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argentvive · 5 years

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Jon’s Resurrection: The Role of Ghost

On the show, Jon was resurrected by Melisandre, with Ghost standing by.

I wrote about this scene a long time ago.

https://argentvive.tumblr.com/search/solva+et+coagula

I argued that Melisandre washing Jon and cutting his hair was a solve et coagula ritual. I also said I thought that the fan theory that Jon warged into Ghost when he was stabbed could well be correct.

Recently, I was going through the emblems in Atalanta fugiens and came across one (XXIV) I have never posted before that may provide a clue to how GRRM intends to write this scene in the next book.

There are two scenes here. You need to read the emblem like a comic strip, except front to back rather than left to right.

In alchemy, the King is the Philosopher’s-Stone-to-be. He must be “killed” so he can be resurrected, young and vigorous. The wolf is a symbol for antimony, the wolf of metals, the universal solvent, the mercurial water.

(Similarly, the dragon is a symbol for Mercurius at the beginning of the Work. Jon and Dany are both closely associated with animals that are symbols for the “lower, earthly self which the soul must learn to subdue and train, so that the higher self...may at last reign.” Lyndy Abraham, p. 60)

The caption for the emblem reads as follows:

The wolf devoured the king and after the wolf has been burnt, it returned the king to life. (Michael Maier, Atalanta fugiens, XXIV)

So in the foreground you see the wolf “devouring” the king--well, taking a little nibble at least. Then in the background, you see the wolf who devoured the king being burned, and in the process, the king is restored to life, young and whole.

This leads me to think that Ghost will play a critical part in Jon’s resurrection in the next book. GRRM can hardly have Ghost eat* Jon, but he can certainly take in Jon’s consciousness, his life force. The books spend quite a bit of time describing Jon warging into Ghost, so the precedent is there.

(*If you see a parallel between this Emblem and Little Red Riding Hood, who IS eaten by a wolf, you’re probably on to something. Notice how the revived King is wearing a cape, which should be red as a mark of his transformation into the Red King, the Philosopher’s Stone. What I don’t know is much the Grimms added to the folk tales they collected in 19th century Germany.)

But then what about the second scene? How do we get Jon alive again? To follow the emblem strictly, you’d have to have the Night’s Watch burn Ghost, somehow forcing Jon’s spirit back into his dead body. I guess that could work. But I prefer a scenario where Melisandre is involved, as on the show. But no matter what, Ghost will be in that room and I expect that the first clue we will get of Jon’s resurrection will be from the direwolf, as on the show.

I’m appending the entire discourse for Emblem XXIV, for anyone who can plow through the archaic English translation (the original is in Latin). I’ve boldfaced sentences that seem to apply to Jon, or might apply to him in the future.

Source: alchemywebsite.com

#game of thrones meta #alchemy #asoiaf #jon snow #wolf #antimony #michael maier #atalanta fugiens #mercurius #melisandre #solve et coagula #dragon #daenerys targaryen #jonerys #the winds of winter

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jadekitty777 · 5 years

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Successive Failure

I’m a little later then I said I would be on this one. I intended to release this one in-between the hiatus, but one of the final scenes was giving me some trouble, but I still hope it was worth the wait! Ever since this volume decided to bring Qrow’s addiction as a more prominent plot point, I wanted to try my hand at a proper introspective piece for him, and this is what resulted.

Rating: K+

Word Count: 6k

Ao3 Link: Successive Failure

Warnings: Lots of cursing and alcoholism

Summary: No matter how many times Qrow has tried, he has never able to put the bottle down for good. You’d think that’d be his greatest failure in life. You’d be wrong. [A What-If scenario of Volume 6, Chapter 9 – What if Team RWBY found Qrow in a different way]

“Give me the strongest you got.” Qrow ordered the moment he sat down.

The bartender’s curvy mustache waggled as he gave him a sharp look over. “You ain’t from around here, are ya bud?”

Annoyance tinged through him. He knew some bartenders were always out looking for the next strange person to talk with; but Qrow certainly wasn’t interested in spilling his life story. “You’re a regular ol’ Sherlock. Can I just get my drink?”

The other was not amused with his attitude, not that many ever were. In answer, he reached under the bar and placed a bottle on the desk. It was pretty unassuming, just a shade of dark-green, with a label on it that read ‘King Taijitu Venom’ on it. The two-headed Grimm hissed at him from underneath the title. “Argus’ breweries are some of the finest in the world. To the point some of the bottles need special permission to be exported. But this one right here?” He tapped the bottlecap. “Is so potent it’s been illegalized for transport. Only people in Argus can purchase it, and only by the shot.”

As he scanned the words, he quickly discovered why. 67.8 APV. He’d never had anything stronger than 35 before, and it had knocked him on his ass by the end of the night.

He had to admit, it got his interest piqued. “Is it that good?”

“Let’s just say one shot has put even the biggest of guys under the table in the hour. You? I’d give twenty minutes.”

He slid a lien card across the bar, smirking confidently. “That a challenge?”

Qrow has had many terrible ideas over the course of his 40-year lifespan. Sneaking from one bar to another to take two shots of pure poison in a bottle somehow only ranked in the top five.

Still, as he wandered around the streets of – where was he again? Didn’t matter. As he wandered the streets, trying to find his way back to the house, he had to wonder why he didn’t try this sooner. He felt great! The liquor had burned like whiskey but tasted as fine as a martini. Worth every bit of the 200 lien it cost him.

“W-Whoa!” Qrow stumbled as the ground underneath him upheaved, grasping onto a light pole to keep himself upright. A bubbling in his chest turned into laughter and he swung himself around it, doing a decent rendition of ‘Singing in the Rain’ in one of those wishy-washy musicals Tai liked to watch. He let go of it, kicking up some snow bunched along the curb of the sidewalk, before tapping and twisting across the road, going on about sunshine in his heart and other such nonsense.

As he twirled once more on his heels, he noticed two bright lights coming towards him. Ah, right, the spotlight! Time for the big finish! He held up his arms, grinning widely, as the lights sped towards him.

“QROW!” The voice – a fan no doubt – was echoed with a great big noise that must have been the baseline reaching the crescendo.

He took a deep breath, ready to belt out the chorus for his audience – when something slammed into his body with enough force to jar his bones and rattle his brain around in his skull. It made the whole world spin.

“What were you doing?!” The voice, his fan, shrieked from above.

He blinked away spots, confused on how he’d suddenly ended up back on the sidewalk. He craned his neck, trying to focus on the tiny lady atop him. As her face came into view, his heart leapt. “Flowerbud?”

“Ruby!” Another, more boisterous, woman yelled, before she came into view. Huh, when had Raven dyed her hair? “Is he alright?!”

Okay. Not Raven. She wouldn’t care about his wellbeing for a millisecond.

“What kind of idiot stands in the middle of traffic like that!” This third lady was much shriller as she came to stand beside not-Raven. Unfortunately, even in his wildest woes of drunkenness, he couldn’t forget the face of a Schnee.

Which had an even more unfortunate side effect of pulling him out of his stupor enough that he realized it was not Summer but his niece hovering above him. It was also her fist that hit him hard enough on the chest that some of the air rushed from his lungs, making his voice squeak ironically when he gasped out, “Pipsqueak?”

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Uh,” It took a moment to calculate, “Just two shots.”

“You’re lying!” Something seemed off about Ruby’s voice, but he couldn’t place why. Maybe he was still hearing Summer’s ghost in its tone.

Another hit jolted him from that train of thought. He swiped out for her hands – and was she using her semblance to keep them away from him because he was having an awfully hard time catching them. “Will you cut that out? Everything’s fine.”

“Fine? …Fine?!” He flinched a bit, her voice too loud. “Nothing’s fine! Oscar’s missing, everyone’s upset and you almost got hit by a truck! You, you-!” Lost for words, she just gave a yell of rage, before she was up and storming down the sidewalk, her cloak billowing behind her like a windstorm. After a moment, she gave another cry, kicking a Styrofoam coffee cup so it skittered across the concrete.

He knew something was really wrong though when she fell to her knees, pulling her hood up over her bowed head, wailing loudly.

“Ruby!” Yang hurried over to her.

Above him still, the Schnee and – wait, where’d the fourth come from? – shared a look, before the former nodded her head towards the sisters. “Go on. I’ll get him home.”

“Are you sure?” Blake looked between her and him warily. Not that he cared about that. Not one bit.

“Don’t worry. I’ve… done it before.”

He did however care about his niece who sounded really, really bad. “Kiddo?” He called to her, struggling to get to his feet. By the time he’d managed it though, dainty fingers were wrapping around his bicep, tugging him away from the sidewalk and away from his niece. “Hey, leggo!” His assailant didn’t answer nor concede. He tried to pull away, only to stumble even more when black glyphs appeared under his feet, magnetizing his boots and forcing him to stay on the path. “Ice princess, ya hear me? I said let go! I have to check on Ruby!”

“You’ve done enough.” She wouldn’t even look at him.

He was glad she didn’t because he knew that tone. Had heard it all his life, sewing itself into his head like a song that he couldn’t find the rest of. A tune that just wouldn’t quit replaying those few beats, no matter how many times he tried to distract himself from it.

It was the tone that said: I’m disappointed in you.

When Qrow was 30, he had hit rock bottom.

It had been a slow weathering. At first it was simply the pressure of the underground mission, the secrets so few knew looming along his back like a phantom. Then, Raven left, carving a hole in his team and family that not even Summer and her boundless optimism knew how to correct. She didn’t get long to try before her life was stolen next and with it, she might as well have taken Tai’s as he lost himself to grief so endless, no amount of effort could pull him out of the pit he’d fallen into. Qrow, left alone for the first time, felt like he’d lost all semblance of control. Aimless, guideless, he turned to the only thing that could bring him joy anymore, as false as it was.

He was no stranger to drinking. In the tribe, it was common place for twelve-year-olds to be declared men, and with it, were allowed to sip on the neck of a bottle. At Beacon, he made a lot of his connections through rave parties and throwaway dances, always with a cup in hand and praised for his ability to find ‘the good stuff’. Maturity and fitting in, that’s what drinking meant for him.

Until it didn’t anymore. For as much as he scoffed at his sister for it, he knew – whether physically present or not – he was just as good at running away.

As the years progressed, he became more of a master at that than anything else. By the time he’d truly woken up, Tai had gotten a new job as a teacher, Yang was seven, and Ruby was five. And apparently Qrow, drunk, stupid Qrow, was their babysitter.

But that was kind of the thing about black out drinking. He made promises he hardly remembered and had entire weeks months of his memory just splotched out like a gothic painter got a little too eager when they put the paintbrush to his brain.

So when he finally woke up to a puppy he hadn’t even known Tai had adopted yapping incessantly at him and found the house disturbingly empty, nothing but the grooved tracks of the girls’ play wagon disappearing into the forest left behind, he knew he had fucked up. Cursed himself as he rushed out after them, taking to the sky as he prayed to whatever Gods he didn’t believe in at the time that they would just let him be lucky.

Just this once, please, just this one time and he’ll never drink again.

They answered and he got to bring both the girls home that day.

He repaid Them by trying to convince a seven-year-old to keep a secret she shouldn’t have to hold.

Tai found out anyways, because Ruby was too wide-eyed over just how cool she thought her uncle was to understand why she wouldn’t tell her daddy about his brave rescue.

Qrow remembered that day with more clarity than he would have liked, down to the very way Tai manhandled him out of the house and tossed him into the dirt.

“I’m done.” Tai had seethed. He was beyond livid, red in the face and every inch of him shaking as he contained the need to pummel him six feet under. “You either get your fucking act together or you get the fuck out of my house.”

Though he’d later be grateful, the Qrow that day was nothing but indignant as he rose against him, “The fuck? I save your kids and you kick me out?”

“You were supposed to be watching them!” Tai shrilled back. “I’ve tried my best to be patient and understanding and all you do is spit that back in my face! And you know what? I’m tired! I’m tired of giving you extra money every week. I’m tired of calls at 2 A.M to come pick you up from the bar. I’m tired of having to explain to the girls why their uncle is never around, even when he is.”

“At least drinking’s a better excuse then the damn pity party you’re still throwing.” Even as he said it, he knew he had crossed a line, and deserved every bit of the black eye he received for it.

“You know what? Fuck off.” Tai snarled down at him, before turning back for the house. Turning back from him. “You want to go kill yourself, then be my fucking guest!”

“Y-Yeah well-!” Qrow scrambled for a response, digging as dirty as he could go, “I’m sure you’ll be happy to be rid of me! Better off without your bad luck charm hanging around, right?!”

For a moment, it made his brother-in-law pause but when he looked back at him, there was no sympathy, only disappointment. “Wow. Playing the manipulative card? I thought you were better than that.”

And then, to add salt onto the newly cut wound, the door was slammed in his face and Qrow found himself homeless.

He’d like to say he’d immediately cleaned up his act and came back into the house with his tail-feathers tucked between his legs, but that’d be a lie, so he didn’t. In fact, he never told anyone how he spent the next few months, scavenging about and doing less than savory missions for quick cash to feed his addiction.

His second awakening came when he found himself locked in a prison in Vale after trying to steal a six-pack from the grocery store. Nothing was more pathetic than being given his one phone call and realizing he had absolutely no one to dial.

So he called Ozpin, explaining without explaining that he found himself in a bit of trouble and needed some cash. He had expected to be hung up on. He had hoped to be wired the money. What he got was his former headmaster coming down to the station in person to bail him out. And boy, was that ride back to Beacon ever awkward and uncomfortable, Qrow silently wishing he could sink into the leather seats until he disappeared for good.

Oz didn’t ask any questions until they were closed up in his office, making Qrow feel like he was seventeen and about to be scolded for breaking the holographic projectors in the computer lab. Again.

“So, care to tell me what that was all about?” Ozpin asked, pouring him some hot chocolate.

“Don’t suppose I can just say no and accept a week’s detention like the good ol’ days, huh?” Qrow accepted the cup, even if he likely wouldn’t drink it.

He chuckled in return. “I’m afraid not. Being a graduate means I can no longer dole out corporal punishment.” He pushed off from the desk he lent against, saying as he rounded it, “However, I’m still an excellent listener, if you want to talk about anything.”

He stared hard at his reflection in the muddy surface. “Who says I got anything to say?”

The other sat down, humming, “Well, I suppose if you don’t we can merely spend the time catching up. It has been quite awhile since I’ve last seen you.” Qrow slunk down a little more in his seat, pretending he didn’t know why that was. Oz went about pouring his own cup, adding as he did, “It’s a little ironic you showed up, actually. Taiyang called a few days ago, asking if I’d seen you.” Brown eyes peered at him over shaded spectacles. “He’s worried.”

That finally got him to snort, crossing his heels on the edge of the desk. “Yeah. Sure he is.”

There was a sigh, Oz dropping all pretenses that he didn’t already know what was going on. “Qrow, I understand why you might feel that Tai’s actions were out of spite, but-”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a burden.” He slumped further, setting the full cup on the floor. “Got it.”

His old headmaster gave him a reproachful look, before sternly saying, “No. You are not the burden, Qrow. Your drinking is. You need to separate yourself from the vice if you hope to beat this.”

Beat it? He could hardly live without it. “Drinking IS part of who I am.”

“Do you truly define yourself in your head as a drunkard?”

“Well… what would YOU define me as?” He challenged right back.

“A huntsman.”

It was so simple.

And yet so wrong.

“Ha, haha!” Qrow smacked his own forehead, craning his neck over the back of his chair as he laughed towards the ceiling. “You got to be kidding me! Oz, I haven’t done an honest mission in years.”

“Then do one.”

“Okay, it was funny the first time, not so much the second time.” He spat.

“I’m being serious.” Oz turned slightly, bringing up a display to the left of him, scrolling through a listing. “How about Grimm control in the western sector? Or escorting the trade lines in Argus?”

“H-Hey.” Panic suddenly clogged his throat, Qrow sitting up straight. “Oz, wait. I’m out of practice.”

Hardly deterred, the man hit a few keys to pull up a new list. “Well, there are certainly plenty of easy rank missions to be done as well. How does transporting rations to stationaries sound?”

“Bad. They all sound bad.” He snapped. When that didn’t even earn him a cursory glance, he smacked the top of the desk. “Oz!”

There was a horrible screech as one of the cogs underneath the glass surface suddenly popped out of place, the rest of the gears coming to an awful, ear-piercing stop. They both looked down at it, Qrow giving a low groan before thumping his forehead on the cold, glass surface.

After a moment, he heard a sigh. “It’s easily fixed Qrow. Other things, I’m afraid, are not. Especially the longer you allow them to remain unrepaired.”

When he turned his head to peer up at him, he didn’t know what to make of the look Ozpin was giving him. It was full of compassion and, worse yet, understanding in a way that made his stomach flip sickeningly. “Look, Oz,” He said as he sat up, “I get what you’re trying to do and I appreciate it, I guess. But, it’s not…” that bad. The rest of the sentence faltered in his throat. He hadn’t slept in a bed or had a decent meal in weeks.

He tried again. “I can-” Stop? If he had the means to get it, he’d be downing a shot in a heartbeat.

“I don’t-” Need help? He was just in jail, for maiden’s sake!

And as he tried to find a way, any way, to justify himself, to argue for a desire on the worst of days even he hated, he realized he’d run out of excuses.

If he didn’t do something now, then what? How much further could he lose control of his life, until he couldn’t come back from it?

For the first time in a long time, Qrow remembered what it was like to be afraid of himself.

The strength he found to finally speak was tenuous at best, coming out as nothing but a whisper, “I’ve really fucked up, haven’t I?”

Oz’s smile was kind. “We all do things in life we regret. But, it’s not in those errors that we should crucify ourselves. Rather, it’s in those choices we make after those errors that we should judge ourselves.”

And so, Qrow made one.

For the following months, he stuck around Beacon and spent his days in a waking hell as he forced himself through a rough detox. Daily shakes, cold sweats, physical, aching pain that wouldn’t quit no matter how many painkillers he swallowed down. On the worst of them, the ones where the need became so strong he knew he was going to fail himself, he would have Ozpin lock him in the vault, knowing it was the only place his wings couldn’t get him out of.

When he returned to Patch, it was on orientation for Signal’s new school year. He never really felt cut out to be a teacher, but being a headmaster himself, Ozpin was able to secure himself the opportunity, encouraging him to take some time to recover and retrain himself while also helping the future generation do the same. In a few years, Oz told him, he’d want to see him return to the field as a Huntsman once more.

It was the first time in a long time that Qrow felt eager for something that didn’t come in a bottle. After being lost for so long, finally he was able to remember what he had wanted in life. To be a legend, unforgettable and revered.

But, first, there were a few people he needed to make things up to.

Ruby and Yang were simple. Young as they were, they couldn’t grasp the full impact of what had happened that resulted in his sudden disappearance, just the sorrow left behind and the joy of his return. However, blindsided as he was, Taiyang wasn’t so easily swayed, making it clear he’d have to earn his trust back. So used to breaking things in life, Qrow wasn’t even entirely sure how to fix that, but for once, he wanted to. This was the only family he had left, and by Gods, he was going to make sure he kept them. So, he stuck around and proved to Tai, to the girls, and even to himself that he really could be a functional adult and he didn’t need a crutch in life to get by. What had weathered away was rebuilt even slower, but little by little he was invited to spend more time at the house, doing everything from sharing dinners to marathoning series together. Eventually, he started to call it home again.

It wasn’t until Tai gave him permission to train Ruby that he truly felt forgiven though. He’d never taken anything so serious in his life as he did showing his niece how to be the extraordinary huntress he could already tell she would be.

Despite all his efforts though, he never stopped drinking, not really. He couldn’t manage to fully abolish the itch that would bite at his skin whenever the temptation would get to be too much. The most he accomplished was making sure his addition wasn’t the thing running the show anymore. But it was something. Something he could take a measure of pride in and hold onto.

His life was his again and he was going to make the most of it.

At 40, Qrow found himself waking up in a hospital and was hit once more with the realization he had fucked up.

Three problems made themselves immediately clear the moment he opened his eyes:

The headache beating across his skull was so terrible, taking a jackhammer to it would have been kinder.

The incessant beeping coming from somewhere in the general vicinity just needed to shut the hell up.

The soft whimpers of someone crying was simultaneously the least bothersome and the most terrible.

The last measure was magnified tenfold when he finally turned to see who it was.

“Ruby?” His tongue felt heavy and slurred, even though he knew he was anything but drunk right now.

She jerked, a startled gasp escaping her. She hurriedly wiped at her face. “Uncle, you’re awake!”

He glanced around the room, at the high-tech gizmos settled against the walls and the IV line going down into his wrist, and a sinking feeling started to settle in his gut as he pieced together where he was. “Why am I here? What happened?”

“When we got back, you were on the floor and you wouldn’t wake up. We thought you hit your head.” Ruby swallowed some, her lip trembling. “We weren’t even sure you were breathing and even when Jaune tried to heal you, you just started to-” Her voice caught and she looked away.

Something in him felt like it was breaking, seeing her cry like this. “Rubes, hey.” He tried to reach out for her, but she dodged his attempt, hurrying for the door.

“I got to go tell the nurse your awake. He needs to check, things. I’ll be back in a second.” She couldn’t manage to even look at him as she slipped out the door.

It was more than a second, or even a few minutes, and Qrow didn’t have to wonder why. The image of Ruby, strong, surefire, almost unshakeable Ruby, probably holed up in a bathroom somewhere to compose herself because of him left a bad taste in his mouth and a guilt so heavy he was sure it’d crush him. (Gods, he wanted a drink.) The least he could do was try and look a bit more presentable by the time she got back and not like… not like he was dying. He struggled to sit up, but just a few inches sent a ripple of pain through his stomach and he swallowed down the instant nausea before he could throw up over himself. He laid still as much as possible, waiting out the agony until it passed.

Alright, bad idea.

He looked around, trying to think. Some beds came with remote-y things, right? It was Atlas tech but Argus was a close enough neighbor, maybe they’d imported.

He had just spotted a possible candidate to his plight, tucked away in the corner of a side table, when the door opened and in walked his niece and a young man in earth-toned scrubs. A gray and white banded tail curled around him as he approached the bedside.

“Mr. Branwen, it’s good to see you up. I’m Nurse Arma.” Qrow tried not to snort over how on the nose that name was. Unperturbed, the nurse continued, “Let’s sit you up, okay?”

Sure enough, the remote he had been eyeing was the right one, and the gears underneath it whirled, slowly lifted him into a sitting position. Qrow had to shut his eyes against another roil of pain – not just in his gut but all over, like he’d been zapped by a thousand volts of lightning dust.

A hand fell to his arm, pinching lightly. “Looks like you’re mostly hydrated again. How are you feeling?”

He glanced quickly to his niece, hidden in the far corner of the room and still refusing to look at him. “Well, ain’t the worst I’ve ever felt, if you can believe that.”

Arma chuckled, writing some things down on the chart he carried as he looked over one of the nearby machines. “Glad to see the alcohol poisoning didn’t destroy your sense of humor.”

“Wait, what?” The fact hit him like a train wreck. He’d been bad before, but he’d never… “That’s what happened to me?”

The smiles were gone, the other turning away from the IV bag to focus on him. “Do you remember anything from last night?”

Last night? A quick glance at the window told him that the sky was a soft, pale shade. He had grown so accustomed to reading it during his years when a clock and a calendar weren’t exactly common finds in a woodland camp, that he knew it was early morning. “I left one bar to go to another and then, I think there were some lights? That’s it.”

That was apparently not what the nurse wanted to hear as he frowned down at him, before glancing across the room. “Ruby, would you like me to tell him, or would you prefer to?”

She withdrew a little further in her corner, murmuring back, “You can. I can’t say it.”

“Alright.” Arma set his clipboard down on the side table, turning his full attention back to his patient. There was nothing about that piteous look that Qrow liked. “The story I was told is your nieces and her friends were out looking for one of your teammates that had gone missing.” Missing? Who had-? “During their search, one of them spotted you running into the street, right in front of a truck. Your niece here used her semblance to get you out of the way, but you were so intoxicated you couldn’t answer why you’d done it. You don’t remember that?”

Qrow could barely breathe. “I… N-No.” Had he been trying to…?

Oh gods, and Ruby and Yang had both witnessed it.

The armadillo Faunus only nodded and continued, like he wasn’t shaking up Qrow’s entire psyche. “One of them brought you back to the house, before going back out to continue her search, hoping you’d be able to just rest it off. But in the meantime, your blood alcohol concentration continued to rise, until it reached dangerous levels. That was when your teammate that was supposedly missing returned to the house, and he found you lying on the floor, unconscious and unresponsive. He called the rest of your team to notify them of the emergency, and they all rushed back home. One of your other teammates tried to use his semblance to heal you. He didn’t think that it wouldn’t work for a non-physical wound.”

He braced himself as he braved asking, “So, what happened?”

“If I had to guess? His semblance probably jumped your BAC into the highest peak possible.” The man held out his hands like a consolation even as he delivered the blow, “You had a seizure. Two, in fact. One there, and one shortly after you were admitted to ER. During the first one, you bit through your tongue enough that we had to stitch it.” Well, that explained why talking hurt. “The one here was much more severe. You would have asphyxiated on your own vomit had you not have had anyone to clear your airways. After that, the doctor ordered a catheter to clear some of the fluid in your bladder and an IV for the dehydration. We’ve been monitoring your progress overnight. Thankfully, no other complications came up; but, as you can imagine, it was a pretty scary experience. For everyone involved.”

Qrow couldn’t look up anymore, and instead stared down at his trembling hands, feeling the shame and humiliation tangling its way through him. “Yeah…”

He heard a sigh, Arma picking back up the clipboard. “You’re very lucky, Mr. Branwen. Had they been even an hour later, you probably wouldn’t be here anymore.” He stepped towards the doorway, saying as he went. “The doctor will come check on you in a bit and release you once she’s confirmed you’re well enough.”

With him gone, the following silence was almost suffocating. It felt like it took everything it had in him to speak up. “So uh, hey kiddo, what say we order some hospital food and complain about how awful it is?”

No answer.

“Or, maybe a game? I’m sure my Scroll’s somewhere.”

He saw her jaw twitch but her eyes remained stubbornly focused on the window.

His hands curled into the sheets. “Ruby. Say something. Please.”

“You want me to say something?” She said, turning, a storm in her gaze. “Okay. I’ll say something.” She stomped towards him, stopping at the end of his bed and yelled, “Do you know how mad I am at you?!”

“I-”

“No! Shut up!” She cut her hands through the air, her voice rising another octave, enough to make him flinch. “Do you have any idea what it was like, coming back to you just lying on the floor like that? I’ve never been so terrified as I was sitting out in that waiting room, wondering if you were even gonna make it!” She hitched over another breath, tears flowing anew. “What was I gonna do if you died, huh?! What was I gonna tell dad? That his best friend was just too STUPID to control himself? And Yang’s so upset with you, she won’t even come in here!” She lifted her arms up to the ceiling as if to curse the heavens, “I don’t even know I feel! I’m hurt and sad and, and- I just want to shove Crescent Rose through your head!”

As quickly as it was there, the bluster blew out of her, and as her arms fell and her body slumped, Ruby looked almost small again, in a way that made Qrow remember the innocent, little girl who so looked up to him for so many years. Looked at him like her idol and hero and who would go around school telling anyone who would listen about how her uncle was just the best and she was going to be just like him. Who would bounce at the end of his bed, bright-eyed and begging him to tell her another story about his missions or who would don her blanket like a cape and go running down the halls, fighting off imaginary foes.

And in her visage now, he could see that vision of him shattering around her. It pained him, to realize he’d caused it. He never meant to fail her too.

Ruby sniffled, saying to the tiles, “I know what Professor Ozpin did hurt you, Uncle, and it’s been real hard for you. But you were wrong about something.” She looked up, catching his gaze and holding it in a way she couldn’t before. “You said no one wanted you, but that’s not true. I will always want you to be a part of my life.” The words struck him in the chest, and he couldn’t breathe again. “If dad and Yang were here, they’d say the same. I know you think you’re unimportant and unneeded, and I think you focus so hard on that you can’t always see it, but you are family. And us losing you will break it more than you think it will.”

Qrow twisted the sheets in his hands. “Ruby, I-” His voice faltered. Fuck.

“I just…” She lowered her head. “I don’t know what else to do, uncle. What am I doing wrong?”

His eyes widened.

“If I could just figure out how to-”

“Stop.” Though his voice had been firm he barely felt steady, everything around him ready to upheave. He watched the way his knuckles turned white, the way his arms trembled. The way a single droplet fell from his chin, splotching a wet spot into the sheets. “Look. I know you want me to say I’ll just quit and everything will just be fine. But, I’ve been trying for years. I… don’t know how. To stop.” He chuckled bitterly, hitching over a sob. He couldn’t remember the last time things hurt this bad. “It’s like my semblance. I don’t want it, but I can’t get rid of it, either.” In the corner of his eye, he could see the blur of red growing closer. “But none of this is your fault, kiddo. All this? Being here today? It’s on me and me only. You, Yang, Tai?” He finally looked up at her. “You guys aren’t the reason I fail. You’re the reason I try at all.”

This time, when she hugged him, he didn’t try to pull away like he had at the farm. Instead, he sighed and sunk into it, enjoying the rare warmth and comfort it brought, even if he wasn’t sure he deserved it.

“Uncle Qrow?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

Qrow blinked his eyes open, staring at the silver rose-patterned emblem pinned to Ruby’s coat, seeing his reflection in it. He smiled weakly back at it. “Yeah kiddo, love ya too.”

Qrow stepped out of the bathroom, adjusting the last button to his dress shirt. “Gotta say, my normal clothes are definitely more comfortable than that scratchy gown y’all threw me in.”

“I’ll lodge a complaint with the fashion department, just for you.” Arma quipped, placing a tray on the side table, nodding to it. “Your personal artifacts.”

“Thanks.” He still felt sore and his tongue was a definite mess – he’d decided to take a look at it the moment he had access to a mirror – but after a small meal and enough water to fill a lake, his nausea and his headache had both tempered. Enough for the doc to clear him for release.

“Take care, Mr. Branwen.” Arma headed for the exit but as he reached the threshold, he paused, looking back. “And… for your sake, I hope I don’t see you back here.”

“Yeah, me nether kid.”

Once he’d left, Qrow crossed over to the table, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He pocked his scroll. Slowly slipped back on his bracelets. Then his rings. And, finally, his necklace. All the while avoiding the largest item there until it was all that was left.

He sighed, reaching out and picking up the flask, hearing the slosh as he did. It triggered the itch, the one that left his skin tingling, his mouth watering.

If drinking two glasses of the strongest alcohol in the world was only in the top five worst things he’d ever done, he was pretty sure him undoing the cap of his flask was vying for the number one slot.

“You’re such an idiot.” He whispered as he lifted it.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, following the signs down the hall to the lobby. It wasn’t hard to spot Ruby, between her standout clothing and her high-pitched voice shouting his name as she waved him over.

“Gee, glad the whole cavalry didn’t come running.” Qrow jibed.

She shoved him for it. “They’re outside. The staff doesn’t like a lot of us, uh, ‘weapons-toting kids’ hanging around.”

“Well, at least we’re already here when firecracker decides to deck me right back through the front door.”

“Uncle…” She reprimanded as she turned for the exit.

He followed after her. “Bet you five lien she does it.”

“That’s awful!” A beat, then Ruby smirked. “How about a box of chocolate-chip cookies instead?”

“Deal.” He chuckled, throwing an arm across her shoulders as they walked through the doorway.

Back in room 104, it wouldn’t be discovered until the orderly finished cleaning up the room.

Left upturned in the sink just outside of the bathroom was single item.

A metal flask, the last droplet of alcohol having drained out of it some time ago.

#qrow branwen #ruby rose #ozpin #rwby #fanfiction #Chase Firekitten's Tale

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2700fstreet · 5 years

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OPERA / 2018-2019

FAUST

STUDENT GUIDE

Washington National Opera Open Rehearsal Music by Charles Gounod Libretto by Jules Barbier and Michel Carré Based on Faust: Part I by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

School show: March 13

Teacher and Parent Guide: Faust

Who’s Who

Main Characters

Faust, a learned scholar (tenor—the highest male voice) Méphistophélès, a demon (bass—the lowest male voice) Marguerite, a young woman (soprano—the highest female voice) Valentin, her brother, a soldier (baritone—a middle-range male voice) Siébel, a young man (mezzo-soprano—a middle-range female* voice) Marthe, Marguerite’s neighbor (mezzo-soprano)

*It’s common for opera composers to assign young male roles to female singers.

So, What’s Going On?

The sixteenth-century Germanic countryside.

Poor Dr. Faust (pronounced FOUST). He’s been a scholar for decades but has now become an old man with nothing to show for it. He doesn’t really know anything. He doesn’t really feel anything. He has no idea what the meaning of life is. And he’s entirely alone.

Determined not to wait for death, he attempts suicide only to be distracted by a chorus singing God’s praises outside his door. Annoyed, Faust cries out that God can do nothing for him. Faust wants his youth back. He wants love and affection. God can’t give him any of those things.

So Faust calls upon the Devil instead (what a brilliant idea).

Immediately, the Devil appears in the form of Méphistophélès (meff-uh-STOFF-uh-lezz), a demon disguised as a wealthy gentleman. Faust explains he wants a chance to be young again (with maybe the added bonus of a few girlfriends), and Méphistophélès proposes a deal: all the youth and ladies Faust could ever want in exchange for his immortal soul.

Faust hesitates, but when Méphistophélès tempts him with a vision of a breathtaking woman who lives close by, he’s sold. The two sign a contract and Faust is transformed into a dashing young man, ready to hit the streets.

Take a listen…

Faust makes the spectacularly dubious decision to invoke the Devil. Listen for Faust’s breathless, agitated phrases. Think about how his outbursts compare to Méphistophélès’s smoother, more even-keeled melodies and deeper tone of voice. (Bonus: Check out the “word-painting” technique used when Méphistophélès stretches his voice to its lowest extremes as he sings about the hellish place “là-bas,” or “downstairs”).

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In the nearby village, a young soldier named Valentin (vahl-ohn-TAEHN) prepares to go to war. Worried that his sister, Marguerite (mahr-geh-REE-tuh), will be left un-chaperoned, Valentin asks his young friend Siébel (syeh-BELL) to watch over her.

Take a listen…

Valentin says a small prayer that his sister will be kept safe (“Avant de quitter ces lieux,” or “Before I leave this place”). Listen for how this aria (solo song) is broken up into three sections: 1) a heartfelt plea with a plaintive melody, 2) a military march as Valentin preps himself for battle, and 3) a repeat of the first section with a few minor tweaks.

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But soon, Méphistophélès arrives to stir up trouble.

Take a listen…

In his aria “Le veau d’or” (“The golden calf”), Méphistophélès conjures up the image of a devilish idol that inspires Satanic dances and possesses the power to bring down the human race. Listen for the cymbal crashes and fluttering wind instruments (think piccolos, flutes, oboes, and clarinets) that give Méphistophélès’s song the sense it’s whipping into a devilish frenzy.

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After singing a song to entertain the locals, Méphistophélès teases Valentin and his friends by reading palms and predicting not-so-nice futures. The demon then proposes a toast in honor of Marguerite. Shocked that Méphistophélès knows his sister’s name, and sensing this stranger is up to no good, Valentin draws his weapon—only to have it shatter in midair. Valentin calls on God for protection from evil as the crowd disperses.

Later, Faust urges Méphistophélès to introduce him to the maiden from the magical vision. Méphistophélès cautions that this particular lady may not be interested in Faust’s advances—she is, after all, none other than (surprise!) Marguerite, Valentin’s pious sister. Still, Faust demands to see her, and Méphistophélès orchestrates a “meet cute.” Faust turns on the charm, but Marguerite shies away.

Attempting to speed the love affair along, Méphistophélès leads Faust to Marguerite’s house and leaves her a basket of jewels, hoping they’ll help Marguerite look more favorably on her new suitor.

And—boom—the gamble pays off.

As Faust and Méphistophélès hide nearby, Marguerite—who’s been daydreaming about her brief encounter with a handsome stranger (Faust)—uncovers the jewels and treats herself to a luxurious “makeover.”

Take a listen…

Marguerite checks out her new look in her aria, “Ah! Je ris de ma voir si belle” (which roughly translates as: “I’m laughing at how pretty I look”). Notice how she sings several notes in rapid succession (a style known a coloratura), to give the effect that she’s literally laughing.

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Her neighbor, Marthe (MAHR-tuh) interrupts her, and Marguerite is slightly embarrassed, but not half as embarrassed as she is when Faust arrives, complimenting her beauty and proclaiming his undying love.

Méphistophélès distracts Marthe, leaving Faust and Marguerite alone. In no time at all, Marguerite reveals she’s just as smitten with Faust as he is with her, despite her concern that a whirlwind romance could bring her everlasting shame. (Marguerite may be innocent but she’s not stupid; she knows the other villagers won’t look kindly on an unwed woman who spends all her time with a young man). And yet, with a little coaxing from Méphistophélès, Marguerite agrees to be Faust’s girl forever.

Several months later.

With no recent word from Faust, Marguerite sits nervously at her spinning wheel. Siébel arrives to keep her company, but his attempts to comfort her are in vain: She’s carrying Faust’s child, and there’s no ring on her finger.

At this (very) inopportune moment, Valentin and his army come marching home from war. Having emerged victorious, Valentin is ready to celebrate with Marguerite, but soon discovers something’s gone very wrong in his absence (thanks for blabbing, Siébel).

As Valentin goes off to confront his “disgraced” sister, Faust and Méphistophélès turn up at Marguerite’s door hoping to smooth things over, as Faust has been feeling remorseful about leaving his former love.

But everything goes to hell (see what we did there?) when Valentin bursts on the scene, demanding someone take responsibility for his sister’s situation. A fight breaks out and Faust ends up stabbing Valentin. Faust and Méphistophélès disappear just as some villagers gather to see about the commotion. Marguerite rushes to her brother’s side, but Valentin pushes her away, claiming his impending death is all her fault and cursing her as he collapses on the ground.

With nowhere to turn, Marguerite goes to church to pray. Once there, however, an unforgiving voice (which sounds mysteriously like Méphistophélès) declares that her sins have damned her forever.

Sometime later, Marguerite has landed in prison. Her brother’s death and Faust’s abandonment have driven her mad, horrifically causing her to murder her newborn child.

Convinced he’s loved Marguerite all along and that the trials and tribulations of the past few months were all the Devil’s doing (really, dude?), Faust persuades Méphistophélès to help him break Marguerite free.

But will Faust’s newfound sense of commitment be enough to save Marguerite before it’s too late? Can his love rescue her from execution? Will they both be able to escape Méphistophélès’s eternal damnation?

Good to Know

By the time Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (GEUH-tuh, 1749-1832) began writing the epic saga that would inspire Charles Gounod’s (goo-NOH, 1818-1893) opera, the legend of Faust—the ultimate “deal with the Devil” story—was already a few centuries old. Indeed, German texts from the sixteenth century reveal “Doctor Faust” may have actually been a real doctor or magician who reportedly died a very strange, very gruesome death. The doctor’s bizarre bio eventually made its way into Germanic folklore (way before the days of the Brothers Grimm), where it was transformed into a cautionary tale about the dangers of asking too much out of life.

Faust would later be immortalized by Shakespearean contemporary Christopher Marlowe in his play Doctor Faustus, and would enjoy even greater fame nearly two hundred years later thanks to Goethe’s massive two-part drama (a work that took him nearly 60 years to finish). Goethe’s version came with a twist, however: He was the first to introduce the character of Margaret (also known as “Gretchen” and referred to as “Marguerite” in French), the young woman Faust seduces and then discards.

It was Marguerite’s side of the story that proved so moving it went on to influence a long list of nineteenth-century Romantic artists, including powerhouse composer Hector Berlioz (who wrote his own Faustian opera, La damnation de Faust), song master Franz Schubert, and Gounod, who became a fan of the Goethe story during a trip to Rome—a place filled with images of angels and demons.

Faust’s tale continued to spark imaginations well into the twentieth and twenty-first centuries (think of movies like Damn Yankees and Bedazzled or more recent TV series like Lucifer or Chilling Adventures of Sabrina), and the term “Faustian bargain” has become a universal phrase meaning “to sell one’s soul.” The original Doctor Faust may have met a tragic end, but his legacy isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Learning to Listen

Going to the opera means you’ll have to start listening in a new way if you want to take in everything the music and the voices have to offer. And guess what? This is less difficult than it sounds.

Try thinking of opera singing as its own type of language or speech. When we’re speaking, our emotions can change the way our voices sound from moment to moment—and one word can have a thousand different meanings depending on how we say it (loudly, softly, quickly, slowly, with a high- or low-pitched voice, etc.). The same is true for the characters in an opera. Each voice you’ll hear will have its own special flavor depending on who the character is and what he or she is saying.

Marguerite, for example, is an innocent and sensitive young woman. Her voice, therefore, will be on the higher side (to provide a clue that she’s youthful and inexperienced) and will occasionally soar above the orchestra with intense emotion (such as when she raises her voice in prayer or when she pleads with Faust not to break her heart).

Faust, on the other hand, spends much of the opera as a young man with a tremendous appetite for fun. His bright tenor voice (a vocal type associated with heroes) symbolizes his youthful, reckless, and passionate personality. His melodies often pour out in short, explosive musical phrases that are meant to remind us of his lust for life.

When in doubt about how a character is feeling or what they’re thinking, always pay close attention to exactly how they sound. (The instruments in the orchestra will give you hints as well.)

Check This Out…

Gounod frequently uses musical foreshadowing to signal his listeners as to where the story of Faust is headed. Can you identify any specific moments in which the music provides some dramatic spoilers? (Hint: Listen carefully to the overture, Mephistophélès’s entrance, and Marguerite and Faust’s tortured love duet.) On the other hand, are there any scenes in which the music fakes you out by evoking the wrong mood? (Hint: Listen for the upbeat victory march that plays when Valentin returns home.)

Watch for the ways in which the costume, lighting, and makeup designs help give you hints about each character’s status and their relationship to those around them. Do the costumes and lighting provide you with any clues regarding the characters’ personalities? Can you tell who’s “good” and who’s “evil” based on what they wear or what colors they’re associated with? Do you notice any shifts in how the characters look as their stories progress or their motivations change?

Marguerite’s spinning wheel aria (“Il ne revient pas,” or “He hasn’t returned”) was inspired by an actual poetic “song” in Goethe’s text, and there are many other musical settings of the exact same scene. Why do you think this moment gets such special attention in so many different versions of Faust? What do you think the spinning wheel might symbolize? (For extra points: How would you know Marguerite’s aria features a spinning wheel even if you closed your eyes? What instrumental sounds are used to create a spinning effect?)

Think About This…

In opera, supernatural and/or extremely powerful figures such as gods, demons, kings, or ghosts are usually sung by basses. Why do you think composers gravitate toward lower male voices when writing these characters? Do you feel the bass sound suits Mephistophélès? How so?

The chorus plays an essential role in Faust. Why do you think Gounod opted to feature such a large group of men and women in so many scenes? What function do they serve? Can you recall any other theatrical or literary works in which a chorus is used in a similar way?

In Goethe’s homeland of Germany, Gounod’s Faust is sometimes called Marguerite instead. Why do you feel that might be? Who do you think is the true hero of the opera? Who’s the true villain? (Consider this: Mephistophélès may be a demon, but are his crimes any worse than Faust’s? Or Valentin’s? Or anyone else’s?)

Take Action: Social Serenade

Though Gounod’s opera could be looked at as one big ethical fable, many of its themes and lessons come packaged in folk songs or serenades—miniature fables told by the characters as they sing of hypothetical stories that mirror their own. These include Marguerite’s ballad of the King of Thule (who dies for love), Mephistophélès’s satirical tune about a woman named Catherine (who must resist her boyfriend’s advances until marriage), and the soldier’s brief song about a cat and a rat (or a predator and his prey).

Gounod’s not alone in using this trick. You probably know this already, but many artists—poets, painters, songwriters, you name it— choose to bury significant social messages in made-up tales about distant historical figures or even non-human characters (think Aesop) who speak in simple phrases or easy rhymes.

Think you’re up for trying out the same tactic in the real world?

Pick a news story or social cause that concerns you (anything from politics, to polar bears, to the potholes on your local highway) and take a shot at weaving a fake story around this theme. Try and present your tale in small sections or stanzas (like a serenade) and, if you feel like it, see if you can use a rhyming scheme as well. Most importantly, be sure to add a clever moral at the end if you can. (If you want to go the extra mile, write a tune to accompany your poetic “song.”)

If you’re comfortable, share the finished product with family and friends, or submit it to a local newspaper or regional poetry competition. See if your readers can uncover your hidden message and/or guess which real-life story inspired your sneaky serenade.

EXPLORE MORE

Go even deeper with the Faust Extras.

All photos by Lynn Lane for Houston Grand Opera.

Writer: Eleni Hagen

Content Editor: Lisa Resnick

Logistics Coordination: Katherine Huseman

Producer and Program Manager: Tiffany A. Bryant

David M. Rubenstein Chairman

Deborah F. Rutter President

Mario R. Rossero Senior Vice President Education

Timothy O’Leary General Director

Francesca Zambello Artistic Director

Major support for WNO is provided by Jacqueline Badger Mars.

David M. Rubenstein is the Presenting Underwriter of WNO.

WNO acknowledges the longstanding generosity of Life Chairman Mrs. Eugene B. Casey.

WNO's Presenting Sponsor

This performance is made possible by the Kimsey Endowment; The Morris and Gwendolyn Cafritz Foundation and the U.S. Department of Education.

Major support for educational programs at the Kennedy Center is provided by David M. Rubenstein through the Rubenstein Arts Access Program.

#opera #faustat2700F

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