"The Kings and Queens came to us so young, so brave. We raised them, we taught them, we loved them and they served so well. After they were gone all of Narnia grieved them, and we will miss them till the end of time. "

give me peter pevensie who gets excited over narnian stationery.

he has his favorite set of custom seal stamps that everyone he writes to knows belongs to him. there's one engraved with a phoenix, another with an olive branch, and one more with a constellation that he has yet to know the name of. the heraldic lion stamp collects dust in the drawers. if it disappears weeks later to seal a certain queen's letters to aslan, he never finds out. he's much too caught up in stamping away the envelopes to notice anyways.

continuing on the note of seals, peter is never one to stick to a uniform pigment; rather, he utilizes all kinds of colored waxes and even occasionally mixes them together! red with swirls of gold, green crashing against waves of blue. his fingers are often stained rainbow. susan, while scrubbing his hands, worries if the dripping wax hurts. peter is too invested over the idea of infinite tie dye combinations to care. come christmas time, he tells her eagerly, he'll mix red, green, AND gold. he's never tried three colors before. she sighs, and scrubs harder.

sometimes, if peter is feeling particularly indulgent, he'll go for the glass dip pen. it's awfully heavier than his quills, which would normally come as a nuisance were he to write notes during a council's seminar; however, when it comes to calligraphy, which requires time and patience, he happily picks up the glass instrument. the court appointed scribe has taught him a few new tricks a while ago, it's time that he tested them out.

...right after he relishes the workmanship of the pen for a few more minutes. yes, definitely. no, edmund, shove off, it has nothing to do with the fact that he enjoys holding cool glass in his hand like a treasure obsessed gremlin!

Jake "Hangman" Seresin Series

Hi! Here is a list of the series I'm writing for Jake "Hangman" Seresin! Each series has multiple chapters and you can find their brief summaries underneath the titles! If you would like to read more you can head on over to my Masterlist! If you enjoy my writing, consider buying me a ko-fi!

Masterlist

Don't Hang'em Til Noon (Complete)

Jake "Hangman" Seresin is a notorious leader within the Dagger posse of the old western territories of the United States. You, a recently orphaned socialite from the eastern seaboard, find yourself swept off to live with your older brother who has set down roots in said western territory. Determined to to make the best of your situation, what will you do when said outlaw sets his sights on you? (Western AU)

Hanging By a Moment (Incomplete, Ongoing)

Taking place directly after the events of "Don't Hang'em Til Noon," this series follows more of Jake and Scout as they traverse life in the New Mexico territories. A drought has hit the town of Maverick, resulting in that year's crops dying. With little food to go around, the Dagger Posse must turn to unsavory means in order to provide for their friends and family. Additionally, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell and your brother, Benjamin, have established rights to a gold mine that's now drawing in more and more unsavory characters. Will you have what it takes to survive the growing danger?

Meet Me at the Sea (Complete)

Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the summer at his family's home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but when you wake up on the beach one morning after having fallen overboard the night before, you can't help but think that maybe you hadn't imagine the strong arms and deep, green eyes of the man that had saved you. (Mermaid!Siren!AU)

Fool's Fare (Incomplete, Ongoing)

Captain Jake "Hangman" Seresin had come close to swinging from the gallows more times than he would care to admit. He's stolen, cheated, even killed. The worst thing he's ever done? Broken the heart of a woman. Having broken the heart of the woman whom Davy Jones himself had fallen for six years ago, Jake is now cursed to live as something not dead, but not alive. He's doomed to live a half-life for the rest of his existence unless he manages to obtain the treasure Davy Jones deems most valuable. The problem? He has no idea what it is, and he only had seven years to obtain it. (Pirate!AU)

Two Birds (Incomplete, Ongoing)

Growing up in the midwest meant that you weren't exposed to many of the dangers of the world, and it also meant that you missed out on some of what life had to offer. Taking a leap, you move to New York City with a few personal belongings and the little money you have left in your savings. You become good friends with your roommate and, by extension, the people at the club she works at. However, it isn't long until you catch the eye of not one, but two mafia bosses that rule the city with an iron grip. Will you stay out of their clutches, or will you give in and become another pawn in their wicked games? (Mafia!AU)

Road to Perdition (Coming Soon)

The Great Depression wasn't called a depression for nothing. Jobs were scarce, and the price of food and other necessities were rising higher and higher with each passing day. What little money you were able to make went straight to the bank and out of reach from your booze-swilling lech of a brother. It's on one such run that you come face to face with members of the infamous Dagger Gang; a group of, admittedly handsome, men who steal from the banks to hand it back out to the poor. You want nothing to do with them, but that blond-headed devil might just have something to say to the contrary. (1930s!Mobster!AU)

By Its Cover (Incomplete, Ongoing)

The frivolity of high society has never much interested in you. You preferred to spend your time reading, something your sisters couldn't fathom as they spent their time shopping the latest dress styles. The youngest of five children and the fourth daughter, not much was expected of you. You knew you might be married one day, but you hoped beyond hope that it would be to someone that might understand your intellectual pursuits. You begin exchanging letters with a mysterious stranger, and what's more, your older brother's rakish best friend seems to find himself in your path more and more as the season goes on. What's a girl to do? (Regency!AU)

Fortune & Glory (Coming Soon)

Jake Seresin was a well respected archeologist in the field, colleagues and strangers coming from far and wide to seek his expertise on various subjects. However, when an old friend barges into his lecture rambling on about the ten plagues and the Nazis, Jake finds himself thrust into an adventure he's not sure he's necessarily equipped for. He doesn't know much of anything when it comes to pre-Christian artifacts...but he knows someone who does. Will Jake swallow his pride and ask for her help, or will he try to go this one alone? (Indiana Jones!AU)

The Yawning Grave (Coming Soon)

You had always loved the stories your grandfather had told you about the "cunning folk," as he called them. You dreamed of a world beyond our own, but as you grew older, those stories faded into memory. Now, you're freshly graduated from college and on a trip to Scotland with your best friends. What you don't expect, however, is to gain the attention of a mysterious man or the wrath of the woman seemingly with him. You especially don't expect to find yourself in the middle of one of the old stories your grandfather had told you - one where you end up in a world that's not your own and with very few ways out. (Fairy!AU)

‘‘It’s such a shame they died so young, my condolences miss Pevensie.’’ Susan couldn’t remember how many people had said they were sorry for her loss even if she tried. Too many people pretending to know her and her siblings well enough to have an opinion about them. Too many people just saying what is expected of them to say. Because what to those words mean to her? Absolutely nothing.

It doesn’t matter what people say directly to her, she can hear them whisper; about how she’s all alone, about how she had to bury the rest of her family, about how it is such a shame for a young woman to navigate the world without her siblings. As if she hadn’t navigated a new world before, as if she didn’t rule a world before, as if she wasn’t crowned to the radiant southern sun before. Because what do they know? Absolutely nothing.

The sun, although it was not her sun, brought her some comfort by warming her cheeks, even if it was a only a little bit. She couldn’t help but compare herself to the sun, so, so, so far away and o so alone. But still the sun had a purpose, she had lost hers. How could she when the sky had fallen down, the woods all turned to dust and the sea had went dry?  What purpose does the sun still have when there is nothing to give light to, nothing to give warmth to, nothing to shine for. Absolutely nothing.

The southern sun is not enough anymore, true north is gone, western woods make way for buildings to hide from the sun and sailors make there way across the eastern sea using the stars but more often than not a compass. What can the gentle do, when the valiant can’t encourage her, when the just can’t help her and the magnificent can’t protect her. Absolutely nothing.

But she still passes statues of lions, and something about them angers her but comforts her all the same. But there are still people that need to be protected; a lone boy walking past four older boys who look like they found their next target. But there are still people to help; an old man cleaning the graves of loved ones and strangers alike. But there are still people to encourage; the little girl determined to climb the tree just like her brothers did. The sky is still clear, the woods are still great, the sea is still glistening, therefore perhaps the sun can still be radiant. So that there is something left of kings and queens of old.

To the glistening eastern sea, I give you Queen Lucy the Valiant. To the great western woods, King Edmund the Just. To the radiant southern sun, Queen Susan the Gentle. And to the clear northern skies, I give you King Peter the Magnificent. Once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen of Narnia. May your wisdom grace us until the stars rain down from the heavens.

Elwing/Eärendil and 41? 🥺

41. ...because the world is saved

The prayer was granted—he had felt the currents of the world assembled and heard them answer yes. Yes, yes, yes: it beat in him. He had been relieved, as though a great burden had fallen from his shoulders, and then he had felt barely anything at all. His feet carried him from diamond street to pearl-strewn shore, still expecting the land beneath to move like a ship’s deck, in waves. Where was Elwing?

Here was another city. If Tirion had called up childhood memories of Gondolin, the shining mirror of a ghost, here was the distant, grander echo of Sirion and home. It was in the adornment of the arches that reminded of Círdan and in the piers with their forest of gleaming masts. The proud curve of the bay was an embrace, until he remembered that it reminded him of nothing: Sirion was no more.

Many voices rose ahead of his steps. These Elves had not gone to the festivities in Valimar: they were immersed in talking, gathered in a lantern-lit square near the water and seated casually clustered about one slight figure.

Her dark hair stood out among them, but he would have known her anywhere. Their eyes met and she was again before him, studying him with steely eyes. Her hands alighted on his hands gently, but firmly. He interlaced their fingers without thinking of it. A moment ago, he had drifted across the littoral, a houseless shade. Now he was solid, and suffused with the news to bursting. He kissed her and tasted salt; his own tears spilling over and down his cheek.

“Yes,” he said. “They said yes.”

Elwing laughed and gripped his hands harder. 

“They said yes?”

Leaning up she kissed him.

“Then the world is saved!” She laughed again. She was crying too, a piscine glistening upon her brown face in the silver lantern-light. He released her hands and drew his arms around her. “You have done what your grandfather and all Círdan’s craft could not.”

“We have,” he said.

What a dream it was: here they stood in a dream land, the land of song and stories. They had nothing: they had accomplished everything. Somewhere away through the impossibly high stone arch across the mouth of this harbor, gleaming with mother-of-pearl, were the darkened eastern shores of Middle-earth, and a much smaller arch in a kindred style that jutted out perilously above the Sea.

“I hate them,” Elwing said suddenly. “Is it wrong, that I hate them?”

“No,” Eärendil said, and squeezed her tightly. “I hate them too for not acting earlier. But it is done now. It will be better now. It must be.”

AKHENATEN AND THE HYMN TO THE SUN Akhenaten, also known as Amenhotep IV, was a Pharaoh of the Eighteenth dynasty of Egypt. He ruled for 17 years and died in 1336 BC or 1334 BC. Akhenaten transformed Egypt when he abandoned traditional Egyptian polytheism religion and introduced a monotheistic religion that centered on the worship of the Aten or the Sun. Akhenaten’ s name means “Effective spirit of Aten” or “Spirit of the Sun”. Thou appearest beautifully on the horizon of heaven, Thou living Aton, the beginning of life! When thou art risen on the eastern horizon, Thou hast filled every land with thy beauty. Thou art gracious, great, glistening, and high over every land; Thy rays encompass the lands to the limit of all that thou hast made: As thou art Re, thou reachest to the end of them; (Thou) subduest them (for) thy beloved son. Though thou art far away, thy rays are on earth; Though thou art in their faces, no one knows thy going. When thou settest in the western horizon, The land is in darkness, in the manner of death. They sleep in a room, with heads wrapped up, Nor sees one eye the other. All their goods which are under their heads might be stolen, (But) they would not perceive (it). Every lion is come forth from his den; All creeping things, they sting. Darkness is a shroud, and the earth is in stillness, For he who made them rests in his horizon. At daybreak, when thou arisest on the horizon, When thou shinest as the Aton by day, Thou drivest away the darkness and givest thy rays. The Two Lands are in festivity every day, Awake and standing upon (their) feet, For thou hast raised them up. Washing their bodies, taking (their) clothing, Their arms are (raised) in praise at thy appearance. All the world, they do their work. All beasts are content with their pasturage; Trees and plants are flourishing. The birds which fly from their nests, Their wings are (stretched out) in praise to thy ka. All beasts spring upon (their) feet. Whatever flies and alights, They live when thou hast risen (for) them. The ships are sailing north and south as well, For every way is open at thy appearance. The fish in the river dart before thy face; Thy rays are in the midst of the great green sea. Creator of seed in women, Thou who makest fluid into man, Who maintainest the son in the womb of his mother, Who soothest him with that which stills his weeping, Thou nurse (even) in the womb, Who givest breath to sustain all that he has made! When he descends from the womb to breathe On the day when he is born, Thou openest his mouth completely, Thou suppliest his necessities. When the chick in the egg speaks within the shell, Thou givest him breath within it to maintain him. When thou hast made him his fulfillment within the egg, to break it, He comes forth from the egg to speak at his completed (time); He walks upon his legs when he comes forth from it. How manifold it is, what thou hast made! They are hidden from the face (of man). O sole god, like whom there is no other! Thou didst create the world according to thy desire, Whilst thou wert alone: All men, cattle, and wild beasts, Whatever is on earth, going upon (its) feet, And what is on high, flying with its wings. The countries of Syria and Nubia, the land of Egypt, Thou settest every man in his place, Thou suppliest their necessities: Everyone has his food, and his time of life is reckoned. Their tongues are separate in speech, And their natures as well; Their skins are distinguished, As thou distinguishest the foreign peoples. Thou makest a Nile in the underworld, Thou bringest forth as thou desirest To maintain the people (of Egypt) According as thou madest them for thyself, The lord of all of them, wearying (himself) with them, The lord of every land, rising for them, The Aton of the day, great of majesty. All distant foreign countries, thou makest their life (also), For thou hast set a Nile in heaven, That it may descend for them and make waves upon the mountains, Like the great green sea, To water their fields in their towns. How effective they are, thy plans, O lord of eternity! The Nile in heaven, it is for the foreign peoples And for the beasts of every desert that go upon (their) feet; (While the true) Nile comes from the underworld for Egypt. Thy rays suckle every meadow. When thou risest, they live, they grow for thee. Thou makest the seasons in order to rear all that thou hast made, The winter to cool them, And the heat that they may taste thee. Thou hast made the distant sky in order to rise therein, In order to see all that thou dost make. Whilst thou wert alone, Rising in thy form as the living Aton, Appearing, shining, withdrawing or aproaching, Thou madest millions of forms of thyself alone. Cities, towns, fields, road, and river — Every eye beholds thee over against them, For thou art the Aton of the day over the earth... Thou are in my heart, And there is no other that knows thee Save thy son Nefer-kheperu-Re Wa-en-Re, For thou hast made him well-versed in thy plans and in thy strength. The world came into being by thy hand, According as thou hast made them. When thou hast risen they live, When thou settest they die. Thou art lifetime thy own self, For one lives (only) through thee. Eyes are (fixed) on beauty until thou settest. All work is laid aside when thou settest in the west. (But) when (thou) risest (again), [Everything is] made to flourish for the king,… Since thou didst found the earth And raise them up for thy son, Who came forth from thy body: the King of Upper and Lower Egypt, … Ak-en-Aton, … and the Chief Wife of the King … Nefert-iti, living and youthful forever and ever.

To the Glistening Eastern Sea i give you Queen Lucy, The Valiant.

Here is my playlist inspired by Lucy's life. Each song has a meaning here are a few of the most important ones.

1 Seven by Sleeping At Least. Lucy's is an adventures spirt, just like the seventh enneagram personality type. She doesn't sit still and is always ready to go racing off.

3 Savage Daughter by Sarah Hester Ross. This song appears on both Susan and Lucy's playlists. They are not perfect lady's of the court. the two queens are wild and full of more fight then their bodies can hold.

7 Touch The Sky by Julie Fowlis. She is so restless. Lucy needs to see the world. Laugh with the people around her as she lives her life to the fullest.

8 Teir Abhaile Riu by Celtic Woman. they say when Lucy came back to England she danced in a way no one could understand but that always worked with the music. She would have danced hill the sun rose when the court musicians played this song.

9 There Beneath by The Oh Hellos. The deep appreciation and love that Lucy has for Narnia in rivaled by no one. She treasures each blade of grass and each leaf on the tree.

Desi Chronicles of Narnia AU: Lucy Pevensie

"To the glistening eastern sea, I give you Queen Lucy the Valiant."

| Previous Scene- Anakin and Katniss Tested |

{The Senate Building}

(The Queen and Lucy overlook the city of Coruscant. Jar Jar walks up to them, addresses the Queen) “Yousa thinking yousa people gonna die?”

*im talking to an abomination* “I don’t know.”

“Gungans get pasted too, eh?”

“I hope not.”

“Gungans no dying without a fight. Wesa warriors. Wesa got a grand army. That’s why you no liking us, mesa thinks.”

(The Queen thinks on this, looks at Lucy) *a child* “What?”

(Captain Panaka and Palpatine come in) “Your highness, Senator Palpatine has been nominated to succeed Valorum as supreme chancellor.”

[hey, another meme] “A surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one.” (The Queen walks past the senator) “Your majesty, if I am elected, I promise to put an end to corruption.” [this… is… a… lie. Oh, reminder that I don’t support the transphobic bitch on twitter. No, I’m not calling it “X”. Fuck that shit, and fuck that bitch]

“Who else has been nominated?”

(Panaka answers) “Bail Antilles of Alderaan and Ainlee Teem of Malastare.”

*I rigged the election* “I feel confident our situation will create a strong sympathy vote for us.” (This motherf*cker sits down in the presence of the Queen. Not cool, fam. You are not Daemon Targaryen. Show some respect) “I will be chancellor.”

*did you… sit down* “I fear by the time you have control of the bureaucrats, Senator, there’ll be nothing left of our people, our way of life.”

*idgaf* “I understand your concern, your majesty.”

(Lucy can’t keep quiet anymore) “Do you?” (The Queen looks at the Queen of Narnia, shakes her head) “Forgive me.”

“As I was saying, unfortunately, the Federation has possession of our planet.”

(The Queen is forming an idea in her head) “Senator, this is your arena. I feel I must return to mine.” (She turns to face him) “I’ve decided to go back to Naboo.”

*sh*t, my plans, don’t ruin them* “Go back?” (He stands) “But, your majesty, be realistic. They’ll force you to sign the treaty.”

“I will sign no treaty, Senator. My fate will be no different than that of our people.” (She’s ready to go) “Captain, Lucy.”

“Your highness.”

(Lucy turns) “Your-“

*hey, Queen* “Queen Lucy the Valiant of Narnia, in the Glistening Eastern Sea…” (The Queen of Naboo holds out her hand to Lucy) “… will you help me take back my planet?”

(Twelve year old Lucy Pevensie walks to her friend, a wide smile on her face as she says…) “Queen Amidala of the Naboo, it would be my greatest honour to assist in your quest to liberate your people.”

(The Queen of Naboo smiles back, grabs her hand) “Then what are we waiting for?” (To Captain Panaka) “Ready my ship.”

(As they leave, Palpatine protests) “Please, your majesty, stay here where it’s safe!”

(The Queen stops, looks at the senator) “It is clear to me now that the Republic no longer functions. I pray you will bring sanity and compassion back to the senate.” (To Lucy) “Wear something you want, your majesty. I want my people to know who you really are.”

(Lucy can’t believe this is actually happening, can barely contain herself) “Yes, your highness.”

| Next Scene- The Council’s Decision |

lucy + her connection to narnia's nature

hi yes ik i said i was done with my narnia analysis but i'm a filthy filthy liar and i'm back with another post <3

so this is based off of a post by @where-our-stories-start and i couldn't NOT talk about Lucy and her connection to the nature within Narnia because it's one of the biggest aspects of her personality!!!!

Starting off by saying that Lucy is Aslan's favorite. She's his Dear One, the one who guided her siblings into Narnia, the one that he cares the most about. so it makes sense that her connection to Narnia would be much, much deeper than that of her siblings. The Creator of Narnia has chosen her to grow with, chosen her as his daughter, and her connection to the country reflects her connection to Aslan.

so ofc, Lucy is the first to enter into Narnia. We all know that her entrance into the magical land is the catalyst to the snow melting and spring returning. The fact that it's Tumnus who meets her first, a faun, a creature who is tied to nature, isn't a coincidence.

Lucy is a healer. She searches for ways to help her family, to make them smile. It's why she suggests playing Hide and Seek with her siblings. So the second that Lucy enters into Narnia, the country is reaching towards her, begging for her to heal it and return it to it's normal splendor.

When they're approaching Aslan's camp, the dryaad looks to Lucy, and Lucy is the one who waves back to her. Once again, it's about the pull that the nature feels towards Lucy. Lucy has already fallen in love with Narnia, so these encounters only solidify her adoration of her new home.

and Lucy's gift, the fact that it's not a potion or elixir, but nectar from the fireflower. it's the nature tying itself to Lucy again, solidifying her place as the healing ruler.

It's not shown in the movies, but as a queen, it's said that Lucy absolutely hated wearing shoes, and was barefoot as much as possible, preferring to be in the woods or fields rather than being cooped up in the castle. she wants to be connected to her home as much as possible.

and again, in "Prince Caspian", Lucy's first real interaction that makes it feel like her Narnia is her dream interaction with the dryaad, and her face says it all. she's happy, she has one of her friends back, her Narnia is still there.

i also really really love that, of all her siblings' domains, Lucy is the most connected to Edmund's domain. The dryaads and the trees are her friends, she talks to the trees and they talk to her, and they're the first ones that Aslan wakes up when they reunite in "Prince Caspian". and during the battle, when the trees join in the fight, Peter immediately knows that it's Lucy's doing.

and speaking of her domain, during "Dawn Treader", the connection with nature is a bit less prominent, but i always find it interesting how at peace Lucy seems while on the boat. and it hit me that people forget what Lucy's title is, what land Aslan blessed her to have domain over:

"To the Glistening Eastern Sea, I give you Queen Lucy the Valiant."

Lucy's connected to all the nature of Narnia, but the sea is hers. So her last adventures, her last entrance into Narnia being through her sea, fully immersing her in her nature one final time, giving her a final adventure in her domain? it's the perfect ending for Lucy.

(and that also goes into how at home Edmund is within Lucy's domain, and once again makes me think about how their relationship has grown and shifted throughout the three movies, and i'm going to go cry over all of this <3)

" How long was it till you turned my life to folklore? "

Achilles/Patroclus | E | 2.7k words

For Day 4: Fluff of @patrochillesweek 2022! Achilles is trying to work, and Patroclus is being particularly distracting. 

Read here or on AO3!

Achilles glared at the map before him. The figures and lines drawn in black ink stared back at him, as if in disapproval.

The tent door whispered as it was pushed aside. Achilles looked up at Patroclus, walking in. His hair was heavy with saltwater, ringlets clinging to his brow and the curve of his elegant neck. Rivulets glistened silver and gold in the flickering light of the brazier as they carved paths down his collarbone, disappearing into the dark curls on his chest.

“How was your swim?” Achilles asked.

“Wonderful,” Patroclus replied, padding towards him. His sandals left wet footprints on the floor of the tent. “The water was very refreshing. You should have joined me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” Patroclus was a welcome weight when he settled on his lap. His hands were cool when they fell on Achilles’ shoulders; even cooler lips caressed the shell of his ear, tickling. “Has the sea lost the favour of the Best of the Greeks?”

Achilles chuckled.

“The most charming of the Greeks.” Sharp teeth gently scraped his earlobe, making him shiver. The hands drifted downwards, brushing Achilles’ chest over his tunic. “The strongest, most richly endowed of the Greeks.”

Patroclus’ voice was low and sultry, heavy with promise. Achilles turned his head to catch Patroclus’ lips in a deep, hungry kiss. Patroclus moaned in his mouth, pressing himself closer.

“The most endowed, hm?” Achilles asked against his lips, and Patroclus laughed.

“By half.”

Achilles grinned, threading his fingers through his philtatos’ wet curls. He smelled of warm sand and saltwater, the rich iodine scent of the deep, the sweet musk of his skin. Achilles buried his face in the crook of his neck to breathe him deep, running his tongue over the still damp skin to taste him.

“The sea has not lost its appeal,” he murmured. “But it also cannot solve this problem.” He gestured at the map spread out on the table. “It’s been tormenting me for hours.”

Patroclus glanced at it with mild disinterest. “What’s the problem with it? It seems like a perfectly adequate map to me.”

“It’s not the map itself,” Achilles said, smiling at Patroclus’ deliberate miscomprehension. “It’s what it is showing me.” He brushed his palm over the smooth leather. “It’s the city of Aetolia. The Dardanians have been guarding it like Cerberus does Hades’ gates. Its stores contain most of the grain that gets distributed amongst the smaller towns. If we manage to bring it down, it will deal a significant blow to their supply lines.”

“Is that all? Then attack it.”

“We’ve tried that. They keep repelling our attacks. The fort is far too strong. It is said that it has never been taken.” Achilles sighed and shook his head. “The walls are fifteen paces high and three paces thick. There are men on every watchtower, and the guard changes every six hours. That means there’s a substantial force left behind the walls. There isn’t an inch of battlement that’s left unattended, at all hours of the day. They… what are you doing?” Achilles asked when a playful hand drifted down between them, trailing the inside of his thigh.

“I am listening.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“How can you tell?” Patroclus smiled sweetly as deft fingers disappeared beneath Achilles’ tunic. “Do go on.”

Achilles took a shaky breath when those pesky fingers wrapped around him. “Patroclus...”

“I am listening.” He tilted his head to the side, watching him. “How many soldiers man the walls? I want numbers, General.”

Heat stirred underneath his skin, pooling low, coaxed by the gentle yet precise movements of Patroclus’ hand. He knew the pace Achilles liked, the pressure, and used it to his benefit. He slowly stroked Achilles until he grew full and hard in his palm. Achilles pressed his eyes shut for a moment, to collect himself.

“There are— always ten men along the north and eastern walls,” he said, his voice shaking. He brushed his lips over the curve of Patroclus’ shoulder, tasting the drying salt on his skin. “One man for every four crenellations. Judging by the frequency with which they are rotated…. We’re talking at least thirty, perhaps fourty men.”

“That’s a skeleton force, for so large a fort.”

“There are more— on the grounds.” Achilles’ words caught on a strangled moan when Patroclus’ thumb rubbed the head of his cock, smearing precome over the tip until it shone. “Guards at every gate.”

“How many gates are there?”

“The scouts have reported two main ones, north and west, and at least two smaller ones, along the eastern wall. They’re for supplies, probably, and smaller groups to go in and out undetected. Or…” Achilles stared, dazed, as Patroclus sank to his knees before Achilles’ spread legs.

He pushed Achilles’ tunic up, the fabric bunching up around his hips. His pink tongue brushed over his lips, making them gleam. His eyes, warm and richly brown like fertile earth, flicked brazenly up at Achilles as his fist moved rhythmically up and down his length. He leaned closer to lap at the bead of translucent dew that had gathered at the tip of his cock. A sigh rose to Achilles’ throat, just as heat coiled in his belly at the sight of Patroclus’ mouth, so close to him, the feel of his breath on his skin.

“You were saying?” Patroclus purred.

"I want you,” Achilles blurted out.

Patroclus’ eyes glittered with amusement. He licked a stripe up the underside of Achilles’ cock, tongue swirling over the head, but without taking it in his mouth. Achilles’ nails dug into the carved wooden armrest.

“That isn’t what you were saying.”

“Patroclus, please.”

“Tell me about the castle defences,” Patroclus said.

“Gods, I just want to—”

“Achilles.” Slender fingers squeezed the base of his shaft, for emphasis. “Tell me about the defences.”

Achilles let out a sigh of defeat, sinking a little deeper in his chair. Patroclus continued teasing him, each flick of his tongue sending tremors through him, yet without quite giving him what he knew he needed.

“They are stronger and more sturdy than any we’ve seen since arriving,” Achilles said breathlessly. “They’ve taken care to man every section, especially the weaker parts. We’ve been circling it for days, yet there’s no way through.”

“What are the weaker parts?” Patroclus’ lips closed over the head of Achilles’ cock, eyes fixed on him. He didn’t move lower, yet the warmth and suction was enough to make Achilles’ mind swim. His eyes rolled back in his head when Patroclus sucked him just a little deeper, teased him a little harder, tonguing the slit.

A squeeze on his thigh brought him back. Achilles glanced down to find Patroclus watching him with keen interest, cheeks hollowed and plump lips enveloping the tip of his shaft.

“There are— there are no weak parts,” Achilles managed through the haze of desire that was quickly descending upon him, mudding his thoughts. Strategies and battle tactics were slipping away like sand through his fingers. He gently cupped the back of Patroclus’ neck, trying to guide him further down, but Patroclus knocked his hand aside.

“You aren’t thinking, Achilles,” he scolded.

Achilles pouted. “I am trying. But you’re not letting me. You’re…” He sighed, his thumb gliding over Patroclus' flushed and slick bottom lip. “You’re making it very hard to focus, philtatos.”

Patroclus smiled, softening. The firelight danced in his eyes and his skin gleamed like bronze. Yearning and lust made Achilles bold; he leaned forward to kiss him, to pull him flush against him, but Patroclus was faster. He did not let Achilles close the distance between them. He pressed the flat of his palm to his chest and pushed him back against the chair.

“Every fort has weak spots,” he said. “Find those for me, and I’ll give you the release you seek.”

Achilles quirked a brow in challenge. “And if I don’t?”

Patroclus smiled in answer. “Then we shall see who will be the first to yield.” And with that, he dipped down between Achilles’ legs again.

It was torture, and it was bliss. Patroclus, who knew his body so intimately, inside and out; who knew exactly how to touch him, where to touch him, the right amount of pressure that was needed to make him tear at the seams; he played with him like a musician with his instrument, drawing just the right sounds from him with only the barest of movements. Pulling tiny, tiny threads with surgeon-like precision, watching intently as he came undone before his eyes. Achilles held that lovely, knowing gaze, caressing Patroclus’ cheek with his thumb as he sucked him, as he drove him closer and closer to the edge with hands and lips and tongue.

He was being worked to the point of madness, yet never crossing the threshold that would tip him over the edge. There was sweat gathering on Achilles’ temples, beading at his spine. And Patroclus kept going, asking more and more pressing questions that Achilles had to use all of his will to answer.

Yet, no matter how hard he thought — or tried to— he could not find the gap in the fort’s defences. There was nothing for him to grab on to, nothing to use to his advantage. The Trojans may have outsmarted them, just this once.

“There is no— no opening,” he panted, voice low and hoarse. Patroclus’ mouth slid down, taking him deep; he groaned when he felt the pressure of cartilage at the back of Patroclus’ throat. He tensed all over when he felt pleasure soaring, searingly bright, trying to push it back down. “There’s a moat before the north wall. The eastern and western walls are thicker. The crenellations are wider too, so hot oil can be poured down. We wouldn’t even make it — ah— past the middle of the—” He groaned low as Patroclus took him down to the base. “You feel so good—”

Patroclus hummed around him, the vibration travelling through his skin where they were connected. And his eyes, his eyes; they kept him captivated, an anchor to keep him steady  as wave after wave of warmth rolled through him.

“What about the south wall?” Patroclus asked, sliding his lips off him.

Achilles bit back a low whine of disappointment as Patroclus replaced his mouth with his fist. His hand brushed up Patroclus’ arm, fingers threading through his hair to pull him closer once more, but his lover was unrelenting. He pressed him back against the chair again, keeping him still and at his mercy.

“Patroclus,” Achilles panted, “Please.”

“Please, what?”

“I need you. I’m so close—”

“Not yet.” Patroclus squeezed the base of his cock, stopping another wave from cresting. His eyes were gentle, like always, but his resolve was ironclad, his expression implacable. It only served to stoke the fire that burned in Achilles’ core. “You’re not allowed to finish until I say. Is that clear?”

A low whine rose to Achilles’ throat. He bit it back, and nodded.

The flames in the brazier danced in Patroclus’ eyes. They stayed there for a while, gazing at each other while Patroclus stroked him steadily. They breathed together, their chests swelling and contracting in time with the other, perfectly in sync. Patroclus’ hair had slowly reclaimed its usual bounce and thickness as it dried. Achilles wanted to bury his face in it and breathe him deep, but he didn’t dare more from where Patroclus was holding him.

“Tell me about the south wall, Achilles,” he said softly.

Achilles’ throat clicked as he swallowed. It was getting harder yet to think, but he used every last ounce of his control to bring some focus back into his brain.

“It faces the river,” he said, strained and hoarse.

"What about the navy?"

"They don't have it. They're far inland. Just some fishing boats, narrow enough to fit through the watergates. Too small to matter. And they don't need a navy force anyway." He held Patroclus' gaze as the pressure built and built, with each firm stroke of his hand. “That’s why it’s impenetrable. It’s a strategic position, both for commerce and defence.”

“If anyone can figure out how to penetrate an impenetrable fort,” Patroclus quipped, “that should be you, philtatos.”

“It isn’t forts I want to penetrate right now,” Achilles quipped back, but his voice cracked on a moan when Patroclus’ thumb pressed against that spot, the one Patroclus always liked to tease with his tongue, because he knew it made Achilles weak.

“In that, we are in agreement.”

His fingers, slick with saliva and the dew of Achilles’ arousal, slid deftly between his legs; the familiar pressure made Achilles gasp. One finger quickly turned into two, then three.

“Yes,” he sighed, “like this.” Achilles let his thighs fall open further, trying to take him deeper, faster, but Patroclus clicked his tongue, slowing down.

“What did we say about patience?”

Achilles grumbled in protest, “You like seeing me suffer.”

“Hush, you’re enjoying it.”

Achilles opened his mouth to protest further, but all words died on his tongue when Patroclus bowed between his legs again. And this time he didn’t hold anything back. He took Achilles as deep as he could go, the muscles of his throat squeezing around him, while his fingers curled, pushing him ever closer towards the precipice.

The sharp heat and pressure that had coiled low inside him burst into something white-hot and blinding. Achilles shuddered with the force of his release. A groan tore through him, eyes falling shut as he poured his pleasure down his lover's throat.

He was still breathless and reeling when Patroclus' lips brushed against his own. Achilles chased the taste of himself on Patroclus’ tongue, deepening the kiss to uncover the heady sweetness of him.

It was so quiet, so mellow a moment. Achilles was soft and dewy with the afterglow, all tension bleeding from his muscles to be replaced by endless, pulsing warmth. He was ready to surrender wholly to it, let himself sink into that syrupy sweetness with his Patroclus and let time fall away.

"The fort isn't impenetrable, by the way," Patroclus whispered against his lips.

Achilles leaned back to blink at him, dazed. "Hm?"

"It has a weakness. It's been there all along."

"What is it?"

"The south gate.” Patroclus peppered lazy kisses along his jawline. “The one by the river. It's the least guarded, and they don't have a navy. But you do."

"But our ships aren't meant for river travel," Achilles said.

Patroclus climbed up the length of him, arms winding around his neck as he straddled him. "The Scamander is wide enough at that point to use the oars. Send one ship, maybe two, under cover of darkness, while the main force stages a surprise attack on the north wall. If you manage to breach the watergates, you'll slip in behind their backs before they realise it. They'll be caught unawares and overwhelmed, attacked from both sides. They'd be fools not to surrender." He sighed into their kiss, leaning into him. "If they're smart about it, you won't even have to kill that many of them."

Achilles blinked at Patroclus, then at the map. It was risky, and bold. The Trojans would never see it coming. "You think this could work?"

"It's worth a try." Patroclus shrugged. "Do your commanders have any better ideas?"

A sly grin widened Achilles' lips. "Better than yours? Unlikely."

Patroclus laughed when Achilles stood up, with Patroclus still in his lap. His legs wrapped around Achilles' waist as he walked them both to the bed.

"None of their suggestions managed to convince me.” He smirked, “They don't quite have your way with words, you see."

"Oh? And it's Odysseus the men call silver-tongued," Patroclus hummed, wrapping a lock of Achilles' hair around his finger.

“I wouldn’t trust Odysseus as far as I could kick him. You, though.” Achilles lay him down on the sheets, hovering over him. “You should be part of every council.”

“Gods, no. Now who’s the one that likes to see the other suffer?” He rolled his eyes. “An hour in those councils would be the end of me.”

Achilles laughed as his palm slid down the length of Patroclus’ body, mapping the curves of his muscled chest, smoothing down the expanse of his stomach, following the trail of dark hair that led to his navel. Patroclus’ head fell back against the pillows when Achilles took him in hand, coaxing to hardness.

“I had a different end in mind,” Achilles purred, leaning down to capture the next sigh that left Patroclus’ parted lips with a kiss.

~

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From May 2022

"Breathe in,” Siim Kallas told his daughter in 1988. “It’s the air of freedom that comes from the other side.” Kaja Kallas was 11 at the time. To travel to East Berlin from her native Estonia, then still under Russian occupation as part of the Soviet Union, was a big deal in itself. To visit the Brandenburg Gate, looking towards West Berlin and all that it represented, was to glimpse everything that her family did not have. A photo taken on the trip shows the young Kaja in front of the gate with her brother and mother, wearing a little purple handbag and a steely gaze. The family could not have known then that the Berlin Wall would fall a year later and that the Soviet Union would collapse two years after that, transforming their lives and propelling their small country back towards independence and democracy. 

“I didn’t really understand what he meant at the time, because I had never experienced freedom,” Kallas tells me in Tallinn, the Baltic Sea glistening through the window of her office high in the city’s medieval old town. Today, as prime minister of Estonia, Kallas has emerged as the EU’s most robust voice for an uncompromising response to Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. It is virtually impossible to separate that development from the momentous events of her own early life.

“I am of the lucky generation,” she says. “We were living in a prison, with no freedom, no choices, nothing. And in 1991, when I was a teenager, we got our independence and freedom back.” She contrasts this with her grand-parents’ generation, which as she puts it “had everything” in an independent Estonia and lost it all when the Soviet Union occupied the country in 1940.

This clear sense of the principles that matter most – and of turning points in history and what they mean – is the best explanation for Kallas’s growing international profile and influence. Drawing on her past and that of her country, she has stood out for the level of support her government has provided to Ukraine (the highest per capita of any country in the world). From the war’s earliest days, she has also argued forcefully and without reservation that Vladimir Putin’s invasion must be defeated, Ukraine must win and the West will only hold the line by countering Russia’s attack with a corresponding will to defend Ukraine, itself and its values.

Estonians do not tend to boast. Theirs is a small country, pressed up against the Baltic Sea and Russia, the north-eastern limit of Nato and the EU in eastern Europe, with a language very different from most other European ones. They are reserved and restrained, like their Finnish cousins. Arriving at the prime ministerial office, at an unassuming door on an old gatehouse in the curving Rahukohtu Street in Tallinn’s old town, I briefly wondered whether I had the right address, before noting the plaque dedicated to the members of Estonia’s independent interwar government killed by the Soviets. A courtyard behind the door leads into Stenbock House, an 18th-century courthouse perched on a northern ledge of Tallinn’s Toompea Hill. Kallas greets me, striding into the room with her arm outstretched. In our interview, Estonia’s prime minister is unassuming, unaffected and wry. She gently ribs me for my scruffy handwriting as I jot down notes: “Can you really read that?”

During our discussion I ask Kallas what it would mean if Ukraine were defeated. She replies by defining not defeat, but its opposite: “Victory would mean that Russia goes back to where the borders of Russia are. So they go back and withdraw.” Defeat, she continues, is harder to define and its meaning is ultimately up to Ukraine. Coming from Berlin, where the German establishment has spent recent weeks lost in petty debates about diplomatic protocol and hand-wringing about whether Russia was provoked and whether Ukraine is doing enough for “peace”, I find the force, frankness and moral clarity of her arguments immediately appealing.

Kallas fundamentally rejects the idea that an end to the conflict should be sought at any price. “I think what everybody has to understand is that peace is not an ultimate goal if it means that the aggression pays off,” she says. “What I mean by this is that when you say ‘OK, let it be peace and everybody stays where they are’, it still means that Russia has taken a big part of Ukraine’s territory, Ukraine being a sovereign, independent country. So it means that aggression really pays off.” If this happens, she adds, it will only be a matter of time until Putin acts again: “If Russia is not punished for what they are doing, then there will be a pause of one, two years, and then everything will continue: the atrocities, the human suffering, everything.” She adds that it will not just be Ukraine at risk of an emboldened Putin. “I mean other countries around Russia. Moldova… The imperialistic dream has never died.” Few doubt that Estonia could be a prime target in such a situation.

Born in Soviet-occupied Estonia in 1977, Kallas came from a family that lived the horrific reality of “Russia’s imperialistic dream”. In 1949 her mother, Kristi (then six months old), her grandmother and her great-grandmother were all sent to Siberia under Stalin’s mass deportations of Baltic citizens who were deemed “anti-Soviet”. “It was a stranger who gave my grandmother a jar of milk that kept my mother alive during this journey,” she told the European Parliament in a speech on 9 March. “It was strangers who dried the baby’s diapers on their skin as it was the only warm place in the cattle car. And it was strangers who helped in untold ways when they were allowed to return to Estonia.”

Her father, Siim Kallas, who had urged her to breathe the air of freedom in Berlin in 1988, oversaw the country’s shift to democratic capitalism as president of the Bank of Estonia in the 1990s, and served as prime minister between 2002 and 2003 before becoming a European Commissioner. 

Kaja Kallas studied law and economics and worked as a lawyer before she was elected to the European Parliament for the liberal Estonian Reform Party in 2014. There she rapidly became a top European voice on new digital technology and regulation as well as on EU-Ukraine relations. She returned to Tallinn to head the Reform Party, winning a leadership election in April 2018, and became Estonia’s first ever female prime minister in January 2021, at the helm of a coalition with the centre-left Estonian Centre Party. When Putin started building up his troops on Ukraine’s borders in 2021, many much larger European states bided their time. By contrast, her government sent lethal weapons to Kyiv as early as December 2021, less than a year after she had taken office. “Our neighbours’ problems today are our problems tomorrow,” Kallas tells me now. “So if your neighbour’s house [is in flames] it’s better to put out the fire there than to wait until the fire reaches your house.”

When Russia’s invasion began on 24 February, Kallas and her government were grimly vindicated. Like others, they found themselves in a new world. Unlike others, it was a world that they understood and knew how to navigate. Her government accelerated its transfer of arms to Ukraine, sending FGM-148 Javelin anti-tank missiles and artillery such as D-30 howitzers. By mid-April, Germany had transferred 0.01 per cent of its GDP to Ukraine. The figures for the US and UK were close to 0.05 per cent, that for Poland just under 0.2 per cent. Under Kallas, Estonia’s figure was 0.8 per cent. She accompanied this with forceful international interventions such as her speech to the European Parliament two weeks after the invasion. “We might just have rediscovered what the liberal, international rules-based order was all about in the first place,” she told European lawmakers. “We will, in the future, speak about ‘before times’ and ‘after times’.” 

Since then, Kallas has emerged as something of an Iron Lady for today’s Europe, setting the standard for a robust and serious response to Putin’s unprovoked onslaught. She gave a diplomatic but frank speech to the German establishment in Berlin in late April. In the two months from 1 March to 2 May, she has been cited 11,560 times in the international media, a staggering number for the leader of a country with a population about the same size as Birmingham’s. 

“Estonian PM Kaja Kallas is one of the most lucid and courageous world leaders now. We need more women like her at the helm,” wrote the influential Ukrainian journalist Olga Tokariuk on 29 April. The historian Timothy Garton Ash recently cited her along with the prime ministers of Spain and the Netherlands – both much larger countries than Estonia – as three crucial players who can work with the recently re-elected Emmanuel Macron to build a new, dynamic EU.

“Do you ever get the temptation to say ‘We told you so’?” I ask her, thinking of the many years in which Estonians warned the rest of Europe that Russia had not abandoned its old impulses. “It’s impolite to say so,” Kallas replies. “So, no. But I think some things you just don’t have to say out loud.” I am reminded of this comment when, later in our discussion, she refers to “countries that have much better neighbours than we do”, saying “they don’t feel it in the way that we feel it”. It is a friendly way of suggesting that some nations farther west have been slower than Estonia in adapting to the “after times”. Some things, indeed, one does not have to say out loud.

Kallas is under no illusions about why Estonia has found new influence. “I have a feeling that we are listened to more than we were before. All those years we were telling [the West] that Russia’s imperialistic dream has never died. And especially in the 1990s we were told: ‘Why do you need Nato? Why do you want to join Nato and the EU? Russia doesn’t pose a threat any more.’ But we said that we know our neighbour. And these were very wise decisions that we took at that time. So coming to today, I feel that we are more listened to as we know what we are talking about.”

Estonians may be unassuming but they are also tough. Being a small nation next to a power like Russia and subjected to long years of occupation and domination will do that to you. When I ask Kallas why she thinks her government has done so much more to support Ukraine, proportionally, than its European counterparts, she offers a typically modest answer.

First, she says, all democratic governments must respond to their voters and “for us [in Estonia] there is very high support for defending Ukraine”. I get a glimpse of that when I wander back down the narrow streets of Toompea Hill and past the Russian embassy in Tallinn, with a glorious display of pro-Ukrainian banners, flags and posters outside. And second, Estonia can move fast because of its size: “We are a small country, whereas with some very big countries the discussions take more time.” In any case, Kallas is optimistic that others in Europe are broadly on the right path: “When I’m at the table in those discussions with other European leaders, I think the moral compass is showing the right direction. So even if it takes time, then the direction is the same.”

I suspect that it is this combination of the sober, calm and frank Estonian style with searing historical experience that makes Kallas such an effective European leader. She talks of blood and thunder – at a moment in Europe’s history that demands no less – but in a tone that gives one confidence that she is not doing it for effect. 

Towards the end of our interview, I turn to what comes next. Kallas will be among the Nato leaders at the alliance’s landmark summit in Madrid in June. What needs to happen there? “We need the deterrence posture to turn into a defence posture,” she replies. This means a shift from warding Russia off an attack on Nato to being capable of preventing it from taking Nato territory at short notice. She specifies that this requires a division-level Nato presence in each Baltic state (a significant increase in troops from those already present, led by the UK in Estonia), more intelligence sharing and a shift from air policing to air defence. “Where now they just fly up and say ‘You can’t fly here’, air defence means that if someone comes into our airspace, we have a right to take them down as well.”

Kallas concludes with a warning for readers in the UK, the US and other Western countries. Citing the historian (and sometime New Statesman contributor) Timothy Snyder and his book The Road to Unfreedom, she attributes to Putin the notion that “if Russia can’t become the West, then the West must become Russia”. In other words: the West must devolve into a conspiracist, authoritarian nightmare. The Kremlin, argues Estonia’s prime minister, will continue trying to undermine Western unity through cyber threats and by promoting myths about morally corrupt and “anti-family” liberal societies. “Although we are very focused on the conventional war that is going on in Ukraine, the hybrid threats never vanished,” she says. “It will be harder and harder to keep the unity. But saying that, I am also positively surprised that we have been able to keep the unity. Together we are strong.”

Breathe in. And breathe out. The air of freedom wafted its way through Ukraine in recent years, permeating an imperfect but democratic country that, like Estonia, struggled to escape from Russia’s imperial grasp. On 24 February, Vladimir Putin sent in his troops to still that air of change. When he did so, he put the West’s leaders to the test – a test of their ability to deal with the big and the fundamental.

For many, the invasion has proved too huge an event to fit into their way of thinking, with their focus reduced to the immediate and the tactical. But in the case of a few others, it has revealed leaders who are capable of thinking, working and speaking on the scale this moment demands. Kallas is one of them. She leads a small country, but she is taking her message to an international audience: Ukraine’s crisis is a European crisis, and a crisis facing the West as a whole. And with that message, delivered calmly yet forcefully, Kallas is changing the geopolitical weather.

To the glistening eastern sea, I give you Queen Lucy the valiant. To the great western woods, King Edmund the just. To the radiant southern sun, Queen Susan the gentle. And to the clear northern skies, I give you King Peter the magnificent. Once a King or Queen of Narnia, always a King or Queen of Narnia.

- The Lion, The Witch, And The Wardrobe

To the glistening eastern sea, I give you queen Lucy The Valiant

Edmund, Susan, Peter