had the most amazing things you couldn’t even dream of! Regulas gave me his money and said he would find a different way to get his own stuff (I’m pretty sure he swiped it) I attached some of the star charts they had because I know you loved the sky.
One of the first things I ever told Star was that I originally wanted to be Aristotle. I had said that so she would get confused and I could explain it to her a look very clever, but I was surprised that she not only knew who he was but had also been to where he lived. She told me all about it, and her words were written with such emotion and intellect; it was me falling for her.
Do you still love the sky? Well let’s hope you do cause those were nine schillings EACH.
I looked back in the letter and found two of the most beautiful sheets of cloth. Each had beautiful and intricate designs of the sky but enlarged so I could see every detail. My jaw hit the floor; she spent 18 shillings on me. With that money, she could have gotten a new dress or anything else. I love her so much.
Now that I’m writing this down it has come to my attention that we’ve been speaking to each other of years, and yet you’ve never even seen my face. How funny is that? I know almost everything about you, and you don’t even know what color my eyes are.
It’s so funny because I’ve described everything about myself her from my blue eyes to the way I hunch over because I’m so tall. Now that I think about it, I’ve never even asked what color her eyes are. I’m going to ask that in my letter.
(It’s gray by the way)
Oh.
And last we spoke you asked me why my name was so funny. Now that I think about it, Star is a ridiculous name ahaha. But that because Star isn’t my real name. Star is what my mum calls me cause that’s what I was named after. My real name is Sirius.
Huh? I’m sorry, what? Please tell me I read that wrong. Sirius is the dog constellation. Star once told me it was her favorite one in the whole sky, but that’s all it is, right? Also, Sirius is a boy name and Star is a girl.
Sirius Black.
No, that cannot be right…..Wait. “Star” never told me they were a girl and wait did I…. have… am I….., is there something I need to know about myself?
Anyways, my dad says we aren’t going on another trip for at least a year, so maybe we’ll finally get to meet in person?
Yours Truly,
Star
or do you call me Sirius now? Whatever, bye xo
I may need to go and talk with the priest.
#wolfstar#fanfiction#fanfic#remus lupin#sirius black#remus x sirius#feudal era#writing#Black Writers#young writer#its stiil so funny cause#wolfstar isnt even my otp lmao#harry potter#hp marauders#marauders#i dont even know if anyone will read this#but like#thanks if u did <3
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Mordred’s Takeover
So... year's been unpleasant in numerous ways. And the election result did not go as I hoped. But in a vent-out of rage here is something I wrote. Needs work but it's a start.
Mordred was making another of his speeches to the crowd. “And I say it is the fault of those people! The Jews and Muslims, coming here, treating our country as if it were their own! The lords who are puppets of Luxemburg and its Emperor!”
To tell the truth before this Luxemburg had not been on the mind of most of the people in the crowd. But they heard these words and rejoiced at them. Being in a cheering crowd was such a wonderful feeling, you all felt together, believed you were part of something bigger.
“Heil Mordred! Heil Mordred!” cheered the hundreds, egged on by his men in the crowd.
Mordred left the stand and stalked into the hall where he was meeting the Saxon ambassador, a lord named Bunignus. Mordred was followed by his father-in-law Gwallanus. “My fool of a father has left the Kingdom with me” he said seating himself in a throne.
“But you cannot be King for now” said the Saxon ambasador. “You still need your father to not be King.”
“Yes…” said Mordred, his body twisting like a serpent in his stately seat. The thought of his father coming back from France… His fingers clenched.
Gwallanus stepped forward. “But… is that wise? Your father is old. A move to seize power might be a reason for disinheritance…”
Mordred stood up in fury. “I will not lose the throne! I will not be weak! It is time to show the Pendragon my strength!” He remembered what his mother had told him, of the wrong Arthur’s father did to his grandfather. Now was the time for revenge, on the whole Pendragon line, a revenge that would be known for a thousand years.
“This is for my family…” muttered Mordred. “Bring in my sons!”
In came Melehan and Melou, his sons by Cwyllog… who Mordred had not seen for years. Fortunate, she had not been producing more sons. And with her gone perhaps another could share Mordred’s bed…
“Melehan, my heir. Now is the time for us to take power! To revenge ourselves!” said Mordred.
“But aren’t we Pendragons?” asked Melehan.
Mordred moved forward furiously. “I am Gorlois’ grandson! You his great-grandson! We must avenge his murder by Arthur’s father!”
“But he’s our grandfather!” protested Melou. Mordred struck him across the face. “Do not deny this is our time!”
“Yes… of course father” said Melehan.
“But we must be wary now. Lies will be told against us. Plots, schemes. But it is all false! Our acts our justified!” Mordred remembered what Jarl Vidkun of Norway had told him. Adopt the tactics of Lucius. Talk of driving out the other. A show of strength. And that salute… he would try that as well.
“Go out! Tell the people of the Parliament! Show my strength!” he snarled.
“What strength?” asked Melehan.
“Gather a Parliament!” said Mordred. “Now! This is my moment!”
He produced a piece of paper and the royal seal. Then he took the piece of writing in which his father had named him steward of the Kingdom, with full rights.
Sir Enoch entered. “Sir Mordred!” he said, saluting. “I have the man.”
A prisoner entered. “A man from the cells of London, a forger of legal documents.”
“Write what I say” said Mordred. “In this writing.” He threw it down.
“What if I don’t?” asked the prisoner.
“If you succeed you will be given enough gold to live on the rest of your life. Fail and you die” snarled Mordred, though his eyes were gleaming with a frightening joy. It was unsettling and even Enoch edged towards the door.
The forger, a man named Alf, sighed, sat down and began to write very slowly. Mordred stood there watching him constantly. These were not pleasant eyes. At times Mordred had been charismatic, despite his unconventional appearance. But this was not the public Mordred but the private Mordred. Alf scratched out the signature slowly… for the second time, the first one had been difficult to do with those eyes boring into him.
A few days later a ship arrived and a messenger rode off, surrounded by guards, hastening to Westminster where Mordred sat. Mordred, not that eagerly, held out his hand for the letter. Reading it, an expression of exaggerated grief appeared on his face and he wept, holding his face.
“What is it, Sir Mordred?” asked a Baron.
“Here! Read this… but be careful!”
Mordred thrust the letter at him. The Baron read it and horror formed.
“Sir Enoch! Read it!” Mordred snatched the letter and held it out to the Knight, who took it and a moment later seemed to have finished it.
“The Parliament must know!” he said. “I’ll summon them!”
“Wolverhampton is with you” Enoch told Mordred. “I made one of my speeches. About the pollution of the Round Table, the blood that would be spilt if they continued with letting in other races.”
“That is excellent news” said Mordred, sipping his wine. He stood. “I have a title ready for you… if events go as I hope.”
It was days later. Mordred strode into the Parliament building, where people from all over Arthur’s Kingdom had gathered.
“My father, King Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther Pendragon… is dead.” Mordred waited for the gasps to die away. “As his only son I claim the throne.”
There was murmuring. What Mordred said was true… but the circumstances of his birth…
“My father named me heir in the letter.” Mordred produced it for all to see.
“May I see this letter?” asked one of the Knights. He looked over it. “That is the royal seal but Arthur’s…”
“It is real!” replied Mordred, snatching it with such force he nearly tore it.
“Could we compare it to more of Arthur’s writing?” asked another Knight.
Mordred turned his blazing eyes upon them. “Do you dare to question my words?”
“I merely wish to see if it…”
“A plot to subvert the will of our late King!” snarled Mordred. “Am I not his son? Does not the blood of Britain flow in my veins from both of my parents?”
“Heil Mordred!” cried Gwallanus from his place in the Parliament.
“Heil Mordred!” cried others who had met Mordred before, though at first their voices were few among the many. Yet the voices began to grow.
For the past few months Mordred had feasted the nobles. He had opened the vaults of his father, where they had stored wealth for their plans. A new hospital in London, improved roads, repairs to a bridge in Lincoln… but these were not important to Mordred.
And finally mutters began to be heard among the nobles, as Mordred had hoped there would be. “Why do we have to be ruled by Arthur?”
“Why do we have to pay more taxes when we don’t benefit?”
“Why can’t Arthur have more feasts for his nobles after all the work they do?”
“Why does Arthur give our money to the workers? He’s more peasant then King!”
“Mordred doesn’t hand out money to workers haphazardly.”
“Mordred doesn’t steal our wealth.”
And so, when Mordred said that Arthur was dead, even though news had not come elsewhere, and even merchants said they had not heard Arthur was dead… it was what much of the nobles wanted to hear. And not just nobles but people over Britain.
Gwallanus, eager to see his line hold the throne at last, was Mordred’s readiest supporter.
So it was that after a day of discussion the Parliament agreed that Mordred was the rightful King. Members of the Workers Party of Tor looked at each other in terror, knowing what this would mean. But alas, though they were against Mordred too many people favoured him.
Yet Mordred remained in his rooms writing out letters for outside Logres. After stamping an order for a forger to have his tongue cut out then be publicly executed he was writing for hours. To Jarl Vidkun in Norway, to Duke Chelric in Saxony, even to Lucius, to Eugenius III in Scotland, to Gunvasius in Orkney.
Jarl Vidkun had given Mordred many ideas from their meetings, of who to blame, of who to ally with. He had even shown Mordred that salute the Romans had performed, which Vidkun had learned from Lucius’ men.
Eugenius might not wish to show any submission to the rulers down south, but there was much Mordred could offer him. Perhaps an offer of greater autonomy. And Eugenius may well be a kindred spirit, considering the rumours about the death of his uncle. Of course Mordred found him personally pathetic, with his lack of desire towards any, he was hardly a proper man. But he could still be useful for the time being. Once Arthur was gone and Mordred secure… then relations between Logres and Scotland would certainly face renegotiation.
Gunvasius could be tricky, he had been opposed to Mordred’s stepfather King Lot ruling Orkney instead of him. But perhaps an offer to recognise him as King of Orkney...
“In Rome the younger Lucius rises” he said pleasantly. “I hope if Lancelot does not slay my father he will.”
“But what if he should claim Britain?” asked Enoch.
“And what of it? I will be King!” cried Mordred.
He turned and another thought struck him, of another detail written in the letter. “Guinevere will marry me” said Mordred, his eyes alight with lust. “As was ordered in the letter.”
“But… her age…” said Enoch.
“She was always sterile” said Mordred, with a smile. “But I have sons already.”
Not all accepted him. Lady Lisanor refused him. As did the Lords of Powys and Gwynned. But Mordred did not care. He had what he wanted. Those lands would fall to him in time. Even the land of Gorre and that whore Carys, daughter of that old fool Bagdemagus.
“Duke Chelric has long hated Arthur for his deeds. He opposed the Saxons for a long time, and his great-nephew slew the Duke’s nephew. He will jump at the chance of revenge” replied Mordred.
“But… he’s a Saxon! We are building Britain for the British!” said Sir Enoch.
Mordred smiled. “What does that matter? He will assist us. He will assist against our enemies.”
“And isn’t Cliges your nephew?”
Mordred spat. “That Greek? My whore sister should never have married that effeminate fool!” He smiled. “But he is far away from the reach of Saxony… and too far to help Arthur. I may be Arthur’s son… but I am not Arthur.”
He turned. “Now… to Guinevere. She must know of the wedding.”
Mordred left the chambers of the Queen. It had taken some time but she had given him a new place to go to, somewhere which should help his rule’s image.
It was not long after this that Mordred picked up the sword of his father’s father, named Clarent. It had been given to Guinevere for safekeeping and in order to prove her loyalty to him she had given its location to him. Not as fine as Excalibur but a magnificent sword, even if it was more for ceremony.
“I will prove whose grandson I am!” He wielded the sword. “I am Gorlois’ grandson! I will avenge the wrong on my grandmother!”
“So Guinevere has agreed?” asked Enoch.
“Not yet” said Mordred. “But I reminded her who holds power now. I reminded her of the letter. That if she did not go ahead with the law… events might not go well for her. Or her maids.” A horrible grimace of a smile played across his face. “Such beautiful vengeance… what better way to revenge the wrong upon the British King then to take his wife, just as the British King took the wife of Cornwall for his own.” He laughed, a horrible laugh, a laugh that seemed to go on, which made Enoch step back, especially with Mordred brandishing Clarent as if he were in battle.
Ares, nephew to Sir Tor, was meeting Mordred just before his coronation. If he could swing those beloved of the people to his side, Mordred was sure he would crush any further resistance. Ares had the name of his grandfather, a cowherd living around Derby. His older relatives had too much bad blood with Mordred but if he could win the next generation over… Yet from the start Ares did not show much interest.
“I have heard the King is alive” he said when Mordred entered.
“The King is alive as I am King.”
“No. I mean your father, Arthur. If he is then you are not King.”
“You dare to go against the will of the people! That I am King!”
“But you only took that power through blatant lies. How is it what the people want if you gained it through lies?”
“Well… it wasn’t a lie!” said Mordred. “It was true. It’s in the letter!”
“Well if it isn’t true then people will know eventually. You can’t hide the truth forever” said Ares.
“What do you know you cow… shit-cleaner!” Mordred spat at him.
Ares wiped his face. “I know if someone offered me 10 good cows and gave me 5 sickly cows it was not a fair deal. You are no better than a trickster!”
“It’s what the people want!”
“Then you tricked a lot of people. You and your gang of frauds, screaming and sowing hate.”
“You are just a pathetic little man from a family that cleaned up cowpats” said Mordred.
“So much for the man of the people! Though you traitors may sneer it doesn’t diminish my cause” said Ares.
Mordred glared at him. He moved forward slowly, his feet padding across the floor as he stalked forward like a beast of the wood. He held Ares’ gaze, breathed in and looked as if he was about to say something. And suddenly his hand shot to his dagger, pulling it out of the sheath and pouncing forward.
Ares dodged nimbly and grabbed a plate, hurling it against the false Knight. Mordred threw up his arms and shouted in pain as it crashed into his face, drawing blood. Ares got to the door and attempted to get out but Mordred was close behind. Ares kicked between his legs and elbowed him in the chest, though gave a shout at feeling armour beneath there. They wrestled, but Ares was younger and forced Mordred down.
“Help! Help! Treason!” screamed Mordred.
His guards rushed in and cut Ares down. Mordred furiously plunged his dagger in, again and again, even when Ares had stopped moving, and he lay there, like a butchered beasts of the field ravaged by a beast while the herd was away.
The guards stood there, not sure what to do as their ruler’s rage flowed out. Finally he stood, drenched in Ares’ blood, breathing hard. He threw his dagger down and glared down at the body of the cowherd. “He was a traitor! He attacked me! It was not me!” He spat blood down at Ares. “HE WAS A TRAITOR!”
Of course the next day proclamations were put up condemning the danger of these working-class parties, with a treasonous plot against the rightful King. Mordred made a speech before the Parliament. Once this was over he could finally go and marry Guinevere. She had asked to buy clothes and other items for her entourage for the wedding, so her retainers had been around London buying foods all day and yesterday. Once Mordred was crowned they could be wed, she who had once shared his father’s bed would share his… Mordred thought of this and excitement grew in him like a fire.
“It is clear that this… Cowherd movement is dangerous” said Mordred. “We will need stronger methods to counteract them. Bring a motion forward! It will be treason to question my rule. I am the Peoples ruler, any movement against me is against the people!”
And the rest of Ares grandsons watched in horror as a crowd gathered, chanting “Heil Mordred! Heil Mordred! Heil Mordred! HEIL MORDRED!”
@blackcur-rants @cukibola @epic-summaries @ylvisruinedmylife
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The Distance Between Us
Chapter 1: Fs and Enemies and Principals, All My!
Pairing: Rowena x reader
Summary: Just when you thought high school couldn't possibly get any worse, classmate and archenemy, Rowena MacLeod, is selected to be your math tutor. As the two of you spend more time together, boundaries break and secrets get revealed. Maybe there's more to the school's mean girl than meets the eye. High School AU.
A/N: Credits to @werewolfbarbie for all the information about the American school system.
Editor: @rowenaisfabulous
You hated Rowena MacLeod.
Maybe hated was too strong a word.
Disliked.
Disfavored.
Disesteemed.
Whatever the most appropriate terminology was, the fact remained that she was your least favorite person in this school.
Okay, maybe second least favorite. Or third. There certainly were a lot of assholes at your high school.
But, god, Rowena was a special kind.
She'd never done anything to you personally. There was animosity in your interactions, but it didn't go beyond that.
She was, however, nasty to your friend. Who was her brother and was equally nasty to her in return, but still. The friend code and all.
She used your other friend. Strung him along and took advantage of him. Took his kindness for granted.
She was popular, and had gotten so in a rather… interesting way. Her way to the top consisted of sucking up to other popular kids until some felt sorry enough for her that they'd let her become one of them (or they'd given in to get her to shut up) and dating the school's biggest douchebag.
And she got an A today, one hundred percent, perfect score, and looked so damn smug you barely held back an eye-roll.
You'd gotten an F. One percent. You supposed it could have been worse — Dean Winchester, sitting a few rows down, got a zero. Yay, you!
First math test of your senior year, and you'd failed it.
Great fucking start!
Fuck it, you thought. It wasn't like this was going to matter. Those numbers, formulas no one in their right mind would remember in a few weeks' time, this stupid test — they didn't matter. Ten years from now, and no one would think of them. Life would go on as normal. All of today would be nothing but yet another blur in the foggy sea of memories. Maybe not even that.
Thinking like that didn't make you feel any better. Your stomach was still tight with pressure. Hands still balled into fists on your thighs. Teeth clenched. Heart racing.
This was only the first test, you tried telling yourself.
That, exactly, was the problem, your other, more rational (or rather pessimistic) side argued. You'd started the school year with a big, fat F. In Math, of all things. Your least favorite subject. Your worst one. The subject you'd almost failed last year, and the one before that.
If this was your big start, you were screwed.
Ms. Hanscum was a great teacher. She was kind to the students and acted more like a friend than a teacher. She helped everyone who struggled out, explained everything multiple times if necessary.
Yet you still sucked.
Math just happened to be your public enemy number one.
Ms. Hanscum could go over her lessons a thousand times. She could sit you on her lap like a toddler and hold your hand as you wrote down her instructions. She could have superpowers that made everyone she spoke to understand math. You still wouldn't get it.
You weren't generally stupid.
You were just stupid for math.
Rowena's eyes met yours for a short moment. Her mouth was wide with a smile; it would have been cute if it wasn't condescending. There was a softness to her expression, a casualness almost innocent. It didn't fool you. You knew the only reason she was looking around was to watch those less fortunate, to rub her success in.
That was what people like her did. They reveled in the others' misfortune, basked in it, breathed it in in large gulps like air. Lived off it.
You flashed her a smile of your own. Sugary sweet, the kind so obviously fake it was purposeful.
She looked away.
Good.
Let her find another target to look down at.
You were not in the mood. At all.
*****
Lunch made you feel a bit better. It wasn't so much the food (the measly pastry you were nibbling on) as it was your friends' support. As always, your tiny gang listened to every word you said and were quick to offer jokes and kind words to make it better.
It worked like magic.
Mostly.
"It's not so bad," Dean said. "I got a zero!" At that he grinned with pride only a jock like him could have in such a grade. "I never got a zero before!"
"Freshman year, English," you reminded him.
"Oh, yeah! That was wild!"
Sure was.
So was the summer school he had to go to to be allowed to pass on to his Sophomore year. Fun times!
He bragged to everyone about his brother helping him out. His younger brother, who was an eighth-grader at the time. If he wasn't a jock, that would've earned him mockery.
"Ms. Hanscum will let you make it up, right?" Sam, the aforementioned brother, asked.
He was a huge nerd. Best kid in his class like Rowena was in yours, but unlike her, he was a good person. Sweet. Kind. He always had his head buried in a book and spent an unhealthy amount of time in the library.
Thanks to his brother's popularity, other popular kids left him alone. Nobody wanted the wrath of Dean Winchester, and, by extension, the entire football team, at their back.
"I guess," you said.
Most likely. Ms. Hanscum was big on helping kids out as best as she could.
"I can help you out, if you want," Sam offered.
Your heart swelled up with gratitude. "Thanks, Sam. I'll let you know."
He was a year younger, but he was smart. Crazy smart. Too bad you and math were on horrible terms.
"Make up exams are for losers," Crowley announced, taking a drag of his cigarette.
You sighed. Expect him to offer useless commentary.
"Dude, you almost failed Sophomore year," you told him. Had it not been for Sam, he would've been held back this summer.
Crowley shrugged. "Happens to the best of us."
You quirked up an eyebrow. "So you're a loser, too?"
"I hang out with you lot, do I not?"
You flipped him the bird, while Sam and Dean rolled their eyes.
Crowley was special. He was your friend and you loved him dearly, maybe even more than the Winchester brothers. He was snarky and sarcastic, liked to push people's buttons, and considered being an annoyance a hobby. Generally, though, he was harmless. All bark and no bite. An acquired taste you'd, for reasons unknown, taken a liking to.
He was a good friend. A great friend.
He was also Rowena's brother.
The MacLeod siblings had a strange relationship. They always snarked at each other. Called each other names and acted hostile. Sometimes even got into screaming matches right in the middle of the hallway and had to be separated by teachers.
But they were also protective of each other. One time, Arthur Ketch had called Rowena a whore. Crowley, who often called her that himself, punched him in the face and got himself a week's detention. Another time, Rowena overheard Naomi Godsend telling her friends about her plan to ask Crowley out on a date as a joke and slapped the living daylights out of her once they'd stepped off school grounds.
It was weird. You didn't ask questions. Even if you did, you doubted Crowley would have any answers.
"Ass," you said.
"Bitch," Crowley retorted.
You laughed. He laughed along.
"Your sister got a hundred percent. Again," you said.
He rolled his eyes. "Figures. Bloody miss perfect."
"She kept looking at people, like, 'I'm so much better than you peasants.'" You imitated her accent in an overly exaggerated way, earning you a laugh from Dean and Crowley.
"Are you sure that's what she was doing?" Sam asked.
Way to ruin the moment.
"Why else would she be doing it?" you asked.
"Maybe she just wanted to see how others did."
"Yeah, and then point and laugh at them."
"Did she do that?" he said.
"Internally, most likely," you said.
"So she didn't."
You sighed. There was no winning this. "She's a bitch, Sam. The entire school knows that."
"The entire school doesn't know her," Sam defended.
"I live with her, Moose," Crowley cut in. "And I can say with utmost certainty she's a massive bitch."
"You think that about everyone," Sam pointed out. "Even us."
"No, I don't," Crowley said defensively. "I think she's a bigger bitch than all of you."
"Thanks so much, Crowley," you deadpanned.
"You're welcome, Y/N," he said smugly.
Sam rolled his eyes, then turned back to you. "She's not so bad."
Sure, she wasn't. "She's badder than bad," you argued. "Why are you friends with her?"
He shrugged. "She's nice."
You snorted. Crowley laughed. Dean scowled as if Sam had just admitted to stealing his porn.
"She is," Sam said defensively. "Once you get to know her."
The only reason she was hanging out with him was his connection to Dean. That was the reason she hung out with all her other "friends." Why she chased after Lucifer Shurley until he agreed to date her. Popularity. Power. It was her drug.
Rowena didn't have friends — she had accessories to use to her advantage.
But no matter how many times you and Crowley told Sam about it, your words fell on deaf ears. The younger Winchester believed in the good in her to the point where he was blind to the bad.
It was his funeral.
You'd already prepared an "I told you so" speech for when she kicked him out of her life like a useless old doll. It was bound to happen eventually.
"Whatever you say, Sam," you said, then changed the subject back to math.
It was much more interesting than Rowena MacLeod.
Much less complicated.
*****
The final ring of the bell for the day was music to your ears. You packed your bag in a hurry and ran out, trying to navigate your way out through the sea of students crowding the hallway, your thoughts already on the diner where your friends, having finished their classes an hour earlier, were waiting for you. You could already smell the food, the delicious aroma of coffee and fruity smoothies, your empty stomach grumbling with yearning.
Then the principal's voice sounded through the speakers, and all your hopes were shattered.
"Rowena MacLeod and Y/N Y/L/N, please come to the principal's office. Rowena MacLeod and Y/N Y/L/N, to the principal's office."
Shit!
What did you do know? What did he think you did? Had Rowena told him something? Had she gotten you in trouble?
The last time you were in the principal's office was a year ago, when Lucifer Shurley thought the ideal way to flirt with you was to get in your face and grab your ass.
You introduced your fist to his face.
Lucky for you, the principal, despite being the asshole's father, was understanding. Lucifer bragging about what he'd done and insisting it wasn't that big a deal probably had something to do with it. Either way, he was suspended for two weeks. You'd gotten off with a warning to just report him next time.
As if.
When had telling the teachers helped anyone other than the offender?
Sighing, you made your way to the principal's office. Snickers and whispers followed your every step. People who knew you teased. Others just watched. Most, however, were on their way out, rushing to leave the hell that was school, happy to be done with their day.
Oh, how you wished you were them.
You gave the door a soft, timid knock. Upon being called in, you opened it and stepped inside the small but tidy office. Paintings adorned the walls, along with diplomas from prestigious schools. The spacious, polished desk was riddled with pictures of the Shurley family, both joint and separate.
The principal sure liked to show off.
Principal Shurley was seated at the desk, clad in jeans and a white T-shirt. Looking more like a student than a principal. His sons must have been proud to be seen with him.
There were two chairs in front of his desk. Rowena occupied one, her bag in her lap, fingers playing with a loose piece of thread that hung from it. Her eyes threatened to raise hell, while her mouth promised heaven, scowl and smile both prominent, seemingly at war with each other. Trying to keep up appearances, but failing to.
You couldn't fault her. The last thing you wanted was to waste precious time in the principal's office while your friends waited for you.
"Take a seat," principal Shurley told you in an overly friendly manner, as if he were your friend rather than an authority figure.
You did as asked, sliding your school bag to the floor by your feet.
"Am I in trouble?" you inquired.
Rowena's eyes narrowed in suspicion as she watched you. You responded with a roll of your eyes.
"Oh, no, no," the principal said "Not at all. Neither of you are in trouble."
Something good, at least.
"Why are we here, then?" Rowena asked, trying her hardest (and failing, in your opinion) to keep her displeasure behind a wall of fake courtesy.
If principal Shurley noticed it, he didn't comment on it. Instead, he said, "I just need to talk to you guys a bit. Nothing bad, I promise."
As soon as he said that, you knew it was a lie.
Principals didn't call students to their office to chat about the weather, or the new episode of their favorite show.
They especially didn't call in students who happened to dislike each other.
You were in trouble. You weren't sure what kind, and what Rowena had to do with it, but you were sure it was nothing good.
As if this day wasn't bad enough as it was.
*****
Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @victoriasagittariablack @rowenaswife @dropsofpetrichor @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @lae-lae @darkhumorsblog @gaysnakess @angel7376 @rowenaisfabulous @ruthieconnells @evil-regal-vampiress @collectorofsecretsandsouls @angel-e-v-a @melisandre02 @a-queen-and-her-throne
#rowena#rowena macleod#rowena x reader#spn#supernatural#sam winchester#dean winchester#crowley#my fics#fanfiction#high school au
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Which Stark do you think Ashara turned too?
*rubs hands together*
Oh, I’ve been patiently waiting for the day I’d get this ask! Big thanks to @ktwrites who helped me iron all of this out long ago! 🐺
I. Ashara probably wasn’t dishonored at all.
“If I had unhorsed Rhaegar and crowned Ashara queen of love and beauty, might she have looked to me instead of Stark?”
Barristan Selmy believes Ashara was dishonored at Harrenhal. But here’s my take on why he might think so: Selmy was working alongside fellow Kingsguard Arthur Dayne, who was most likely an overprotective older brother to Ashara. Whether or not Ashara consented to whatever took place, her brother might not have seen it the same way.
Case in point: Brandon Stark. After all, the person who seemed to be the most upset by Rhaegar crowning Lyanna was her overprotective older brother, who considered it a dishonor. I suppose he could be a total hypocrite, but based on what we know about the Starks in the story—why assume the worst of him? Because he’s ‘wild’? (We’ll come back to this, later)
Lastly, to me, it always seemed curious that two of the most honorable men around—who both had Lyanna and her son’s best interest at heart—felt it necessary to fight to the death at the Tower of Joy. Selmy knew it was ‘a Stark’, but Arthur might’ve known exactly which one—Ned. *adjusts tinfoil hat*
II. Ashara looked to Ned Stark, not Brandon.
We can probably rule out Benjen Stark as a suspect, who was 14 at the time. That out of the way, it is this vague mention of ‘Stark’ that leads people to believe that Brandon Stark was the one to ‘dishonor’ Ashara. However, by the time this topic ever comes up, we’re already told by several characters (Catelyn, Cersei, Edric Dayne and Harwin, a guard at Winterfell) that the rumors are of Ned and Ashara, not Brandon!
And the stories are known from Dorne to King’s Landing to Winterfell. That’s basically the whole damned realm!
• Meera Reed recounts to Bran how Ned and Ashara met at the Tourney at Harrenhal:
“The crannogman (Howland Reed) saw a maid with laughing purple eyes (Ashara Dayne) dance with a white sword, a red snake, and the lord of griffins, and lastly with the quiet wolf (Ned Stark) … but only after the wild wolf (Brandon Stark) spoke to her on behalf of a brother too shy to leave his bench.”
• Catelyn confronts Ned about Ashara:
“And they told how afterward Ned had carried Ser Arthur’s sword back to the beautiful young sister who awaited him in a castle called Starfall on the shores of the Summer Sea. The Lady Ashara Dayne, tall and fair, with haunting violet eyes. It had taken her a fortnight to marshal her courage, but finally, in bed one night, Catelyn had asked her husband the truth of it, asked him to his face. That was the only time in all their years that Ned had ever frightened her. “Never ask me about Jon,” he said, cold as ice. “He is my blood, and that is all you need to know. And now I will learn where you heard that name, my lady.” She had pledged to obey; she told him; and from that day on, the whispering had stopped, and Ashara Dayne’s name was never heard in Winterfell again.”
• Catelyn later reflects on Ashara after Ned’s death:
“If Jon had been born of Ashara Dayne of Starfall, as some whispered, the lady was long dead; if not, Catelyn had no clue who or where his mother might be. Ned was gone now, and his loves and his secrets had all died with him.”
• Even Cersei Lannister is aware of Ned’s relationship with Ashara:
“How dare you play the noble lord with me! What do you take me for? You’ve a bastard of your own, I’ve seen him. Who was the mother, I wonder? Some Dornish peasant you raped while her holdfast burned? A whore? Or was it the grieving sister, the Lady Ashara? She threw herself into the sea, I’m told. Why was that? For the brother you slew, or the child you stole? Tell me, my honorable Lord Eddard, how are you any different from Robert, or me, or Jaime?”
• When Arya encounters Edric Dayne (nephew to Ashara) meets Arya, he tells her:
“Your lord father never spoke of her? The Lady Ashara Dayne, of Starfall?”“No. Did he know her?”“Before Robert was king. She met your father and his brothers at Harrenhal, during the year of the false spring.”“Oh. Why did she jump in the sea, though?”“Her heart was broken.”Sansa would have sighed and shed a tear for true love, but Arya just thought it was stupid. She couldn’t say that to Ned, though, not about his own aunt. “Did someone break it?”“Perhaps it’s not my place…”“Tell me.”“My aunt Allyria says Lady Ashara and your father fell in love at Harrenhal—”
Edric Dayne (nephew to Ashara, who curiously goes by the nickname ‘Ned’) tells Arya that his aunt killed herself over a broken heart, implying it was her father who drove Ashara to do it.
• Arya later discusses the strange tale with one of house Stark’s guards, Harwin:
“Lady Ashara Dayne. It’s an old tale, that one. I heard it once at Winterfell, when I was no older than you are now. I doubt there’s any truth to it. But if there is, what of it? When Ned met this Dornish lady, his brother Brandon was still alive, and it was him betrothed to Lady Catelyn, so there’s no stain on your father’s honor. There’s nought like a tourney to make the blood run hot, so maybe some words were whispered in a tent of a night, who can say? Words or kisses, maybe more, but where’s the harm in that? Spring had come, or so they thought, and neither one of them was pledged.”
Harwin implies that as a young boy, he heard gossip of Ned and Ashara Dayne, even going so far as to paint a picture for us about what might’ve happened between them at the Tourney.
I see their: “The Honorable Ned Stark would never!”
And I raise them a: “What is honor compared to a woman’s love?”
Perhaps this is a mocking nickname, akin to Jaime’s “Kingslayer” or Brienne’s “The Beauty”. And would he really never? Oh, you mean the guy whose whole life is built on a series of lies? Yeah, him.
This isn’t me besmirching the man, either. But to say that a young man without a pledge riddled with what was likely a mutual lust with one the most beautiful women in all seven kingdoms—Yeah, he probably would. Like Harwin told Arya, it was no stain on his honor. Not yet.
And I see the argument that “Ashara wouldn’t want Ned, he was too shy to talk to her”. I can assure you, many women find that sort of thing attractive/endearing (myself included). To quote ladyofdragonstone (albeit a bit out of context, lol)…
“Ned can get it.”
III. Defending the honor of Brandon Stark.
Let’s take a closer look at Brandon and his character.
Many assume that his ‘wolf’s blood’ means he was promiscuous. But let’s look at the context in which it’s described by Ned:
“Ah, Arya. You have a wildness in you, child. ‘The wolf blood,’ my father used to call it. Lyanna had a touch of it, and my brother Brandon more than a touch. It brought them both to an early grave.“ Arya heard sadness in his voice; he did not often speak of his father, or of the brother and sister who had died before she was born. “Lyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had allowed it. You remind me of her sometimes. You even look like her.”
Now if you don’t come away from this paragraph assuming Arya and Lyanna to be promiscuous, why should we assume ‘wolf’s blood’ means something different for Brandon?
Yes, Brandon had a tasteless joke about his sword—‘I want it sharp enough to shave the hair from a woman’s cunt’, but considering some of the raunchiest jokes I’ve ever heard were from when I was about Arya’s age in grade school… I’d say a joke graphic or sexual in nature doesn’t ensure someone’s promiscuity, either.
Somehow, Brandon has got the reputation for being a bit of a ‘manwhore’, yet the only person we can confirm he’s slept with was Barbrey Ryswell, whom he almost certainly cared for—yet duty required a match with Catelyn Tully, instead. Barbrey seems to still harbor love for Brandon, even lamenting that she never got to be a Stark. She said he wasn’t shy about taking what he wanted, but there’s no actual proof he’d ever taken anyone else’s ‘maidenhead’ other than hers.
“The day I learned that Brandon was to marry Catelyn Tully, though … there was nothing sweet about that pain. He never wanted her, I promise you that.”
She can promise it. And to me, it sounds like he might’ve genuinely cared for Barbrey. The woman is still haunted by this all these years later. Sounds like she loved him, too.
“I still remember the look of my maiden’s blood on his cock the night he claimed me. I think Brandon liked the sight as well. A bloody sword is a beautiful thing, yes.”
This is open for interpretation (as is everything), but to me, the fact that she bled might hint that he didn’t have a lot of experience with women.
Lastly, back to Brandon’s protectiveness for a moment. He had to be restrained from confronting Rhaegar after his sister was ‘dishonored’ with a garland of roses. Upon her disappearance, he accompanied his father to King’s Landing to confront Rhaegar and retrieve Lyanna. When Aerys captured them, Brandon even choked himself to death in an attempt to reach his father, to save him.
Assume what you will about Brandon’s sexual proclivities, but…
Family meant everything to Brandon Stark.
Maybe he was a raging ‘manwhore’, just like Robert Baratheon.
…But (and you know what the Starks say about everything that comes before the word ‘but’) I don’t believe for one minute that this man turned around and slept with (or gods forbid raped) Ashara Dayne, who his brother was so fond of, he was rendered speechless and red-faced. That’s not Brandon Stark. Brandon asking Ashara to dance with Ned was just another good brotherly deed amongst many.
“And what is duty against the memory of a brother’s smile?”
I’ve put a lot of thought into this very topic. And in my research, I can say that there just isn’t anything, not even his supposed ‘reputation’, that might hint at Brandon dishonoring Ashara Dayne at the Tourney at Harrenhal—nothing but the name ‘Stark’. 🤷
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Mysme Royal AU - Saeyoung The Royal Scribe
I have decided to continue my royal AU! So here is the next part! Where Knight MC meets Saeyoung, the scribe for the royal court! I hope you enjoy!
Something Wicked (Awesome) This Way Comes
As MC stood in front of the massive gate her feet still unwilling to move, she noticed it was oddly quiet. Only moments ago it seemed like peasants and nobles alike were pushing their way past one another outside of the castles walls. Going about their day's as planned. She looked to her right and as soon as she did she heard a sharp voice.
"Ya know..."
MC snapped her eyesight to the left. Standing next to her, looking directly forward, was a seemingly common man, with blazing red hair and honey eyes. The sun hitting them, the trajectory of the light making them shine gold. He was not looking at MC and he had not finished his sentence. MC stared at him with wide eyes. Wondering if he was going to continue. The silence making her uncomfortable. She furrowed her brows and inhaled, ready to break the silence. But as if he was baiting her to try and say something, before she could get the words out, the man cut her off.
"I found that just staring at things doesn't cause them to do what you want. Allow me to assist you, fair maiden!" The red haired man walked up to the gate. When he gave it a few gentle raps with his knuckles, the gate began to part open. "You see. Just gotta know the right knock to get in." He winked and walked back beside of MC.
"Thanks but...I wasn't exactly trying to get inside." MC mumbled to herself, clenching her hands into fists and looking down at the dirt beneath her, but her voice carries more than she is aware of.
"Oh, were you not? Are you waiting on a formal invitation? No that can't be right. You already got one!"
When she looked to her side the man was gone again. She found him perched. Sitting on one of the nearby posts by the gate. A very high post. She was impressed he made it up to sit. She arched an eyebrow at him quizzically.
"You know who I am?"
"Why of course! You're the new sheriff in town! I was just on my way inside and as a member of the royal court, seeing you, it is my duty to greet you! Make you feel at home!" The lively man jumped down and stood beside her once more. He picked up the roughed up sack and satchel MC had brought with her and threw them over his shoulder. "So onward we go my lord!" With his free arm he pointed forward in a charging motion and began to hastily walk through the gate doors.
MC chuckled to herself and found that her legs that earlier felt like they were cemented to the ground, now were as light as feathers and she took the first step forward since she had arrived at C&R Kingdom. She quickened her pace to catch up with her new acquaintance.
"So you know me, but who exactly are you? You seem very informal for a member of the royal court."
The man stopped and turned toward her with a deadpan look. Then a single tear fell from the corner of his eye. MC stood in horror trying to think of what she had done to trigger such emotion.
"Thank you! That is one of the nicest things anyone could say to me!" His honey eyes sparkling from the moisture of his fake tears, closed tight as he let out a hardy laugh and began to walk forward once more. "The name is Saeyoung! And I am the royal scribe!" He stopped and waited for MC to step beside him and then he leaned in close to her ear. "I am also the self appointed caretaker of the Prince's royal feline, but that's between you and I." Saeyoung winked at MC and they continued on their walk down the paved path to the castles main doors.
MC was walking with her hands clasped behind her back and her posture straight as a board. She was not carrying anything since the scribe so graciously scooped up her things. She knew that she was within the castle walls now however, and she needed to present herself in a certain manner. She came to be the head of an army. A "Lord" to the Prince. She had not yet met Prince Jumin but she couldn't let herself falter in the eyes of anyone who was already known to him. The people within these walls were potentially her men, the people she was to lead. And even those that were not hers to command, she felt needed to see her and take her seriously in her new position. Aside from that, intimidation. The Prince and the royal court may have invited her to the kingdom of C&R but that didn't meant it's people would be so gracious as well. She walked tall and proud but her inner Knight had rusted armor.
"And those are the only titles you hold?" MC side eyed her companion, looking for a specific answer.
"Well, some people call me Seven! As for titles though, I hold no more. Is something bothering you oh brave knight?"
"Bothering me? No. It does not bother me. But you did not mention to me that you can do magic."
Saeyoung did not stop walking but MC noticed that his shoulders tensed. He was only about a foot in front of her. He looked back and she saw the corner of his lips upturn slightly.
"Is that so? I wasn't planning on bringing it up so that is probably why, well...probably why I didn't!" He laughed but MC did not find it as entertaining as him.
"Well yes, after all, you are a mage." MC stopped walking, signalling that she was starting a heavier conversation between the two. "So you are like me. Hiding somewhere that accepts your differences because the rest of the lands fear what you do."
Saeyound let out a loud gasp and held his hands over his heart. "Oh Revolutionary Knight! Such filthy words you speak! The M word is forbidden across this land and many many others!"
She raised her brow at the man once more. Not playing along with his games. "But you are. That gate has to be manually operated but there was no one stationed at that point. You were perched on that post that was far to high and difficult to climb, and you are carrying those bags with such ease because you aren't really carrying them. They are hovering."
"Looks like you caught me oh wise and ruthless knight!" Saeyoung placed his hands behind his head, interlocking his fingers and using them as a pillow. He leaned back. Far enough to where he could lift his legs off the ground. He was levitating now, swinging side to side as if he were in an invisible hammock. "I have magic hands. It's true. And if you come to my chambers later I could even show you my crystal ball." He raised his eyebrows a time or two at MC.
"I'll pass." MC hoisted herself up to sit on the half wall that was bordering the paved path they were walking. Saeyoung brought his feet back down to meet the the path and leaned against the wall. Putting his weight on his elbows. "You use magic so openly?"
"Within these walls, absolutely! These are my people! They love The Great Wizard Saeyoung!" He stood up and began to move his hands around gracefully, like he was summoning spells over a cauldron.
MC merely rolled her eyes. "I doubt that anyone calls you that."
Saeyoung floated himself to sit next to MC on top of the wall and he let out a soft sigh. "Listen, MC. You've heard of The Knights of the Round Table?" MC only nodded her head in response. "The great knight, Arthur Pendragon, who wields the legendary sword Excalibur. King Arthur who fights with his companion the great wizard, Merlin! That. That is you and I. Our destiny. What we are about to become. This Kingdom faces a great danger. The Empress of Magenta and her Mint army. They will come soon. And when that time comes, you and I will stop her! Together. The Valiant Knight and Extraordinary Wizard! THE FAMOUS DUO! MC AND SEVEN! SEVEN AND MC! WITH THEIR STEEL AND MAGIC! HEROES OF C&R!" He flung his arms towards the sky but gave himself a little too much momentum. The enthusiastic story teller lost balance and tumbled backwards. The path they were walking and the wall they were perched on were not high, but the drop behind them was pretty significant.
"Saeyoung!" MC shouted after him, hopping off of the wall and grabbing his wrist.
"Nice catch, MC! But there was really no need to get so worked up. I mean...you know...legendary wizard and all." He smirked and MC pulled him up over the ledge. Instead of sitting back on the wall they settled for leaning against it.
"Sure, all of that sounds exciting Saeyoung but Arthur and Merlin? They are just legends, myths."
"So were you, MC. The Revolutionary Knight. But here you are, right in front of me. Coming to help our lowly little kingdom."
A million thoughts began to rush through MC's head and she leaned in silence. The energetic red haired man she had met only minutes ago was trying to convince her of this tale about a disgraced maiden on the run, turned hero. She didn't want to be a house wife, a simple maiden or the princess to some kingdom she didn't care for just because of a sham marriage. So she became a fighter and a rogue, knowing it was not how things are supposed to work. Once that facade came crashing down she was an outlaw. And now she is back in someone's kingdom, under someones rule but she is an authority. All of these thoughts where overwhelming but she knew as the "Revolutionary Knight" she didn't have time to dwell. She was to push forward.
"Well," She pushed herself off of the wall and collected her sack and satchel from the ground. "If we are going to become legendary heroes to be remembered...It's a good thing you're handsome."
Caught off guard by the comment, Saeyoungs cheeks flushed. Then he rushed after MC who had made it quite away's ahead of him.
"So are you rethinking your answer to meeting me in my chambers later?" The magician teased.
"Absolutely not."
Saeyoung huffed at MC's blatant response. They walked in a comfortable silence for a moment until the atrocious roar of MC's intestines burst forth.
"Aha! Our hero is hungry! It just so happens I know where to find the best chef in the kingdom!" Saeyoung grabbed MC's forearm and jerked her into a new direction. "This way! Off to see the kingdoms royal chef! Who not only is the best chef, but he is also the cutest." Saeyoung laughed to himself as he drug MC off to a separate place other than the main entrance to the castle. There was still a bit of time before she had to meet with Prince Jumin.
#writing#fanfiction#fandom#mysme#mystic messenger#mysticmessenger#mysme fanfic#mysme fandom#mystic messenger fanfic#AU#Royal AU#saeyoung#saeyoung choi#seven#mysme 707#mysme seven#mysme saeyoung#mc#reader#Knight MC#enjoy!
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Slight Differences, A few Changes
Chapter 2: Meetings
Merlin…
Merlin woke with a start, relaxing only because of Catheryn. She was curled up to his chest and seemed to be sleeping peacefully, a rare occurrence for both of them. He smiled at his surrogate sister, gently combing his fingers through her shoulder length hair.
Merlin…
He must still be half asleep, since the voice hadn’t stopped calling his name yet. He gently nudged Catheryn, not wanting to be late for his new, if unofficial, job as Gaius’ apprentice. “Cath. We need to get ready for the day.” he whispered, knowing that neither of them would be alright if they separated.
“Hmm…?” Catheryn yawned, looking much like a cat. “Good morning…” she greeted sleepily, rubbing her eyes while trying to stretch her back.
Merlin…
“Do you hear that?” he asked her as they both got out of bed. Catheryn looked at him in question, head tilted to the right. Her face was scrunched up in a frown as she concentrated. “I can sense at least two other magical beings in the castle…” she told him after a moment, before backtracking. “Make that three others, aside from us, though I sense no ill will from any of them.”
Merlin…
“Let’s investigate later.” Merlin opened the door before gesturing for her to go out. “After you.” he said with a hint of teasing. Catheryn huffed, arms crossed over her chest. “Not a lady…” she grumbled before going ahead. He followed after her, chuckling lightly at her attitude.
“Ah, good. You’re both up.” Gaius was brewing a batch of potions in the corner of his chambers. “Just a minute, I have deliveries I need you to make.” he said as he placed herbs into the pot. “That’s fine.” Merlin spoke at the same time Catheryn said, “Could we have breakfast?”
“Of course. There’s porridge on the table over there and two sets of bowls and utensils. I also got you water for bathing.”
Merlin and Catheryn easily fell into a routine, where Catheryn added more porridge to Merlin’s bowl before they began to eat. “Hunith and Will would both be devastated if you didn’t eat right, Merlin.” she told him when he gave her a seemingly resigned look. “I would have gotten more later, Cath.”
“You and I both know you wouldn’t have.”
Gaius observed their interaction with a raised brow, contemplating what could have lead to his dear old friend taking the young girl in. Once the two were finished eating and bathing, Gaius gave them their list of deliveries. “Here, there’s Hollyhock and Feverfew for Lady Anne.” Catheryn took the two bottles and placed them in a sack. “And this is for Sir Olwin. He's as blind as a weevil, so warn him not to take it all at once.”
Merlin nodded as he took the potion from the physician. “Where exactly are they, at this hour?” he asked, not wanting to get himself and Catheryn lost in the citadel. Gaius informed them of the areas (and told them in a quiet tone to “... lay low and avoid being noticed…”)
→ Training Grounds ←
They were making their way back to the castle for lunch when they heard a rather arrogant voice ask, “Where's the target?”
Catheryn gave Merlin a look. “I’ll be with you. I know how you are about these kinds of people.” she said before taking Merlin’s hand in hers. They continued walking and tried to ignore the scene in the training area. They could hear the knights laughing for whatever reason before they heard someone say, “I'll put the target on the other end, shall I, my lord?”
“Teach him a lesson. Go on.” One of the knights suggested, not even attempting to smother his amusement. Merlin took a deep breath before turning to see what was going on, exactly. “This will teach him.” a blond haired knight said, readying himself to throw a knife. The knife flew from his hand and hit the shield, thankfully, and not the young man holding it up. “Hey, now! That’s dangerous, my friend!” Merlin announced, Catheryn staying far enough away to not get hurt but close enough to assist if need be.
The blond knight turned to face him, blue eyes regarding Merlin’s stature. “Do I know you?” he asked, arrogant and very, very annoying in Merlin’s opinion. “I’m Merlin. Who are you to treat him like that?” his eyes met the knight’s own and he refused to back down. “You do not know me?” the knight had a look of surprise on his face. “A prattish arse?” the blond made a sound of annoyance. “I could have you thrown in the dungeons for that!”
“Why? Are you the king?” Merlin asked in a mocking tone. “No. I’m his son. Prince Arthur.” Catheryn could not handle it anymore and decided to intervene. “Prince or not, at the end of the day, we are all people.” Merlin spoke slowly, as if he were speaking with a child. “Merlin, we need to head back to Gaius’ study.” Catheryn said as she stepped over to them.
“Hah! Tell Gaius that your... friend here will be in the dungeons for a while.” Catheryn gave the man a long, cold stare. It was rather unnerving, if Arthur were honest. “My brother and I don’t really agree with your ways. Just because you are more experienced in battle compared to us, you believe you have all the right to hurt us…” Catheryn became quiet at for a moment before pulling her brother away. “We have to go see a our new acquaintance, remember?”
Arthur was shocked, so much so that he could only watch as the two strangers disappeared into the castle.
→ Hallways ←
“I was very annoyed at him, too!” Catheryn huffed as she walked with Merlin. “Just because he is in a high position, he thinks he’s immortal or untouchable! The nerve!” She stops speaking only when Merlin’s strides came to a stop. “Merlin?” her voice held concern for her brother. “Nevermind. It’s nothing.” he said, faintly smiling at her. “Let’s go meet our caller, shall we?” Catheryn nodded at his words, though she frowned at how he disregarded his own worries and problems… Just as always…
They walked in relative silence after that. Until they reached the dungeons, of course.
“Cold cells?” Merlin asked, not sure whether to be amused or worried. “They think cold dungeon cells will keep magic users from escaping?” he shook his head, exasperated. “You’d think they would know by now that they need magic restraining objects to keep escapes from happening…” Catheryn nodded at the observation. “Maybe there are more cells further in?” she asked before Merlin pulled her arm, holding her against the wall. “There are guards over there. They seem tired, but they would notice us if we continue on.”
“I’ve got it.” She reassured him before her blue eyes turned gold. “Slǽpan.” The guards promptly fell asleep, slumping into their chairs. “See, all good. We won’t get caught or hurt as long as we have each other’s back.” Merlin gave her an appreciative look before they walked to what appeared to be the entrance of a cavern. Catheryn walked in first. “I truly hope we won’t get into trouble, here…” Merlin whispered mostly to himself before walking after his sister.
“Who are you and why have you been calling Merlin?” she all but shouted to the empty cave. “Catheryn! Don’t try to enrage a magical being! We don’t even know what we could be facing up against…” Merlin was startled as he heard what could only be wings flapping. It wasn’t long before a large dragon landed before the pair, golden eyes studying them both. “Ah, young warlock. How small you are for such a great destiny.” the dragon then looked imploringly at Catheryn. “Hmm… How peculiar that you are here.” he said, sounding shocked.
(At least, Merlin thinks he was shocked. He has no experience with dragons, though, so he could not be entirely sure.)
“I won’t let those visions come true.” She spoke as though she was warning the dragon. “Wait, are you speaking of the prophecy?” Merlin asked, confused as to why the blond girl was seemingly annoyed with the dragon. “Yes.” she answered, glaring at the dragon like she expected it to agree. “It seems I do not need to tell you of your destiny, young warlock.” the dragon breathed out a puff of smoke. “I shall simply tell you this. None of us can choose our destiny, Merlin, and none of us can escape it.”
Catheryn scowled at the beast. “That is true, but the future is split in two paths. We will never let one of the two happen.” she said with such determination. “Whatever path you take, the end result shall be the same.” The dragon spoke with such authority that Merlin worried about Catheryn’s reactions. “The future you see is different from the one I see.” She told the dragon before taking Merlin’s hand in her own. “You know which one of us has a better Sight, dragon. Don’t ever forget who I am.”
The dragon roared as the they made their way out of the cavern.
→ Prince’s Chambers ←
The royal chambers were, naturally, spacious. There was a bed large enough for three or four full grown men. It was placed at the center of the room. To its left was a large window overlooking the courtyard below, where peasants and noblemen alike were milling about. Opposite the window were the doors. The bed face the right hand side of the room, where a study desk could be found. Prince Arthur sat behind the desk, looking pensive and confused.
“I’m Merlin. Who are you to treat him like that?”
“Prince or not, at the end of the day, we are all people.”
He sighed, not knowing why he even bothered with those words. “I am the prince. I have no reason at all to heed the words of a peasant…!” he told himself before taking a deep breath. “Morris!” He called, satisfied that the servant entered his chambers not even five seconds later. “The feast won’t begin until the Lady Helen arrives, Sire.” the man had bowed upon entry and had yet to rise. “I am aware of that. I wish to hunt for a while.”
→ Hallways ←
It did not take long for Arthur to be prepared for his impromptu hunting. He sighed once more before leaving his chambers. On his way to the stables, he saw the two peasants from earlier exit the dungeons. Before they could notice him, he hid around the corner of the hallway, listening intently.
“That beast has no idea what he speaks of.” the girl spoke with a huff. “Well, maybe if you two just talk it out, you wouldn’t fight with each other?” the boy, Merlin as he recalled, had an amused air about him.
Arthur frowned at the idea of a beast living in the castle.
“Yes, well. If he learned to appreciate my talents, then perhaps we could get along in the future.”
Arthur suddenly felt quite silly. Perhaps they were talking of a possible suitor for the girl, though she looks no older than fourteen. Likely, even, that she was younger than fourteen.
“Well, next time, you could ask him for flowers and sunshine!” Merlin’s voice was full amusement and laughter. “Merlin! I’m not a lady!” she retaliated. “And even if you were a delicate lady, you would not even toy with the idea of pestering him for flowers?”
Arthur shook his head before continuing on his way, berating himself for listening for so long.
“Would you believe that he and I are supposed to be friends at the very least!?” the girl’s shout was loud enough to be heard across the hallway and Arthur found himself pitying whoever thought they could court her.
→ Court Room ←
Arthur never did get to hunt. For on his way to the woods, Lady Helen entered the gates of Camelot.
It was late afternoon when Lady Helen was welcomed by the royal family, including the King’s ward. “Lady Helen.” King Uther held her hand as a form of greeting.”Welcome to Camelot.” He told her before releasing her hand. “I am honored to be performing in this lovely city.” She said with a smile. “The honor is ours.” The king gave Morgana a pointed look when her smile seemed to waver.
Morgana scowled once Lady Helen had gone to her guest chambers. Her dark skinned maidservant had simply placed a hand on her shoulder to get the fair skinned lady to calm down, even for a little. “Shall we get you dressed for the feast, My Lady?”
“Yes. Thank you, Gwen.”
Arthur watched their exchange, feeling that familiar tinge of jealousy at seeing how deep and true their bond was. Gwen seemed to know exactly what Morgana needed and how to give it to her with no problem. Morgana was fiercely protective of her, as well. The two were so close, Morgana claimed they were best friends. Arthur wished he could find someone like that for himself. A true friend, at least, for he knew whenever he married, it would be for politics and not for love.
If only I could leave this part of my life and have someone who sees me as myself.... He thought as he he made his way to the training grounds. If I can not vent while hunting, I should at least be able to work these feelings out of my system through sparring.
→Physician's Chambers←
"Ah, Merlin. Catheryn. Just in time." Gaius told them as they entered. "I need you to deliver this to Lady Helen." He handed a vial of clear liquid to Merlin. "What is it?" Catheryn asked, studying the vial. "It's a tonic for the throat. To help prepare her for her performance." Merlin pocketed the vial before turning around to leave. "Oh, Catheryn. I need some assistance brewing these potions." Merlin froze up. "Go, Merlin. We're in the castle. No one will hurt either of us here." Catheryn gently nudged him out the door.
"I'll be quick. I promise." Merlin gave her a meaningful look as he spoke before hurrying on his way.
"Alright. You may ask me any questions, now." arms crossed over her chest, Catheryn gave Gaius a scathing look. The old physician was startled for a few seconds before he regained his bearing. "Yes, well. How do you and Merlin know each other?" he asked, returning to his potions. "And before anything else, I truly do need assistance." Catheryn raised a brow, though Gaius could not see her expression, as he was turned away from her. "Pass me the pestle while you begin your story."
Catheryn took the pestle from the table to her left and held it to Gaius. "It's not a happy story." She said before recounting the events in a hard, cold manner, like she was simply an overseer of the whole story of their meeting. By the time she finished with the tale, Merlin had returned. He had a frightened look on his face and his skin was paler than usual. Catheryn promptly tended to him. "Is something wrong? What happened?" she asked him.
"I saw... Spell book... Not her... Reflection..."
Catheryn's eyes narrowed and Gaius gasped as Merlin explained.
#merlin#arthur#ofc catheryn#gaius#lady helen#uther#merlin bbc#fanfiction#briefly mentions morgana#briefly mentions gwen#kilgarrah#sdafc#fanfic#implied past abuse
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The Princes and the Necklaces
Rated T for sweary words.
Man, I’m so disappointed in myself for being late with this one but, urgh. Technically, I could have posted this before I went to bed but I hadn’t finished reading it over and I’m glad I waited because there were a lot of mistakes.
The kingdoms' names are taken from 'fate' and 'kingdom' in their languages. As in: German, Welsh, French and Russian.
Once, there were two kings who had grown up during a time of peace. Their fathers, the kings before them, had encouraged their friendship and they had grown close. When they married, they were each other’s best men. Every year, they made sure to visit each other, dragging their loving wives with them.
Both were overjoyed to discover that they would be having children, even more so when they would be born within months of each other. The Losrech child would be born first, followed a few months later by the Dynras child. With their children being born so close together, the kings decided to hold a joint celebration after the second child had settled somewhat. So it was that, in the middle of spring, Prince Gilbert of Losrech was brought along with his parents to meet Prince Arthur of Dynras.
Such was their happiness that the two monarchs invited everyone in their kingdoms to the capital. Camps grew outside the city’s walls to house the sheer number of guests that it couldn’t hold. Bright colours were seen everywhere, the buildings draped with varying decorations. The noise levels increased with every day that brought the gala and palace ball closer. Even some of the better known magical creatures attended, such as Elizaveta, the fairy godmother.
She was quite impressed by the amount of thought that had been spared by the monarchs. They paid for everything, with assurances that their alliance was better than ever and their economy would make up any discrepancies. The people had rallied and most of them volunteered to cook or entertain those that had come from afar. Most importantly, of those magical beings that had any connection to the royals, all had been invited. Elizaveta didn’t need to be on the look-out for any completely avoidable interruptions.
Finally, the day dawned that would be the noisiest and most fun-filled yet. Everyone was excited to see the princes. But, before either of them were to be presented, those that held special invitations could enter the palace and offer gifts. Most of them were toymakers, eager to make a good impression and increase their trade. A few of them happened to be in Elizaveta’s profession and she was pleased to see them bestow appropriate blessings on them.
Elizaveta stepped up to the dais where the royals sat, their thrones all equal in size. The cribs were beside the queens, right next to each other. The queen of Dynras was fussing over her son as Elizaveta approached and she smiled when she saw that. It looked as though Arthur would be well looked after. When Elizaveta peeked into Gilbert’s crib, she found him fast asleep, tiny hands clenched in fists as he breathed deeply. His mother was unable to hide her smile: Gilbert would also be happy, Elizaveta was sure.
“Welcome, Godmother,” said the king of Losrech, kindly red eyes fixed on her as he spoke. “I am glad to see that you made it so far.”
Bowing her head respectfully, Elizaveta said, “I made an exception. It is always a pleasure to see future monarchs.”
“They will be fast friends, I’m sure,” said the king of Dynras.
“I shall endeavour to make sure that happens,” Elizaveta replied. “That shall be my blessing.”
Producing her wand, Elizaveta stood over their cribs. To work the spell, she touched the slim piece of sing-wood to each baby’s nose, pausing only to marvel at how brightly intense Prince Arthur’s green eyes were. She left the wand pointed down at them as she opened her mouth to say her blessing. But she stopped when she felt her wand tug at her grip. Surprised, she watched as her wand began to emit multi-coloured sparks. Before either of the queens could grow alarmed, Elizaveta tilted her wand upwards and watched as the sparks became a fountain of lights and glitter, the tail ends of it dissipating over both princes.
Behind her, the crowd oohed. A nearby fairy gasped in recognition. Dynras’s king leaned forward, frowning in confusion. “What does this mean?” he asked.
“It means…” Elizaveta was still amazed at what had just transpired and she had to clear her throat before she continued. “It means that these two princes are soulmates.”
“‘Soulmates’?” Losrech’s queen echoed. “Does that mean… they will be together?”
“They’ll be married?” asked Arthur’s mother looking delighted.
“Well,” said Elizaveta, not wanting to shatter her joy so early by explaining to her that that wasn’t how soulmates always worked. Unfortunately, the royals took her hesitance to mean yes and the two kings jumped to their feet.
“Our sons will bring our kingdoms together even further!” Gilbert’s father exclaimed. “This is the best thing to happen!”
“Our kingdoms will be prosperous,” Arthur’s father agreed. “This means that there is even more to celebrate!”
As the royals eagerly began to discuss when and where their sons would marry, Elizaveta closed her eyes and reached to her magic. It had identified them as soulmates but it could also show her the near future. Seeing what she did had her eyes flying open, horror colouring her expression. She looked down at the poor babies, wishing she could take back what she had said. But it was done now and there was no way to change it without making the matter worse.
There was one way, though, that she could still help them…
The blessing I had prepared,” Elizaveta said, catching their attention, “will not help them, not when they are destined to be as close as they will be. Allow me to bestow upon them something else.”
“Of course!” the queen of Dynras exclaimed, excitedly.
Smiling, Elizaveta raised her wand and waved it in a complicated motion. The air shimmered and, soon, a shiny shape began to form. Eventually, the silver heart that appeared solidified. Two little rings appeared on either side of it. An intricate design carved its way into it just as two thin chains looped through the rings. Then Elizaveta tapped the heart and it broke in half, the crack a smooth, rolling cut. They hung in the air, hanging from the chains to reveal matching necklaces.
“These protective amulets,” Elizaveta told them, “will protect them both when they cannot be with each other. They will also ease their separation.” She bowed her head slightly to the queens and, when they nodded, she lowered them into the cribs, tucking them close to each baby. What she had said was true, but there was also another reason for them and, as she leaned in to kiss them both goodbye, she whispered it to them, her words magically lodging in their heads so they would remember them in time.
When she straightened, she saw that Arthur had caught hold of the necklace’s chain and was waving it around. Gilbert had shifted, his hand clutching at his half of the heart firmly. With a final smile at them and their parents, Elizaveta stepped away, hoping the other fairies’ blessings would be enough to protect them both until they could meet again.
Nearly 18 years later, Prince Gilbert of Losrech stood just outside Dyrnas’s capital city. Or, rather, he stood across the valley from it. The city had been built at one end of a long valley with any extensions sprawling along one slope. Buildings towered over the river below. On the other side of the tip was the main road which wound through a forested area. Gilbert stood at the edge of that, staring at the walls and windows and battlements. The distant bustle of the city still reached him and he tightened his grip on his pack, well aware that people could be cruel enough to steal from even a supposed peasant.
“Woah!” said a voice by his side. “I’ve never seen anything like it!”
Gilbert could believe that. Both of his companions (who had tired enough that they had been lagging behind) were the sons of a farmer near the southern shore of the country. Alfred and Matthew had grown up surrounded by fields and farm animals. They were also only a day’s ride or two days walk to the ocean. Neither of them had been in a city, only the market towns that surrounded their farm.
Not that Gilbert had been in a city lately, either.
“Yeah,” Gilbert conceded. “It’s impressive.”
“There’s the palace,” said Matthew on his other side. Gilbert almost jumped when Matthew spoke: he was the quieter of the twins and he hadn’t heard him approach. “We’re almost at our goal.”
Looking back to the city, Gilbert followed the city to its top. There, tall and broad towers stretched into the sky. A red roof stretched between them. The rest of it was obscured by the rest of the city’s buildings and Gilbert was a little relieved. Maybe he would turn and leave if he could see the entirety of it.
“We’ve still got a long way to go,” he warned them, shoving aside his doubts. “They won’t let us just go in.”
“Still,” said Alfred, grinning. “We’re gonna be knights!”
The confidence in his voice had Gilbert smiling but he wasn’t completely at ease. “Let’s go,” he said, and led the way along the path.
Despite accompanying his foster-brothers, Gilbert was worried. It wasn’t every day that an enemy prince simply walked into the capital city. Then again, technically, Losrech was no longer at war with Dynras. But that was only because Losrech had been stretched too thin, what with fighting wars on three fronts. Destiroy and Sudkor had attacked Losrech shortly after they had increased their troops on their Dynras border. It hadn’t been long before both kingdoms had captured sizeable chunks of land from the smaller country. There had been chaos when this had happened, none of the soldiers sure who to fight or where to march.
During this chaos, Prince Gilbert had been smuggled away from the palace. His parents were dead but he’d been entrusted to an old friend of his father’s who took him across a war-torn country. They had sneaked through the Dynras’s confused border patrol, none of them sure where the soldiers they had once been pushing against had gone. Some, Gilbert had heard, suspected a sneak attack. It was a miracle that they managed to travel across Dynras, especially with Gilbert’s white hair and red eyes, one of the few native Losrech signs there were. But, eventually, they had made it to Alfred and Matthew’s farm where the knight had seen that there were children Gilbert’s age. Somehow, he had convinced the farmer to take him in and left him with strict instructions to be careful.
Scared, Gilbert had been slow to warm to the two genial twins. Thankfully, they were patient or oblivious and they wormed their way under his defences. One of the reasons it took so long to win him over was because Gilbert had never had friends his own age before. His only friend had been his tutor, Old Fritz, who was now dead. They had been in the palace closest to Sudkor and Old Fritz had sent Gilbert away just before it was stormed but the Sudkors. Gilbert had only been there because his parents wanted him as far from the fighting against Dynras as possible.
And yet, here he was, about to walk into their capital city and sign up to be a knight. This was not in some sort of loyalty that Gilbert had to this kingdom that had taken him in. Rather, he felt that he needed to get back his throne at some point. Rumours had reached him that the prince was campaigning to help the Losrech refugees claim back their kingdom. The king agreed with him and was already mobilising to fight off the Destiroyans and Sudkors. If Gilbert could be in his army sometime soon, he could reach his homeland and reclaim his throne.
Which would only work if they could be taken on as knights…
At the entrance to the city, they were stopped for the papers which Alfred had. Thankfully, Gilbert had been given some as a refugee. Unfortunately, he would have to start remembering the fake name he had chosen. Alfred and Matthew both knew who he was and were happy to keep it secret, for which he was thankful. But, if he told anyone in this capital city that he was called Gilbert, while looking like he did, suspicions were sure to be raised. Would they simply kill him or drag him in front of the royal family for judgement?
They passed into the city with very little resistance and were at once distracted. Both twins stared in awe at the tall buildings and the people going to and fro, always busy. Gilbert, meanwhile, pulled on his memories to make comparisons. While most of the outer buildings in his own capital city were plain, here there were decorations, most of them faded, none of them looked at by the locals. The people themselves were far busier than he remembered Losrechans to be.
As they got closer to the centre of the city, everything increased. People were walking around or rushing to another destination. Others were outside their storefronts, working. Carts and coaches slowly made his way through the crowds, men and women alike shouting at their animals. More people were also touting their wares, trying to attract customers. Blacksmiths pounded on metal, tailors pinned their cloth, butchers chopped, fishmongers deboned, innkeepers dragged barrels of beer. Delicious food smells mixed with horse and dog scents. The stench of shit was only covered up in small whiffs by the flowers which flowed over window boxes.
Children darted between everyone, laughing and shouting. Some seemed to be playing a game of tag. Older children, however, were doing something quite different. Gilbert watched as an older kid bumped into a man, obviously there on business or visiting since he kept looking around. Once the boy apologised, he dashed off, something in his hand he hadn’t held before. So, Gilbert realised, there were pickpockets here, too. Thankfully, he had nothing valuable to steal - save for the necklace which he kept hidden from everyone.
It had been with him since he was a baby. His mother used to say that it was an amulet, that it would protect him from harm. Somehow, though, Gilbert knew, somewhere deep down, that if he ever met anyone with the same necklace, one that fit perfectly against the curvy edge, he would have found the person he was meant to be with. During his escape, he hadn’t held out hope, knowing it was far too dangerous for him to meet anyone like that. In fact, it would likely be too dangerous until he managed to return home.
Eventually, they reached the building where those hoping to be knights signed up. It was set into a long wall which separated the castle from the rest of the city. A sign above it read Sign-Ups, as if they were confident that everyone would know what they meant. There was a man on guard outside it, bored and staring out over the crowd. His clothing was simplistic but he carried a sword on his belt and Gilbert could see a sheath for a knife. He perked up when he saw them coming and stopped them for their papers. Gilbert was confused about that until he got inside and saw that there was an open door, also guarded, which led to the palace grounds beyond. They were asked several questions at a large desk but were ultimately accepted into the knights’ academy by a serious looking man. Since it was so late, however, they were told to find somewhere to stay so they could get their barracks ready for them in the morning.
Happy, they left, Alfred practically bouncing. He chattered their ears off as they went from inn to inn, unable to find somewhere to stay within their budget. They were getting further and further from the palace as the sun began to lower in the sky. Gilbert’s heart sank with it, thinking they’d have to arrive for their first day in a mess after spending the night in an alleyway.
“Do you think they give us swords right away, or only once we’ve started practice?” Alfred was asking as he walked backwards, grinning at them.
Matthew sighed. “We’ll find out tomorrow, Al. Calm down and hel-”
He was interrupted when someone bumped into Alfred and almost sent him sprawling. Alfred managed to stay on his feet and spun around, an apology on the tip of his tongue. Then they saw who they were dealing with. A group of men their age stood before them, their lips curled in obvious disgust. All of them wore elegant fabrics and quality stitching, all golds and dark blues. Pins on their lapels signalled that they were trainee knights, perhaps strolling through town on their day off.
“We heard you talking,” said a blond man, sneering at them. His blue eyes pierced through the trio. Gilbert, however, couldn’t stop staring at the rather large mole the man had under his left eye.
“Yeah?” said Alfred in confusion.
“So you think you’re going to be knights, do you?”
“Well, yeah. Once we’ve trained.”
Mole-Man sneered. “We don’t want the likes of you.”
Gilbert rolled his eyes. “And you think you’re any better?” he demanded.
“Gil,” Matthew murmured, clearly worried.
The student looked Gilbert up and down. “For one, only nobles are knights.”
“Anyone can sign up!” Alfred protested, ignoring the way his twin tugged at his arm.
“Those without money are there for standing around and looking official,” Mole-Man told them, matter-of-factly. “The nobles are the real knights. You should be lugging cow and horse shit around.”
Alfred looked genuinely baffled so Gilbert jumped in. “Well, we’ve been accepted so there’s mole- sorry, no way we’ll drop out now.”
Eyes narrowing, Mole-Man stepped forward. “You’ll be thrown out before you’ve even started. You may have fooled everyone else, spy, but no-one will want to teach a Leech like you anything.”
That made Matthew come forward. “He’s not a spy! Losrechans are refugees and entitled to enlist.”
“Doesn’t mean we’re desperate enough to let these freaks in.”
Taking a deep breath through his nose, Gilbert willed away his anger. He couldn’t afford to rise to this man’s insults. After all, he was a prince and royals did not voice their dislike of others. It was a diplomacy thing. So, as sarcastically as possible, Gilbert said, “I’m sorry you think like that. Doesn’t matter what you think, though. So get lost.”
Instead of doing what he was told, Mole-Man stepped closer, leaning into Gilbert’s space. “Your demon eyes don’t frighten me so I don’t think I will.”
“That’s a shame,” said Gilbert, without thinking. “Your mole frightens me, so-”
The punch was slow, obvious and with little force behind it. Gilbert managed to get his arms up to block it but he still stumbled back a step. Unfortunately, his boot slipped on a small stone and he was sent sprawling on the ground. Frustrated, he tried to get to his feet before Mole-Man could do anything else, but a boot came flying towards him. Gilbert tried to roll away and the blow struck on his hip, thankfully lighter than if he had stayed. Still, it was painful and he hissed as he tried to crawl out of the way. Glancing over, he saw that one of the men had a knife at Matthew’s throat and Alfred had frozen, wide-eyed, not sure which of them to help first. Just as Gilbert raised a hand to wave him off and to focus on Matthew, a voice rang out over the scene.
“And just what is going on here?” it said, calm and even.
Looking up from his position on the ground, Gilbert took in the newcomer. He was also blond, though his hair was darker than Mole-Man’s. His hair had been slicked back at some point during the day but the strands were falling back down, making it a mess. Bright, intensely bright, green eyes stared at them all, looking at each person in turn. A dark green tunic separated him from the nobles attacking them, but only barely. There were silver accents stitched into it and his belt buckle was clearly silver. Gilbert could see a songbird had been carved into it, wings spread wide, a twig in its beak. Even his boots and trousers were expensive: it was impossible in Gilbert’s mind that this man would risk getting covered in dust.
He also carried with him an air of experienced authority and was frowning with rather large eyebrows at Mole-Man and his lackeys.
“They want to be knights,” Mole-Man told him, frowning back at him. “I was only trying to put them in their place.”
“If they want to be knights, then they should enlist,” said the man. “And if they have enlisted, you would do well to leave them alone. You should focus on your own studies - clearly, they are lacking if you think to lower the knights’ reputation with this crude display.”
“But this one is a-” Mole-Man gestured at Gilbert as he spoke and the newcomer seemed to understand.
“A what?” he asked, eyes narrowing.
“A Losrechan freak. Something like that shouldn’t be-”
Mole-Man didn’t get a chance to finish. Newbie darted forward so quickly that Gilbert could only flinch in response. He opened his eyes again just in time to see the man plough his fist right into Mole-Man’s jaw. His friends cried out and one of them leapt forward as Mole-Man fell backwards, joining Gilbert on the ground. But Newbie was undeterred as he grabbed hold of the new attacker’s arm and flipped him over, right on top of Mole-Man. Their heads cracked together and they groaned, the one on top rolling off to curl up on the dirty ground. The one with the knife shoved Matthew into Alfred’s arms and jabbed in the newcomer’s direction. But Newbie was undeterred and kicked out, his foot catching on the man’s knee. He crumpled with a cry of pain and Newbie turned to take care of the other three.
“Please!” exclaimed one of them. “We’re sorry! It won’t happen again!”
“See that it doesn’t,” said the man in a prim tone, as if he hadn’t just beaten up half of an antagonised group of men looking for a fight. He eyed them for a moment. “Are you aware of who I am?”
“Yes! We’re so sorry-”
“Good,” said the man. “I think I shall deduct your pay for the next month - from all of you. Never do this again or you will be sent back to your country homes.”
Terrified, Mole-Man’s friends helped the downed men to their feet and they hobbled off. As soon as they were gone, Alfred moved again, turning his brother to fuss over him, frowning at a thin line of blood which Gilbert could see even on the ground. Gilbert grimaced. Maybe that was his fault for riling the man up. Then again, he hadn’t started the fight…
A hand suddenly thrust itself into Gilbert’s face. Gilbert blinked at it for a moment before accepting the stranger’s help. “I’m sorry that your first impression of this city has been that,” he said. “Have you really enlisted to become a knight?”
“Um, yeah,” said Gilbert, sheepishly. He rubbed at the back of his neck. Up close, Gilbert could see a smattering of freckles on the man’s nose and cheeks, too light to be seen except from this close.
“What are you doing out here and not in the barracks?”
“We’ve to go back in the morning. We were just looking for an inn but everywhere’s too expens-”
“Your Highness!” came a cry from behind the stranger and Gilbert glanced up, alarmed. He wasn’t ready to meet the prince! Instinctively, he dropped the hand he hadn’t realised he was still holding. Once he had, the stranger turned more to see who was shouting.
Behind him, another man approached. His long, black hair was braided and draped over one shoulder. He wore long, pale green robes with a matching hat. The ribbon around the hat kept a pen and feather from escaping. And, from the appearance of a hilt, a knife was also kept there. He hurried straight for the stranger who had helped them and stopped, panting slightly.
“Where did you go?!” he demanded of Newbie. “You can’t just leave me like that!”
“One of the children told me there was a commotion on this street,” Newbie explained. “I came to investigate.”
Realisation was dawning on Gilbert and he gaped at the man. “You’re-?” he said.
But the long-haired man talked over him. “What?! What did you do this time?”
“Nothing too bad. There are some men who need their pay docked but, other than that, everyone’s fine.” The man gestured behind him and seemed to remember the people he had just saved. He turned back to Gilbert and saw his expression. Instead of the shame Gilbert expected, the man laughed. “Ah, yes. Welcome to the knights training course. I’m Prince Arthur of Dynras. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“You’re the prince?!” Gilbert tried to calm himself, willing his heart to slow as he attempted to wrap his head around this. “I- What?”
Again, Arthur laughed. “What, didn’t think your prince could fight?”
“I… No? Isn’t that what we’re for?”
Still amused, Arthur shrugged a shoulder. “It’s for emergencies.”
“Of which breaking up a street fight isn’t one,” said the man.
That time, Arthur winced. “Yes…” He looked back to Gilbert and tilted his head in consideration. Finally, he said, “This is Yao, my advisor, as appointed by my father. And you are…?”
“Klaus,” Gilbert answered, pleased to remember his assumed name. “This is Alfred and Matthew. The loud one’s Alfred.”
“Hey!” Alfred exclaimed, coming closer.
“I see,” said Arthur, amused. “Well, I am glad to have you as my knights. You seem like honourable people. Now, you need an inn. Yao,” Arthur said as he turned to his advisor. “Please make sure these three find a room in an inn close to the palace. They mustn’t be late for their first day tomorrow.”
“What-? You don’t need to do that,” said Gilbert, hurriedly.
Arthur looked at him from the corner of his eye. “You’ll do as you’re told. Don’t disappoint me.” And, without a further word, Arthur turned and stalked off, leaving an exasperated Yao in his wake.
Gilbert couldn’t believe how much time had passed. In only a few months, he had been through intensive training: drills, sparring, civil duties. It was just as he had imagined it, from what he had remembered from his time in his own kingdom. Now, though, he was actually living what his people had gone through for his family and he was enjoying himself. When he had to leave, it was going to be upsetting.
But he was going to be even more upset when he had to leave the prince behind.
At first, Gilbert couldn’t understand why he kept coming to the training grounds. Then some of their fellow trainees - the friendlier ones - told him that it was because the prince was rarely allowed to be around Losrechans, though his campaigning had softened his father’s resolve. He just so happened to be the first Losrechan the prince had ever seen and he was, apparently, interested in him. Gilbert’s heart had skipped a beat at that. Apparently, the rumours about Arthur was true and he wanted to push the Destiroyans and Sudkars from Dynras’s border. Then he planned to clear them out from the rest of the kingdom and let the refugees migrate back. It would solve the problem of their border conflicts and the overcrowded camps that had popped up after the invasion. Arthur was very passionate about it and Gilbert was relieved enough that he was able to talk to him without panicking now.
Unfortunately, guilt settled in its place as Gilbert grew to know Arthur better and Arthur found companionship in ‘Klaus’.
Their friendship was why he was currently on the sparring ground, white top stained with dirt and sweat. He ran his hand through his hair in an attempt to get rid of the sweat dripping from it. A staff was in one hand which he had to pass to his other in order to wipe his palm on his dusty trousers. Arthur stood opposite him. He was immaculate, the only sign he had been exerting any energy was the fact that he’d undone the top button of his tunic. Gilbert had definitely knocked him off his feet a couple of times already so how he’d managed that was a mystery. Arthur was by far the better fighter of the two and he didn’t look as exhausted as Gilbert probably did. Behind him, the sun was setting which, thankfully, meant that everyone was more interested in dinner than coming to find him. For now, it would be best if no-one knew how quickly he’d caught the prince’s eye.
“Come along, Klaus,” said Arthur, with amusement. “I thought you said that you’d gotten better.”
“I have!” Gilbert protested. “You’re just brilliant, as usual, and I can’t keep up.”
That made Arthur’s face redden and Gilbert counted that as a victory. One against the many Arthur consistently scored against him. “I’m not as good as my tutors,” Arthur said, glancing away. “But forget that. One more time and then we can both break to eat.”
Gilbert’s response was to grin and change his stance. Arthur didn’t bother moving, smirking at Gilbert. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Gilbert darted forward, swinging his staff. His opponent only shifted minutely, bringing up his staff to block him. Thankfully, Gilbert had put enough force in his swing that Arthur had to step back for breathing room to keep from being knocked over.
Before Gilbert could press his advantage, Arthur leaned backwards and spun his staff. The bottom of it caught on Gilbert’s legs as his own shifted forward to hit against Arthur’s shoulder. Startled, Gilbert jerked back a little - it was enough to send him toppling backwards. As he went, however, he hooked his staff around Arthur’s and held fast to his makeshift weapon. Arthur’s eyes widened as he was pulled down on top of Gilbert. The knight laughed even as Arthur shoved his staff into Gilbert’s neck, though without the force to cut off his airway. Huffing, Arthur shifted, his body pressed against Gilbert’s in a nice way that Gilbert tried to ignore. His knees were on either side of Gilbert’s hips and his face was a scant fingers’ breadth from Gilbert’s.
Rolling his eyes, Arthur pushed himself up until he was leaning over Gilbert. “I’m not sure who won that one,” he said as something fell from under his tunic. He blinked and reached up for it: he stopped when Gilbert made a startled noise.
For there, hanging just over his nose, was what Gilbert had been looking for all his life. A strange silver shape on a necklace, the bumps a familiar curve that Gilbert had run his fingers on multiple times. He raised a hand in disbelief and touched it with his fingertips. That made Arthur jerk away and clutch at his necklace; Gilbert noticed that he didn’t get up, though.
“What are you doing?” Arthur snapped, eyes narrowed. Gilbert knew that look well now. Arthur was irritated and liable to snap unless Gilbert’s explanation was a good one. And Gilbert had a good one.
Wordlessly, he reached under his own top, glad it was loose enough that he could get his fingers under them. Some of his uniforms were stiff at the moment and he may have had to remove the entire thing had he been wearing them. Instead, he was able to draw his necklace out and show it to Arthur.
He heard Arthur’s breath catch. The prince stared down at the necklace, looking between it and Gilbert’s face, his eyes searching for an explanation. But Gilbert was at a loss for words. So he held it up, offering the wavy side. Arthur understood and moved closer to him so they could press the ends together.
They fit perfectly.
It made a heart.
Even the delicate design on it was completed, looping lines perfectly aligned.
As one, they gasped, amazed at what the necklaces showed them. They were meant to be together. Gilbert wanted to let go of the necklace and pull Arthur close, hold him until someone had to pry them apart. He raised his gaze to Arthur’s: those pretty eyes were still wide, shimmering with happy tears.
“Klaus,” Arthur whispered and Gilbert’s heart sank. He had finally found his soulmate, the one he was going to share everything with and he thought his name was Klaus, of all things. How was he ever going to tell Arthur that their relationship - if they even had one - was based on a lie.
“I…”
“You’re my…” Arthur continued, a smile spreading onto his face.
Gilbert’s heart clenched at the sight. Arthur looked incredible like that. He felt a little dazed at the sight of it. Did it really matter that Arthur thought of him as Klaus, for the moment? His soulmate would understand, right? When he reclaimed his throne, he could tell Arthur and the prince would support him - wouldn’t he?
Having convinced himself that everything would be fine as long as he had Arthur, Gilbert dared to let go of his necklace, ignoring the way it thumped onto his chest, and reached up to Arthur’s face. He cupped that pretty visage, Arthur’s tiny freckles visible. Staring into Arthur’s eyes, Gilbert searched for something to say but couldn’t think beyond how he was so, so glad that it was Arthur. They’d grown so close with their private sparring lessons and the times they met within the palace grounds as Gilbert did his rounds. He liked Arthur. A lot. So much.
“Arthur,” he whispered, realising belatedly that he was about to cry from sheer happiness. After everything that had happened to him, Gilbert had finally been given something good.
Lips parting, the prince stared down at him. Perhaps he was feeling the same thing. Gilbert couldn’t tell but he was content to wait for him, smiling up at his prince. Arthur’s eyes darted across Gilbert’s face.
Laughing, Arthur leaned closer. “This is- I couldn’t imagine…”
“You’re… mine…?” Gilbert asked, his thoughts swirling as Arthur moved closer, their noses brushing.
“I’m yours,” said Arthur fiercely, perhaps thinking that his hesitance was because of his status as a refugee. Gilbert didn’t get the chance to correct him as Arthur moved so suddenly that he was kissing Gilbert before he knew it.
They slotted together perfectly and Gilbert made a sound between a moan and a happy chirping noise. Neither of them bothered to waste any time before they were using tongue, both twining together. It was almost desperate, the way they kissed, passion combining with love and relief. Gilbert didn’t know how long they continued but it was lasted till they had to break apart for air, panting into each other’s open mouths.
Arthur’s eyes were beautiful and Gilbert stared at them, blinking when Arthur suddenly spoke. “I think that means we both win, Klaus,” he said, with some amusement, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
Pushing aside the guilt, Gilbert only answered by drawing Arthur into another kiss.
I have a vague idea of what would happen down the line but they're just plot points so I don't know when I'll get around to writing more, if I ever will.
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Sunrise as Comedy [by David Kalat]
June 11th: The following text was written by film critic and historian David Kalat on the occasion of this year’s F.W. Murnau retrospective at the Brazilian festival Olhar de Cinema. Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans screens in the festival June 11th and 12th. More information about the retrospective can be found in English at http://olhardecinema.com.br/2017/en/2017/retrospective-f-w-murnau/ and http://olhardecinema.com.br/2017/en/screenings-2/#.retrospective, and in Portuguese at http://olhardecinema.com.br/2017/2017/olhar-retrospectivo-f-w-murnau/ and http://olhardecinema.com.br/2017/filmes/#.olhar-retrospectivo.
Friedrich Wilhelm Murnau’s Sunrise is the dictionary definition of a classic film. It won (for all intents and purposes) the first ever Academy Award, has been placed on the National Registry, and was the first silent film put out on Blu-Ray. It routinely places in “Best Of” lists, it’s a picture whose artistry is intended to be accessible to mass audiences. It is conventionally beautiful, conventionally narrative, conventionally stirring. It needs no apologies or excuses, it’s just excellent in every way.
But did you know it was a comedy?
Consider the basic premise: Sunrise presents a sexy, vampish “Woman of the City” who invades a rural idyll where her very presence corrupts a naïve young man. In order to pursue this temptress, the young man comes to believe his only escape from his existing small-town romance is to kill his girl, which he utterly fails to accomplish, and thereby sets in motion the plot developments of the rest of the film.
Just six months before Sunrise hit theaters, American audiences saw the exact same plot in Harry Langdon’s comedy Long Pants!
In this context, it’s worth remembering that Langdon’s film crossed enough taboos (or do I mean tabus?) that some audiences didn’t find it funny at all. Meanwhile, Murnau does pitch Sunrise like a comedy, and its contents are not very much distinguishable from what constituted comedies of the same period. For example, Sunrise’s main characters go on a date to a carnival, where they run into money problems and an out-of-control animal (see Harold Lloyd’s Speedy), and the film climaxes with a catastrophic storm (see Buster Keaton’s Steamboat Bill, Jr.)
The young man (George O’Brien) rows out to the middle of the lake with his trusting wife (Janet Gaynor) where he intends to drown her. But when push comes to shove, as it were, he loses his resolve and rows mindlessly to the opposite shore, where they board a trolley car. And in one of the most astonishing sequences in all of cinema, the shell-shocked couple gather their wits as they are transported from what might as well be a medieval village straight out of Nosferatu through a forest to an industrial patch and finally arriving in a futuristic Metropolis, all in the span of a couple of minutes. There is no such trolley ride anywhere in the world—this thing might as well be a time machine.
The transformation is absolute. The opening scenes take place in a silent movie world of exaggerated gestures and portentous symbolism. But the city reveals more naturalistic acting, more observational in tone. And the city scenes are obsessed with the details of the setting—the cars, the clothes, the architecture, the store fronts, the people-watching, the traffic.
Dramas do not often get bogged down in such observational fascination with their setting. Although it happens sometimes (as with the semi-documentary approach of Billy Wilder’s People on Sunday, or perhaps Robert Wise’s Star Trek: The Motion Picture), this is a technique more familiar from comedies, where the observational detail is part of establishing the ironic commentary. Think Jacques Tati’s Playtime, or Chaplin’s City Lights, or Jean Renoir’s Boudou Saved From Drowning, or just about anything by Harold Lloyd.
Murnau introduces two outsiders into this cityscape—scraggly, haggard refugees from a horror film who have stumbled into this world in a state of high emotional dudgeon and will encounter it as if they are visitors from another planet. Again, the parallel is to a comedy’s structure, with the outsider hero(es) providing for a commentary on the world around them. Charlie Chaplin rarely stumbled into any of his adventures after a botched murder attempt, but all Murnau has done is to provide a context for his protagonists’ alienation where someone like Chaplin uses his costume as a shortcut to the same ends. Like Boudou or Mr. Hulot, George and Janet are outsiders invading this space. We will witness its familiar contours through their eyes.
Setting in a film in the juxtaposition of old versus new has been a central recurring feature of many important comedies (Steamboat Bill, Jr., Mon Oncle, Modern Times, Yoyo) and also specifically places Sunrise squarely in the zeitgeist of late 1920s comedy.
For example, consider what happens once George and Janet arrive in the city. They proceed to stumble from one episodic set-piece to another. In one of these, they crash a wedding ceremony and are overwhelmed by the moment (wedding vows take on an eerie significance when juxtaposed with trying to kill your wife). George breaks down, begs for forgiveness, and the two stagger into the street in a romantic haze. In another transformation of setting not unlike the trollycar ride that brought them here in the first place, they lose track of where they are and see themselves in the fields of home—until car horns bring them back to reality. And what ensues? Slapstick havoc in the middle of traffic, that’s what—a punchline, just like you’d expect. Traffic-based gags abound in comedies of this era. The scene emphasizes the modern tribulation of city streets packed with noisy cars going every which way.
Observations on the comic aspects of traffic are fundamentally the stuff of movie comedy. Thanks to the coincidence of the age of movies and the age of cars, there wouldn’t have been much to say about traffic prior to the dawn of film. It doesn’t really belong in any other medium. Paintings can’t capture the movement well; theatrical performances can hardly stage this indoors; no one would write a book about traffic because it isn’t a literary subject--but 1920s comedians put such material into movies all the time.
Pointedly, Sunrise does not view this transformation from rural life to modernity as a bad thing. It seems to be tilting that way in its early scenes, the way the evil vamp is called “Woman of the City,” as if her corruption is connected to her sophistication. Once George and Janet arrive in that city, however, what they find is wonder, fun, and welcoming strangers. The city folk are sometimes a little perplexed by the two rubes, but never in a mean way—and no matter what George and Janet do or misunderstand or break, they are greeted by smiles and tolerance.
Sunrise shows how the new world, threatening as it is to the old, doesn’t have to lead exclusively to corruption—it is possible to navigate your way through this modern world and still come out morally whole. As such, Sunrise is about hope in the face of wrenching change.
As it happens, 1920s screen comedy was itself undergoing a wrenching change, metamorphosing from silent physical slapstick to a new talkie genre of romantic comedy. The solo comedians of slapstick’s Golden Age had to make way for a new breed of female stars, who took equal footing with their male costars. The end product of that transformation would be the screwball comedy, whose genre conventions presuppose flirtation as a form of combat, or vice versa. The stars of 1930s romantic comedies “meet cute” and engage in reel after reel of open combat, before discovering that hate is just a variation on love; you have to really care for somebody deeply to want to fight them that badly. Fists give way to embraces and the former opponents end up in each other’s arms.
This is, you may note, the template of Sunrise—in which the couple starts off as opposed to one another as humanly possible, and end up as tightly allied as conceivable.
Sunrise is not just structured like a comedy, it is absolutely jam-packed with comedy actors. Janet Gaynor, the female lead, was a fairly inexperienced young actress whose resume before showing up here largely consisted of comedy work—Laurel and Hardy’s 45 Minutes From Hollywood, Syd Chaplin’s Oh What a Nurse, Clara Bow’s The Plastic Age, Charley Chase’s All Wet, and various and sundry Hal Roach one-offs.
Once she and her hubby/attempted murderer George O’Brien make their way into the city, they spend the rest of the film encountering comic actors: Ralph Sipperly, the Barber, came from Fox’s own comedy shorts division. Jane Winton, the Manicure Girl, came from such comedies as Footloose Widows, Why Girls Go Back Home, and Millionaires. Then there are the Obtrusive Gentleman (Arthur Housman) and the Obliging Gentleman (Eddie Boland). Both Housman and Boland were small-time comedy stars who were brand names in their own right, having top-lined their own respective series of comedy shorts.
On top of all the comic actors, there are actual jokes: the wedding reception mistaking the peasant couple for the bride and groom, the business at the photographer’s and the headless statue, the comic misunderstandings at the salon, and a drunken pig!
This is a “silent film” in that no dialogue is spoken, but it has a synchronized soundtrack that includes sound effects and music, and sure enough the various slapstick punchlines get their little “boing!” and “wah-wah” music cues just like you’d expect.
Murnau’s allegiance with the world of comedy continued in the follow-up feature to Sunrise, City Girl (whose title, a riff on “Woman of the City,” signals from the outset its agenda vis a vis Sunrise). City Girl opens with a scene in which a rube on a train unwisely reveals a fat bankroll and his own unwary attitude towards his money, rendering him an easy mark for the attention of a grafter. And once again we find Murnau pulling plot points from the films of Harry Langdon—in this case, the short Lucky Stars.
Murnau stuffed the cast of City Girl with comedy veterans, too: Eddie Boland is back (briefly); Guinn “Big Boy” Williams was a regular supporting actor in silent and talkie comedies (including the brilliant Ladies Night in a Turkish Bath with Jimmy Finlayson); David Torrence earned his slapstick comedy credentials a few years after working with Murnau, in the Laurel and Hardy film Bonnie Scotland; and Richard Alexander was on the front end of what would prove to be a wildly varied career that included Harry Langdon’s See America Thirst, as well as Laurel and Hardy’s Them Thar Hills and Babes In Toyland.
Finding such comedy references in a Murnau film may be jarring to those who think of him only in terms of Nosferatu and other grim fables. That may be a sizeable contingent, I realize. It is generally the tendency of critics who write about Murnau’s films to identify the comic elements as something imposed on Murnau against his wishes by the studio in an effort to Americanize and popularize his films.
The primary English language text on Murnau is Lotte Eisner’s The Haunted Screen — the very title of which signals its preoccupations and prejudices when it comes to Murnau. And so in her fealty to those prejudices, Eisner skips over, dismisses, or otherwise brushes under the rug any of Murnau’s works that don’t fit the bill.
Lotte Eisner suggests that all these tawdry jokes were inserted into Sunrise by Fox gag men and Murnau was obliged to go along with them. Hey, but wait a minute–Sunrise was famously made without studio interference, and even after his falling out with Fox, Murnau never said that Sunrise was anything other than a work of total creative freedom. You can’t have your cake and eat it too—you can’t say Murnau had total creative freedom but he also had to tolerate jokes inserted into the script against his will. If Sunrise was Murnau’s vision, his vision was prone to flirt with comedy.
Now might be the time to note, ahem, that The Last Laugh has its own comic elements, in which a bleak story comes to a tragic end, and then reboots itself as a comedy for its final reel—inspiring the English language title.
For that matter, Murnau made The Finances of the Grand Duke, a mild action-comedy about a master thief that in many ways anticipates similar lighthearted fare along the lines of Arsène Lupin or To Catch a Thief or a fair chunk of Steven Soderbergh’s back catalog.
The magic of Murnau is that his genius was not limited to vampires and demons—the man was also gifted with a deft comic touch. Sunrise is Murnau’s comedy masterpiece.
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The Witch’s Apprentice Book 2- Godmother Knows Best, Ch. 1
Arthur Butcher awoke from his sleep. Still groggy from his rest, he had expected to wake in his room back on the farm, and get right to work on the same routine he had done without fail for the past nineteen years: get dressed, go down to the kitchen to eat the breakfast his mother had prepared for the family, wish her as well as his father and sister good morning, then go out to tend to the animals, work on any parts of the farm that still needed repairs, pick vegetables from the garden, shovel any newly fallen snow off of the path from the house to the road, gather wood for the fire, as well as anything else that would need to be done on a winter’s day, then return to the house to help preparing dinner in any way he could.
But he was not in his old room. He lay in a large, wooden bed, with a fur blanket lying atop his prone body. Rather than the small, but cozy and familiar rectangular room of wooden boards that he had woken up in every day for his whole life, this bed was set against the wall of a circular stone room that felt cold and empty, this new room exceeding the size of even the Butcher’s sitting room, much less his old bedroom. Just across from Arthur’s bed was a fireplace of his own cut into the wall, with ample, dry firewood inside, an unadorned mantelpiece above, and a pair of cushioned, wooden chairs sat in front of it, a small table between them. To Arthur’s left, a bedside table stood with an unlit lantern atop it, and beyond that, a wooden dresser stood beneath a luxurious wall hung mirror that looked like it had cost more than his family usually made in a year. To the left adjacent to both objects stood a tall wardrobe that looked like it could fit more articles of clothing than he had owned in his entire life. To his right, under a shuttered window stood a work desk with nothing atop it save for the only familiar objects Arthur could see from the bed: two bags of Arthur’s meagre belongings, which had yet to be emptied, as evidenced by the tall, empty bookshelf beside the desk.
As Arthur cautiously lifted the fur blanket off of his body, he reminded himself: he was not at the farmhouse he had grown up in. He was in the cottage of his new employer, the woman to whom he had pledged servitude to so in exchange for healing his ailing sister: the cottage of the Witch of the Woods.
Everyone had warned him not to do it. His mother, his father, his Uncle Melion, and even the doctor who told him of the Witch warned him that the cost of asking for the Witch’s aid could be too great; but Arthur didn’t listen. With his sister dying of the deadly White Plague and no other affordable cure in reach, Arthur snuck out in the dead of night behind everybody’s backs and went into the Dark Forest just beyond their village to request the Witch’s services. But it was not he who found her, but the other way around, when she saved him from certain death at the claws of one of the forest’s monsters and promptly invited him to her cottage for tea. It was at that meeting that the Witch informed Arthur that she did not accept payment in coin, but in goods in whatever services she judged to be an equal trade to whatever was asked of her: in Arthur’s case, a lifetime of servitude in exchange for curing Morgan of her deadly illness; a life for a life.
Some might say that the Witch was asking too much of Arthur; making him choose to either let his sister die or to leave the only home and family he had ever known. Indeed, it was the hardest choice Arthur had ever made in his life, but in the end, he agreed to the Witch’s terms and made the pact with her. Burning the magical sigil into his palm that now marked Arthur as the Witch’s property, the pact was sealed, and once the Witch had fulfilled her end of the bargain and restored Morgan to full health, Arthur was given until the eve of the Winter Solstice to say his goodbyes. It was now the day of the Solstice: one full day after Arthur’s new life as the Witch’s servant had begun in earnest, and he looked back at those fleeting months between that September day and the Solstice; he had made every attempt to cherish every last moment he had with his family, but still they did not feel nearly enough.
But what was done was done, Arthur told himself as he swung his legs over to the side of the bed and placed his feet down on the ground and stood up, walking over to the mirror and dresser and briefly making a half-hearted attempt to tidy his mess of wheat blonde hair. Giving up after realising he’d always been fighting a losing battle on that front even when his heart was in the task, he opened the dresser drawers beneath him only to find them empty, and remembered that his clothes were all still piled inside his unpacked bags. So he simply took off his pyjamas and lazily folded them before placing them in the drawer he had opened, and walked over the other side of the room where his bags lay on the desk.
Briefly considering opening the shutters to let the sunlight in to hopefully remedy the gloomy atmosphere, Arthur quickly decided that the last thing he needed was another reminder that he was no longer in the home he knew and elected to leave the window alone for now. Instead, he lifted up the bag containing the clothing he had packed, which had been untouched for all of the previous night except to hastily retrieve the pyjamas he was now wearing, and dumped the contents onto his bed. It was only a meager amount- having been born into a family of peasant farmers, Arthur had never owned many things to begin with- so Arthur was able to quickly sort through them all and find a tunic and a pair of trousers to wear for the day, and even found the time to fold the rest and put them away in his new dresser; what little he had to put away in the first place barely visible inside the comparatively gigantic drawers. But that dresser looked positively crammed next to the adjacent wardrobe, which looked so sparsely occupied even by the time he had hung up his few cloaks and hats inside that it looked like he had never bothered to hang up anything at all.
Arthur deeply sighed and looked down, wondering how he would ever adjust to his new life when everything seemed to be the opposite of what he had grown up with for all nineteen years of his life; when that thought was interrupted by the rumbling sound of his empty stomach. Hoping that going down to get some breakfast would help keep his mind off of things, Arthur walked over to the door of his room and opened it, walking through to find himself not in the wooden hallway of a familiar single story farmhouse, but the stone spiral staircase of the cottage’s adjacent tower, leading down to the cottage proper; yet another reminder that he was not in the home he remembered. But nevertheless, Arthur walked down the tower stairwell until he reached the bottom and entered the cottage proper, turning right to make his way to the cottage foyer, where the Witch of the Woods was waiting for him, sat in her usual spot with a hot cup of tea in hand.
Clad in her flowing gown of black linen, this tall, slender woman would easily tower over Arthur were she to stand up at this moment. Lustrous, onyx black hair fell to her ankles, perfectly parted from fringe to ear, revealing a thin, heart shaped face with a sharply pointed chin and darkly coloured lips. Her hooded eyes were currently closed with contentment as she drank her tea, but when open would reveal glittering irises the colour of amethysts and their thin, cat-like pupils. But while this woman appeared human at first glance, Arthur knew that the Witch of the Woods was anything but. Even from just a closer look, her pale skin shone the colour of moonlight, she moved far more gracefully than any human Arthur had met, and if he looked at her for too long, her proportions began to appear just long and tall enough to look somewhat off, only to seem just right again the moment one looked away from her or blinked, making one question if they had merely seen a trick of the light.
The Witch of the Woods was a strange one, to be sure. When Arthur first encountered her, she had so casually killed a full grown basilisk that she deigned to not even consider such an act worthy of any mention, instead focusing more on using her magic to clean the beast’s blood off of Arthur so she could invite him to her cottage for tea, and she grew no less mercurial as said encounter went on; asking for Arthur’s name and then refusing to reveal her own simply because she did not feel like it. While she demanded a lifetime of servitude to cure Arthur’s sister, on that same day she restored the Butcher family’s failed crops to full health and asking nothing in return on seemingly little more than a whim.
In the months that had passed since their first encounter, Arthur had been told much about the Witch, but they more he learned of her, the more it apparent it became of how little he truly knew. His best source of information about her had been from his Uncle Melion, who had been the most vocal in trying to warn Arthur against seeking the Witch’s aid, due to having made his own pact with the Witch long ago, having once been a wolf who she had granted to power to take human shape (whatever cost Melion had paid to gain his humanity, the old huntsman did not tell). After the Witch had healed Morgan, Melion did the best he could to tell Arthur everything he knew of her, but every answer he gave simply raised more questions; that none knew her by any true name other than “the Witch,” that she was far older than the very kingdom they lived in, and had travelled from one end of the world to another and everywhere in between, but nothing about who or what she truly was.
And his first night serving her had left him with no fewer questions. Despite the less than pleasant way in which the mark on his palm had reminded him of the time to leave home the previous morning, by the time he had arrived the Witch had made every attempt to make Arthur feel at home in her cottage (as much as a work in progress that was even to this moment), to the point where taking him out into the forest later that night to gather supplies for the Solstice rituals had turned out to be an elaborate excuse to make preparations for a Solstice dinner in his honour.
And what a wild night that was! In between gathering supplies and the Witch educating Arthur on how to safely navigate the Heart of the Forest and avoid its dangers, Arthur had nearly fallen for the charms of a trio of mischievous tree nymphs; the pair had found themselves stalked by the Horned God who led the faeries of the Wild Hunt; and Arthur saw the Witch effortlessly slay the largest boar he had ever seen, which later provided the pork roast for the night’s dinner. But it was soon afterward that the night truly turned dangerous for Arthur, as he was then whisked away by an unnaturally strong wind while the Witch had been momentarily occupied, only to find himself in an unfamiliar part of the wood, where he met a harmless seeming pixie named Umbralight, who had offered to lead Arthur back to the Witch, but was in reality a huntress of the Wild Hunt attempting to lure him to the realm of the fae to claim as her trophy. Nearly dying at the hands of the not so harmless pixie, Arthur managed to survive long enough for the Witch to come to his rescue and easily best Umbra; only begrudgingly letting the pixie go when the rest of the Wild Hunt had arrived at the scene to leave with her.
Arthur was brought back into the present once he had crossed the threshold out of the hallway, as the Witch, evidently having heard him approach, immediately turned towards him and said with a smile, “Good morning my child! I hope you slept well?”
“Well, as well as can be expected for my first time sleeping in a new house,” Arthur replied, not wanting to admit how uneasy he felt living here.
“Yes, it stands to reason you may need some time to adjust. Anyway, breakfast should be ready in a few minutes, so perhaps you would like a cup of tea while we are waiting?”
“That would be great, miss,” Arthur said as he walked towards the tea table, when he noticed that he was feeling strangely dizzy. After sitting down and taking a sip out of the cup of tea that was waiting for him on the table, he admitted, “I may have had too much to drink at last night’s housewarming party; it almost feels like the whole house is moving.”
“That would be because the house is moving, Arthur,” the Witch said matter-of-factly with another sip of her tea.
It took all of the self-control Arthur could muster to not spit out his tea in shock.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “What did you say?”
“Well, as much as I would like to give you the day of the Solstice off to grow accustomed to your new home, I’m afraid I have a house call scheduled for today, and this particular client is wont to grow indignant if he is not attended to on his own schedule, I’m afraid. By that same token, he is no more appreciative of lateness, so I had to get this house up and moving quite early in the morning. I could have woken you earlier to get ready for our departure, but I assumed that you would appreciate being able to sleep in for your first night living here.”
“Well…” Arthur began, taking another sip of his tea as he continued trying to take all of this in, “…that was quite thoughtful of you, Miss. But if I may ask, how is this house moving, exactly? Did you make it sprout legs and walk, or something?”
“No, that would be far too conspicuous for my liking. I quite value my privacy Arthur, so I usually tend to avoid advertising my presence to passersby so obviously. Granted, I have heard tell of another witch who travels in such a manner living somewhere north of the Eastern Steppe, but I suspect she only does so to show off.”
“So how are we moving, then?”
Giving Arthur a mischievous smile, his mistress simply told him, “If you would like to know, just look out the window.”
Curious to see exactly what was going on, Arthur cautiously walked over to the shuttered window at the front of the house and slowly lifted the wooden shutter to see what was outside, and was amazed by what he saw when he did so. The first thing he saw was the forest scenery rolling past, prompting Arthur to stick his head out and look to his left to see that the Witch’s cottage had taken the form of a wooden carriage being pulled through the woods by a pair of large draft horses.
“Well?” the Witch asked from behind Arthur with an amused giggle, “What do you think?”
“Well, it’s certainly something,” Arthur said nervously as he pulled his head back in, unable to truly articulate his amazement at the whole prospect.
“I’m glad you approve. By the way, you may want to hold on to something. Our ride will probably need to make a turn onto the main road right about… now.”
Right on cue, the whole house briefly shook, and Arthur was barely able to hold on to the window frame to avoid being knocked off his feet as the carriage outside sharply veered to the right before continuing on more smoothly than before, after which he silently thanked whichever gods would listen that he had not yet had his breakfast.
“I hope you weren’t disturbed by this spot of excitement before you’ve had your breakfast,” the Witch said reassuringly, “but I would recommend coming back to finish your tea before it gets cold. Then again, even if it does get cold, the fire spirits would likely be more than happy to reheat it for you…”
“That won’t be necessary, Miss,” Arthur assured the Witch as he walked back to the tea table and sat back down. “But first, may I ask a question?”
“Of course you may! I would never discourage one’s attempts to learn of something. What would you like to know?”
“It’s about this house call we’re attending to today. Where exactly are we going for it?”
“I’m afraid I can’t recall the exact name of the town we’ll be stopping at, but I believe it’s somewhere in the kingdom of Gascony?”
Arthur paused just as he had nearly lifted his cup of tea to his mouth and inquired further, “Gascony?”
“That is what I said, yes.”
“As in the Gascony on the other side of the channel that separates Albion from the mainland?”
“I was not aware there others it could be mistaken for, but yes, that one.”
“Well, the horses pulling this carriage had better hurry up, then.”
“Oh, and what makes you say that?”
“Well, we just got out of the forest, and you can’t so much as see the coast from town, much less travel halfway across Albion from there and cross the channel before the morning is out!”
Giving Arthur a puzzled look, the Witch asked him, “Whatever are you talking about, my child? We don’t need to pass through anywhere near your hometown to get to Gascony; we’re already there!”
His eyes wide in disbelief, Arthur got out of his chair and marched back to the open window, just in time to see the trees of the forest give way to rolling hills like those he was familiar with, but a further look made it clear they had travelled much further away from home than Arthur would have thought possible. Beyond the immediate hills, Arthur could see in the distance that this area was far more densely wooded; with many forests like the one they had just left dotting the landscape, as opposed to the one forest within walking distance of Arthur’s hometown. None of the towns and villages he had seen from his old house could be found anywhere in sight, and the passing settlements he could see were quite different indeed. A far cry from the drably coloured, flat roofed blocky houses Arthur was used to, many of the buildings of the towns the carriage passed by were built in more rounded shapes and displaying striking colours, with some of the larger buildings sporting domed roofs. And most incredible of all, Arthur could see in the distance one of Gascony’s most striking landmarks: the mountain sized skeleton of a great beast, recognisable from its spiked, turtle-like carapace and six-legged, cat-like body as the legendary tarrasque.
With an embarrassed smile, the Witch explained to Arthur, “I am so sorry, my child; I should have explained first. You see, the forest we just left isn’t the one you know, but a different one entirely.”
Arthur very nearly opened his mouth to question what exactly the Witch meant, but then he remembered something his Uncle Melion had told him the evening after he sealed his pact with the Witch: having made his own bargain with the Witch long ago, Melion had spent some time living in this very cottage, and remembered accompanying the Witch on several of her past house calls to various distant lands that they had reached merely by walking out of their forest home. Arthur should have remembered, but that conversation was so long ago, and so much had transpired during the previous day alone, that he could be forgiven for only now recalling what he had been told.
The thought must have shown on Arthur’s face, for the Witch continued to explain, “People do call my home ‘the Heart of the Forest,’ do they not? Well you see, my child, it may be more accurate to say that it is the heart of all forests.”
Walking back over to the tea table, Arthur gave a long, good sigh. Before the past few months, he would have considered himself well traveled if he had made it to the other side of the Dark Forest on the main road, but here he was, having now arrived to a whole other country with seemingly no greater effort than it would take to walk down to market for a grocery run. Back then, he would be amazed whenever he so much as caught a glimpse of the local hedge wizards practising their craft at the town square, but now that he was travelling inside of a magical cottage disguised as a horse drawn carriage, such parlour tricks seemed practically mundane to him. It all served to remind Arthur of how far away from home it truly was.
“This…” Arthur stuttered, shaking as he sank back into his seat, “this is… it’s a lot to take in, Miss.”
“I would imagine so,” the Witch responded with a sympathetic look on her face. “Perhaps I would have done better to prepare you for the shock rather than unload all of it on you all at once.” Beginning to look somewhat embarrassed, she continued, “Having lived alone for so long, it can sometimes be hard to remember how many of the things I take for granted could be considered extraordinary by most folk, so I hope you can forgive me for that.”
“It’s fine, Miss,” Arthur lied, looking down so the Witch could not read his expression and raising a hand to wave off her concerns. “I’ll just need some time to adjust is all.”
“But of course, Arthur. It’s nary been a day since you moved in, after all. Perhaps a spot of breakfast would help you take your mind off of things for the time being?”
“Yeah,” Arthur sighed, tilting his head up to finally look the Witch in the eye, “I could eat right now.”
“Excellent!” the Witch said cheerfully, clapping her hands together. “It would have been unfair to have woken you up to begin your culinary duties after you had such a trying night, so I took the liberty of preparing our breakfast while you were asleep!”
Turning her head to the hallway that Arthur had previously walked out of, the Witch called out, “Dishes? Do be kind enough to bring out this morning’s breakfast to our table, will you?”
Though he had already seen the Witch’s animated tableware a few times by now, Arthur was still startled to see plates full of food float their way down the hall and into the foyer where the two were sitting, accompanied by silverware and napkins that too flew through the air with no hand to support them. Circling above the table a few times like vultures above a fresh kill in the wilderness, the flying tableware soon floated down settled flat upon the table, then becoming just as motionless as any object of their kind. But that was not the only thing that had amazed Arthur. Coming from a relatively poor family, breakfast for Arthur usually consisted simply of porridge and bread, with maybe some cold meat and cheese as well if the family had extra money to spend. Any variation from that they could afford was usually reserved for special occasions. But this was a breakfast that Arthur could have only dreamed of even a day ago. Right in front of Arthur was a full meal of back bacon, sausage, baked beans, poached eggs, fried mushrooms, black pudding, pork crackling and toasted bread. Arthur had heard of the gentry enjoying such lavish meals before dinner, but never in his wildest imagination would he have thought he would be able to taste such a breakfast himself.
“Well?” the Witch asked, looking at Arthur expectantly. “You’re not going to fill your belly just by looking at it. Dig in!”
And Arthur did so, having to force himself to slow down so he did not just inhale the entire meal in one sitting. But as delicious as this meal was, Arthur could not help but miss the breakfasts back home. He knew it was strange to miss the plain old porridge and bread he was used to. On an objective level, the meal he was eating now was superbly better than anything he and his family had ever been able to eat back home, but there was still something discomforting about that fact. Was it perhaps guilt over the fact that he was even in a position to enjoy such a lavish meal when his family back home were doubtlessly still subsisting on as simple a diet as they always had been? That might be part of it, Arthur thought, but something told him that was not the whole reason he felt that way…
Whatever the case, in not even ten minutes’ time, the meal was done, and Arthur and the Witch were picking up their dishes to take back to the kitchen to clean.
“Shouldn’t the dishes be able to float back to the kitchen themselves?” Arthur inquired as he set the last plate onto the stack of dishes he was carrying.
“I can see why you would assume such a thing, but I am afraid that is not how this works, my child,” the Witch answered as she began to lead Arthur to the kitchen, her own stack of dirty dishes in hand. “As I told you when we first met, each object I have enchanted is only aware enough to know what it is for. A dish is made to serve food to people, so mine are able to move as long as it is toward people who need the meal they are carrying. Whether or not they are cleaned after the fact is not the dishes’ concern; that is the cleaning utensils’ job.”
As if on cue, as soon as the two reached the kitchen counter with the washing tub, an array of washcloths, scrubbing brushes, bars of soap and other such cleaning utensils rose into the air above the tub, clearly eager to get to work.
“You should be able to do the cleaning on your own, am I correct?” the Witch asked Arthur as the two set their dishes down on the counter next to the tub. “I would supervise you for your first time washing the dishes here, but I am afraid there are preparations I still need to do to be ready for our client today, and I need them to be ready before we arrive lest he become difficult to deal with.”
“Oh yes, I should be fine,” Arthur replied. “I mean, it shouldn’t be too different from how it is back at home, other than the tools over here being more willing to pull their weight.”
“Indeed,” the Witch chuckled. “Anyway, I shall leave you to your work.”
But as the Witch began to walk towards the kitchen exit to do so, she briefly paused and turned back around to ask Arthur, “Oh, and speaking of cleaning, my child, when is the last time you have bathed?”
“Well,” Arthur began, pressing a finger to his chin as he tried to recall when exactly that was, “my family usually only gets down to the public bathhouse once a week, but the last time was… about two days before I moved in here, I think?”
“I see… In that case, you may want to wash up before we arrive at our client’s place of residence. The client in question happens to be the lord over the town we are visiting, so you may want to make yourself presentable for the day.”
“Oh?” Arthur asked, intrigued by the prospect. He had never set foot in the lord’s manor close to where he lived, and usually only saw the gentry when they deigned to make in appearance in town for a festival or the like. “So you have a private bath somewhere in the cottage, then? I had thought that only rich folk had those, but then, I would have thought that about today’s breakfast. Where should I go for a bath, then?”
The Witch briefly opened her mouth to answer that question, only to close it as she broke into an amused smile and said, “I could tell you, but it may be more fun to keep it as a surprise. In any case, it should not take me too long to attend to the preparations, so meet me on the foyer balcony after you are done here and I shall show you, my child.”
Though curious as to why there should be such a need for secrecy, Arthur gave the Witch a nod of affirmation and his mistress responding with a mischievous wink and turned back around to leave the kitchen. So, with nothing else to do at the moment, Arthur got down to work on the dishes…
O – O – O
Once he was finished, Arthur returned to the cottage foyer and began walking up the stairs to the balcony, wondering what kind of surprise the Witch had in store for him. Just any private bath would have been enough to amaze him, but the Witch had seemed sure that she should wait for Arthur to see it for himself, so it must be something far grander than that, he thought. But then again, he reminded himself, this was the woman to whom he once had to explain the concept of a surname, so perhaps she had simply assumed that private baths were a bigger deal than they already were.
Once he made it up the stairs, Arthur found the Witch waiting for him at a door relatively close to the staircase itself; just two doors down from the entrance to her own room, which he had been shown the previous day.
“Ah, there you are!” the Witch said cheerfully as she saw Arthur ascend to the balcony floor. “How did your dishwashing work go?”
“As well as could be expected for my first time,” Arthur admitted. “I kept trying to pick up certain utensils, forgetting they could move on their own.”
“I imagine you shall get used to them eventually,” the Witch chuckled. “But enough about that; are you ready to freshen up for today?”
“I think so. Will I find soap and towels in the bath itself, or will I have to fetch them from elsewhere?”
“There are plenty enough supplies for you behind this door,” the Witch assured Arthur. “So if you have no further questions, let us enter.”
The Witch opened the door and held it open for Arthur, letting warm steam into the cottage. Curious, Arthur cautiously stepped through, and when he saw what was on the other side, his jaw practically dropped to the floor. Once they had crossed the threshold, the two were no longer indoors. Instead, they stood within an enclosed forest clearing, near, from what Arthur could see between the trees, a great mountain range completely foreign to him. But what really dawned on Arthur as the reason the Witch had brought him here were the abundance of hot springs within this clearing. Curiously, Arthur looked back behind him, and the door the two had come out of was still there, just standing in empty space just before a wall of trees that completely blocked Arthur’s view of what lay beyond.
Arthur’s amazement must have clearly shown on his face, as the Witch shot him a satisfied smile and said, “I trust I was right to keep this as a surprise?”
“Well…” Arthur stammered, unable to put his thoughts into words in much greater detail, “…you could say that.”
Still looking all around the clearing, Arthur asked the Witch, “So, where are we? Is this another part of the Heart of the Forest? Or another forest that can be reached from there?”
“Well, yes and no,” the Witch answered. “This grove we now stand in is a reflection, you could say, of the hot springs I have visited in a land far to the east. I enjoyed my stay there so much that I recreated those hot springs in my home.”
“I see,” Arthur said, still in complete shock that such a thing was possible, even with the magic that the Witch had at her disposal. Looking to the mountains visible through the trees, he inquired further, “And what of those mountains? How much of this land did you recreate in here?”
“Just this grove and the springs within,” the Witch admitted with a shrug. “Everything beyond here is just an illusion to give me some more interesting scenery to look at.”
“And what if someone tried to reach the mountains, then? Would they hit a wall or something?”
With a smirk, the Witch pointed Arthur towards an opening in the nearby trees and asked him, “Why don’t you see for yourself? I am sure you will find the answer quite interesting.”
Having a bit tired of the Witch’s apparent reluctance to giving straight answers up to this point, but still curious to see what he would find for himself, Arthur cautiously squeezed through some of the trees, soon finding it took quite a bit more effort than it had seemed at first…
“What, so the wood just keeps going on forever until I give up and turn back?” Arthur yelled back through the foliage, only to find the Witch’s reply didn’t turn from behind where she stood, but from in front of him; far in front of him.
“Just keep going; you should be almost there!” Arthur heard the Witch’s distant voice yell from beyond the trees. With renewed resolve to find out the answer to his question, Arthur pushed forward just a bit further, until he broke through the trees, and to his surprise, found himself on the exact opposite of the clearing from where he started, with the Witch and the door back to her cottage proper on the other end!
“I told you the answer was interesting!” the Witch laughed from the distance, head thrown back in her mirth. “Now, would you like to get yourself cleaned up, or will I have to explain to our client why you smell like a pigsty?”
Though somewhat insulted by the comparison, Arthur nodded, and was about to request that the Witch turn around our leave so that he could disrobe in private, only to find the steam of the surrounding springs thicken to obscure the area around him, as well as the plants taking root in the ground around him growing into tall shoots around the nearest spring, providing him with a makeshift curtain to change behind. Able to disrobe in peace, Arthur had barely dipped his toe in the spring when floating soap bars and scrub brushes and the like, more of the Witch’s animated utensils, glided through the fog to attend to him.
It was the most luxurious, enjoyable bath that Arthur had ever taken, the water as hot as he pleased, no more or no less; and all soap and shampoo applied just right and his back scrubbed without him so much as having to lift a finger.
But it was of no comfort for Arthur. For all the magic and wonder this cottage held, everything that the Witch had done to make him feel at home only served to remind him of how different everything here was from anything he knew. And how far he was from everything he knew.
How he may now be living in this house, but it was not truly his home.
#witch#fantasy#fantasy writing#prose#original fiction#my writing#the witch's apprentice#godmother knows best
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Anorak’s Library (Part 1)
<b>Hey guys! I spent all week working on the first part of my short story, Anorak's Library. (The title won't make sense in this part, but it will in the later parts of the story). Anyways, if you see any areas for
improvement (which you probably will) then please remember to leave some feedback for me! For the most part, I hope that you enjoy part one of Anorak's Library!</b>
The moment she heard the door squeak open, she dashed across the room. He barely had time to set down his bag before she ran into his arms.
"Daddy!"
"Hello, sunshine", he replied cheerfully.
He embraced his daughter, giving her a firm, yet gentle hug. Her mother emerged from the kitchen, gazing sternly at the child. "Heloise Hayle, how many times must I say, no running in the house?" But her gaze soon relaxed, giving way to a warm smile. "Welcome home, Arthur."
The young man grinned. "Hello love."
They shared a short peck, and the little girl's face twisted in childish disgust. Her father chuckled as he bent down, reaching for the worn-down bag he left by the door. She soon forgot about her disgust as her eyes widened with excitement. "Did you bring me anything?"
"Of course, sunshine."
The little girl settled herself upon his knee as he dug through the bag, searching for a particular item he'd chosen for his daughter.
"Hey, Daddy?"
"Yes, Heloise?"
"When can I travel with you?"
Her father laughed heartily. "I already told you sweetheart. Your mother and I agreed that, after you turn ten, you can start traveling with me."
"Ugh, but that's still one more year away", she groaned.
"I know, sunshine."
Finally, he found the item he'd been searching for, and held it out to the girl. She eagerly peeled away the tissue paper, revealing a red, leather-bound book. The book was only half as thick as her tiny pinky, but she was already in love with its shiny red cover and the silver text printed on the front. <u>Romeo and Juliet</u>.
"A book", she whispered, completely awestruck. Besides standard school books, such items were rare to the poor residents of The Glen. And even then, only <u>boys</u> usually received books. Her little fingers flipped through its delicate pages, stopping so she could stare at long words she didn't recognize.
"Dis... dis-co"
"Discourses", her father explained.
"Daddy, will you teach me how to read this?"
"Of course, sunshine."
She flipped to the next page with a small frown. "But Daddy, there are so many big words! It will take me forever to figure out how to read this."
He smiled warmly at his daughter. "We have all the time in the world, sunshine."
*************
Heloise Hayle sat cross-legged on the dusty ground, the stones of the well pressing into her back. The day was almost over, yet she could still feel the stares of the townspeople pressing down on her. <i>A girl! Reading a book!</i> They scoffed and snickered, but most of the time, her mind was a thousand miles away, trapped between words and pages.
When their boisterous laughing began to annoy her, Heloise would just squint down at the book, focusing harder and harder on the story, until she was no longer on the dull paths of The Glen: but on the lively streets of Verona, Italy. Glen peasants became wealthy Verona citizens. The Prince's castle stood strong and powerful on the hill.
"Oi, dirtface!"
Heloise didn't have to look up to know who it was. Sylvia Snyde and her cronies, Ella, Beatrice, and another girl that Heloise could never remember the name of, nor did she care enough to remember.
Again with <u>Romeo and Juliet</u> I see? Don't get your hopes up
Heloise. That plague-carrying book is the closest thing you'll ever have to romance!"
Sylvia's remark was followed by a series of high pitched cackles that made her eardrums sting. Still, she managed the politest, most casual smile her face would allow. "First of all Sylvia, only humans can get the plague, not books. Second, there is no romance in this book. Romeo and Juliet have barely known each other for three days. That's not enough time to fall in love with someone! I just read it because I find Shakespeare's words fascinating. Too bad you're not smart enough to read them with me."
Sylvia scowled. "I'm smart at what ladies are supposed to be smart at. Burying my nose in a book is not one of them."
Sylvia lifted her chin, waiting for a reaction, but Heloise had already focused back on her book. She smirked, turning her back as if she was about to walk away. "At least my father wasn't stupid enough to run off and get sick."
Blood rushed to Heloise's face as she leapt up on her feet. "My father wasn't stupid! He didn't ask to get sick!"
Sylvia stepped closer. "He risked the lives of everyone here so that he could go on his silly little trips with the shopkeepers. Don't you get it? That's the point of limiting travel in and out of The Glen! We're lucky it didn't spread, especially since you refused to burn everything..." Her eyes traveled down to Heloise's book, meeting it with a dirty look.
Heloise pulled the book in tighter against her chest. Memories of red and raging heat flooded her mind. She could see all of her father's possessions scorched and shriveled out in the field. Heavy clouds of smoke rose from the flames, as if it was another simple kindling fire. As if her father's memories weren't disintegrating before her eyes.
She blinked, keeping the water behind her eyes at bay as she glanced down at his last remaining possession. <u>Romeo and Juliet</u>. The last gift he'd given her before she watched him being carried away to the sick house.
In a blur, she saw a hand reach out and snatch the book from her grasp. Heloise snapped her head back up to see Sylvia, who was tauntingly waving the book in front of her nose. As she stretched her hand out for it, Sylvia pulled it away, a devious smile growing on her face. Heloise looked her dead in the eyes with a cold stare. "Give it back."
"I don't think so. I think I'll put this in its rightful place." She paused. "Into the fireplace, where it should've gone four years ago."
"Sylvia..."
"Fine, I'll give it back. As soon as you admit that your father was stupid for traveling out of The Glen so often."
Sylvia didn't have any time to react as Heloise's hand flew up, smacking her on the left side of her face. Heloise ripped the book from her hands, her palm bright-pink from impact. Sylvia snarled. "Why you little-"
"Heloise!"
The woman's frantic call rang out from across the square. Heloise's body went cold as she watched her mother march over to them. She looked furiously at Heloise. "We're going home. Now." Her long fingers yanked Heloise by the arm as they began their trek back to their house. Heloise looked back at Sylvia, who was tenderly rubbing her cheek. Inside her head, she smiled, but didn't dare carry out the expression in front of her
mother, who remained silent until they reached their little house at the end of the path.
Heloise's mother shoved her through the door, letting it slam shut behind them. "What in God's name do you think you're doing?"
"But Mum, you should've heard the things she said about Daddy. She said-"
"I don't care what she said, Heloise! Madame Snyde ordered me to leave the house and deal with your silly, childish brawl! Everyone in the square could hear you girls yelling at each other! And the Lord only knows what she'll do once she finds out that you hit her daughter! I've already lost a whole day's pay- I have to keep this job, Heloise!"
Heloise bit her lip. After her father had died, Heloise and her mother were forced to become maids in the Snyde household. Heloise lasted barely three weeks before she was fired for talking back to Sylvia. "But Mum, can't we just move? Daddy always went on and on about how lovely London
was. And it's just a few miles outside of-"
"For the last time Heloise, we are not moving!" She signed, bringing her fingers up to her temple. "I can't take the chance that I might not find a steady job out there, let alone having to make that dreadful journey through the woods. We'd be eaten by the wolves! And there's also-"
"The plague! Yes, yes, I know. That's all anyone ever talks about here. <i> The plague this! The plague that! We're safe from the plague because we've excluded ourselves from society in this tiny valley!</i>
"Watch your tongue, young lady", her mother warned. "This <i>tiny valley</i> has kept all of us safe for years."
Heloise looked at the ground. "It didn't protect Daddy, now did it?"
Her mother's lips pursed. "That's because he chose to put himself at risk by taking those yearly trips with the shopkeepers."
Daggers shot from Heloise's eyes. "He made those trips to bring back things for <i>us</i>. To tell <i>us</i> about the world that we're missing out on."
Her mother glared back. "He made those trips for himself. So that he could have... fun." Her face wrinkled at the last word.
"And who could blame him", Heloise edged on. "There obviously isn't any <i>fun</i> around here."
"Heloise, silence your ungrateful mouth! I've kept you here to keep you safe. I don't remember what your father told you, but the world is a cold, sick place!"
"Liar!"
"Your father was a liar! Now it's time for you to grow up, and get your face out of that stupid book!"
For the second time that day, <u>Romeo and Juliet</u> was snatched from Heloise's hands. Except this time, Heloise's mother turned towards the fireplace at the end of the room.
"No!"
Heloise made a desperate grab for the book, but her mother quickly tossed it into the small bed of ash and flames. Heloise dove for the fireplace, swiftly grabbing the edge of the book. Thankfully, it hadn't fallen in very far. However, it was far enough to where the top left corner of the book was burnt black, slightly curled by the heat. Her mother stepped towards her. "Heloise..."
But she didn't hear the rest. Grasping the book tightly, she sprang to her feet and ran for the door. "Heloise!" She threw the door open and began running, running for the edge of town.
*************
Heloise dashed through the dark square, her eyes on the trees in the distance. The forest. The one thing seperating her and The Glen from
London; and she would get through it if it killed her.
"Hey!"
She spun towards the voice, expecting to see her mother, but was surprised to see Sylvia Snyde, who was standing idly on the steps outside of her house. "Where do you think you're going?"
She hesitated. "Why do you care?"
"Well, let's see. I haven't gotten the chance to repay you for that gracious mark you gave me." She pointed to the red area on her cheek. "And as much as I hate your guts, I don't want to have to be the person to tell everyone that you got eaten by the wolves."
"I'm not going to be eaten by the wolves. I'm going to London, where I won't have to listen to everyone yap on about the plague." Heloise glanced over her shoulder. Her mother would be catching up with her any minute now, and she didn't have time to stand out here and talk all night- let alone talk to Sylvia Snyde. She turned back around and began running again.
"Hey, wait! I'm serious! Come back!"
Heloise looked back at Sylvia, alarmed to see that she was now following her. She pushed her legs harder, imagining that she was a bird soaring in flight- but these thoughts did little to improve her speed. She ran and
ran, her body begging for air, but she didn't stop. Sylvia continued to trail behind her, calling her name, until she too was gasping for air. But neither of them stopped, even after they'd passed through the treeline, signaling that they had just entered the unforgiving woods.
<b>Thanks for reading!</b>
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