#yes yes hestia is an eternal maiden | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

autisticlancemcclain · 1 year

Text

The room is beyond opulent. Diamonds and jewels glitter from every surface, embedded in the dozens of intricate murals covering the walls. Chandeliers dangle from the endlessly high ceilings.

It’s the shining example of luxury. Its very existence is a direct insult to every poor person alive.

Keith hates it.

He’s not alone, he doesn’t think. Pidge, Hunk, and Allura are looking around in awe, mouths gaped, but Lance is — tense. His dark eyes flit around rapidly, never once settling for longer than a few seconds, taking in every part of the room (well, if room is the right word — this stupid court room is the size of fucking Texas). His jaw is clenched, and his hands are forcibly relaxed. His centre of balance is shifted, and he’s even standing straight.

He’s prepared to make a quick exit.

Keith exchanges a wary look with him. He doesn’t trust this kind of royalty, either. Anyone who hoards this much wealth and has their people so blindly loyal is up to something.

“Announcing his Holy Eminence,” booms a voice, accompanied by the sharp sound of a staff striking the marble floor.

All of them startle, but Keith and Lance reach reflectively for their bayards before realising with dread they were confiscated so they could make an appearance.

Fine. It’ll be fine.

Hopefully.

He and Lance have relaxed, marginally, by the time a boot steps through the gilded doorway. Even if the king’s entrance hadn’t been announced, Keith would have been able to guess: the boot is made of rich, supple leather, and what looks like solid gold. The rest of him glides into view, and he’s positively draped in riches — precious gems sewn carefully into richly dyed fabric, created a sort of armoured corset. He wears a heavy lace veil, his eyes the only part of his face visible. His crown is inlaid with more diamonds than Keith has ever seen in one place, and they once took a mission in a diamond mine. Keith wonders how many people starved so the king could wear his crown.

The king stands before them, towering above them from his place in front of his throne — an altar to himself.

Lance shifts beside Keith, balancing on the balls of his feet — like he does before he’s about to strike. His head is tilted, eyes narrowed and calculating.

Something’s wrong.

“Our king, in all his grace, has granted you an audience,” speaks the same guard as before. “Bask in his glory, and thank the gods for his benevolence.”

The whole thing is so sinister that Keith feels his very blood sour at the heaviness in the air. The rest of the paladins have lost their wondered expression, replaced with the same wariness Lance and Keith are wearing. It’s been a long time since Keith brain screamed danger! at him with such volume, and he was stuck where he stood.

They fought for this audience. This planet, for all it’s strange stillness and plated gold, would be an excellent ally. They need to make nice with this king, they need to win his favour. Tales have been spun from either end of the galaxy of this man’s greatness, of his power, of the worship he deserves. No one will speak his name, tongue too heavy with the title.

It’s wrong, wrong, wrong. But even if they wouldn’t appreciate the allyship, they would come here, insist on an audience — they must meet the man who has millions of millions of people worshipping his very shadow.

The king slowly lifts his veil. His smile is placid, pleasant, and does not match his eyes — there’s a crookedness in his blue irises.

Lance makes a strangled choking noise once his face is revealed.

The king smirks. He takes a heavy step towards Lance.

“Hello, son of Hestia. It’s been quite some time.”

“You,” Lance snarls, and there’s so much animosity in the word Keith actually startles. He’s argued with Lance more times than he can count, and there’s no one he’s known who can spit an insult like Lance, but gods above — Lance has never sounded like he wanted to kill someone before.

“Me,” says the king, and he sounds taunting. Keith looks at Lance in confusion, but his focus is still as a corpse, entirely on the king.

Lance says nothing. He’s stiffer than Keith has ever seen anyone, muscles trembling with how hard they’re clenched. His brown eyes flash, bitter as burnt coffee grounds. The air between him and the king is thick enough to suffocate.

Lance tilts his head back. His gaze never leaves the king, but he addresses the room, the gathered guards and nobles and peoples.

“This is your king?” he says, and his voice is no louder than usual, but it rings and echoes. “A coward who ran from his own world?”

Startled gasps pile over each other, horror and offense in equal measure on every face.

“Lance,” Allura hisses. “What are you talking about?”

The king laughs. It is filled with mirth, but devoid of any warmth. Keith is reminded of an orca, laughing and cackling as it chases its prey to exhaustion.

“Is that how you speak to me after so long, Leandro? I’ve missed you. Is there no love left in your heart for me?”

Lance takes another echoing step forward. The whole court is as tense as he is. He has commanded the attention of each of them, Keith included.

He is no scared prey, fighting for his life.

“It dried up when you left me to die, πότης αίματος,” Lance spits.

Keith doesn’t recognize the word. It doesn’t even register on the translators. It’s in no language he recognizes, and by the looks of it, no one else does either.

Except for the king. The word sends a flash of anger in his eyes, so brief Keith half believes he’s imagined it, before his expression returns to insufferably smug.

“That’s no way to address me, boy.”

“Do not tell me how I will speak to you.”

The king laughs, stepping down from his throne. He approaches Lance, stops centimetres away from him, and grabs Lance’s chin before Keith can think to stop him.

“You’d think a child of Hestia would be more mild-mannered,” he coos, and Keith starts at the title.

That’s the second time he’s addressed Lance in such a way. He doesn’t know what it means.

“Quiet, like she is,” the king continues. “Soft. But you’re nothing like her, are you? Except for your eyes. Big and brown and soft, just like hers.” He trails a hand down Lance’s face as he says it, and Lance looks seconds away from biting it clean off.

Keith almost wants him to.

“But no. You take after Marcela, don’t you? That attitude had to come from somewhere — of course it comes from the filthy mortal. You’re her mirror image.”

“That’s how genetics work, dumbass,” Lance bites out. “Gods, you’ve just gotten dumber, huh?”

That wipes the smug look right off the king’s face. He tightens the hand on Lance’s face. Keith lurches forward on reflex, but as soon as he moves dozens of guards are pointing their weapons at him.

Keith grits his teeth and stays where he is.

“I will warn you again,” the king says, and the threat is clear in his voice. “You watch how to speak to me. I have given you everything you are, Lance. Everything you can do is because of me. Show some piety, or I will show you how quickly I can take it away.”

Lance spits in the king’s face.

“You have no claim over me.”

Before Keith or anyone else can move or even blink, Lance swipes the King’s feet from under him, pinning him to the ground with a bronze spear he produced from nowhere.

The guards move at once, each of them shouting, half of them keeping their weapons trained on the paladins and the other half moving towards Lance and the king.

“Lance!” Hunk shouts. “Step back! What the fuck are you doing?”

“Unhand him, paladin,” a guard orders.

Lance only laughs.

“Have you become afraid of me, προδότης? You need your whole cavalry to keep you safe, you precious thing?”

The king snarls, and snaps his fingers. In a second, a green ring of raging fire encircles him and Lance, cutting them off from the guards, who shout in alarm.

Cutting them off from the paladins.

Pidge swears.

The king moves quickly, twisting his arms under Lance’s spear and shoving him off. Lance uses the momentum to flip himself backwards, landing on his toes, weapon outstretched.

“There we go,” he taunts. “Now this I missed.”

“You are as weak as you are ungrateful,” the king hisses, encircling Lance. “After all I have done for you. After everything you learnt from me.”

“You left me to die. I learnt nothing from you that I wasn’t forced to teach myself.”

There’s real emotion in the words. A rage that can only come from a deep hurt.

The king picks up on this.

“If I took you everywhere, you would never be able to stand on your own,” he says with a sharp smile. “You’d never be able to talk, if I always spoke on your behalf. Leaving you to fend for yourself was the best thing I could have done for you.”

Lance snarls, stepping back to the very edge of the ring of fire. He swipes his spear through it, and flames lick immediately up the handle, enveloping the weapon in tongues of flickering green. Keith feels something lurch as the flames curl around brown hands.

But Lance doesn’t move. He doesn’t even flinch. The fire has burned three of the guards who’ve come too close to a crisp in seconds, but Lance is still as it dances on his skin. His lips move rapidly, voice a murmur too quiet to hear over the roar of the fire and panicked shouts of the courts. He closes his eyes, brows creased as if in pain, and when he opens them again, they glow — flickering in time with the flames.

“You have made a grave mistake,” he says, and these words are impossible to not hear. They ring throughout the court, quiet and deafening in equal measure, unlike any sound Keith has heard before.

But the voice is unmistakably Lance’s, if only tinged with a power Keith feels in his bones.

“I am not the boy you left behind.”

Lance lunges forward, and the flames explode in a flash of blinding light.

By the time Keith blinks his eyes back into working order, the room is in chaos. People are shrieking at the top of their lungs, trampling over each other in a desperate bid to escape. Most of the guards have abandoned their posts — Keith can’t blame them. The flames have made this room sweltering, and have lit the ornate tapestries are on fire. He can barely see Lance through the brightness of the flames, only flashes of a bright spear as his limbs move in a flurry of speed that’s almost inhuman.

“We have to get Lance and get out of here!” Pidge shouts over the panic, and Keith agrees.

“I’ll get the bayards!” Hunk says, just as loud as she is.

Keith nods, tilting his head at Allura. “Allura, get Blue ready to take us back! Pidge, you see if you can get word through to Coran for an emergency extraction! I’ll get Lance! Go!”

They all rush to comply, and as soon as they’re out of sight, Keith turns back to the ring of fire, squinting.

“Lance!”

Nothing. If Lance could hear him over the roar of the flames, it would be a miracle.

Keith swallows roughly. He’s going to need a miracle.

Hey, Red, he thinks, and even his thoughts are shaky. I know it’s been a while. But I could use some of your flames, girl. Your paladin is in danger.

There’s nothing, for a moment. The time stretches, but Keith pushes back his despair — he has to have faith. He hears his father’s voice in his head. Shiro’s.

Lance’s, even.

Sometimes, Akira, you just have to trust what’s up there.

Patience yields focus. You can do this, kiddo.

Black trusts you, and I do, too. Come on, Samurai. I’ll follow where you lead.

All at once, a burning feeling blazes through his mind — Red. She’s as warm as she’s always been, the terror for her paladin making her burn hot.

Go, she urges. I will keep you safe. Save my cub. He has blocked me from his mind.

Keith can’t help a wry smile. Oh, how the turntables.

Trusting Red, he rushes forward, straight through the flames. He clenches his eyes shut — trusting, but scared.

When he opens them again, the flames are behind him. In front of him is Lance, agile and quick, unleashing a constant barrage of attacks on the king. The king’s heavy robes are torn. There’s a burn, blackened an raw, on half his face. His crown has been ripped from his head, crushed to pieces beneath Lance’s heel.

Lance is worse. Keith hardly recognises him with the swelling of his face and the blood covering his skin. He is still wrapped in a blaze.

“Lance!” Keith yells.

It does nothing. Neither man looks up, although Lance stumbles. Just slightly, the smallest roll of his ankle, but it’s enough — the king snarls, grabbing the wooden end of Lance’s spear, spinning him around, and pulling him in a chokehold, pressing the blade to his neck.

“All this power and I still bring you to your knees,” the king snarls.

Keith rushes forward without another thought. He has no weapon, and the king is twice his size, but that’s Lance in danger — Keith can no more ignore it than he can ignore the breaking of his own heart.

But Lance doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even struggle. He only leans his head back, eyes turned to the sky, and starts to chant.

θεά της εστίας, εγγόνι της γης,

στρέφω τα μάτια μου στον ουρανό,

σε ικετεύω να απαντήσεις την κραυγή μου,

για τη δύναμή σου σε παρακαλώ,

για την προστασία σου σε λατρεύω,

προσφέρω τη θυσία μου και παρακαλώ για τη χάρη σου,

δώσε μου τις φλόγες σου για την κόλαση τον εχθρό μου που τοποθετώ.

It’s again in the language from before. Keith shouldn’t understand a word he says. He couldn’t translate them himself, and he already knows the translators cannot manage them.

But he doesn’t hear the words. Lance’s lips are moving, and he’s speaking, but the words don’t echo through the room, to be picked up by his ears: the words settle in his brain. There’s nothing he can do to avoid them.

Goddess of the hearth,

Grandchild of the earth,

I turn my eyes to the sky,

I beg you answer my cry,

For your strength I implore you,

For your protection I adore you,

I offer my sacrifice and beg for your grace,

Grant me your flames, to hell my enemy I place.

Lance whips his head to the side, intentionally slicing his cheek on his own blade. Blood drops down his face.

“No!” the king shouts.

The second the blood drops to the ground, the king turns to ash. The flames extinguish. Silence settles around the marble hall.

Lance’s eyes, however, still glow.

“Let’s go,” he says, picking up his spear. He twirls it once, sliding it down his back as if sheathing it, and it disappears.

Keith doesn’t move.

“Keith, we have to go,” Lance urges. “Before the guards regroup and everyone sees what happened. We have to go.”

Keith only states at him.

“Lance…?” His voice is hoarse, he can barely force out the words.

Lance’s brows crease.

“I know it’s insane. I’ll explain later. We need to go, though, okay? Now.”

Keith nods mutely, because what the hell else can he do but move forward?

“Everyone else is headed towards Blue,” he says, forcing his voice to work.

“Great. Let’s meet them.”

Lance grabs his hand — gently, Keith notes, and his hands are soft, unburned. Covered in blood, but somehow unaffected by the flames.

Lance breaks into a light jog, tugging Keith behind him.

Keith shakes his head. He follows.

250 notes · View notes

drjdorr · 3 months

Text

New pins!

A Buzz Lightyear lgm. Buzz Lightyear likely was my first major special interest, so when I noticed my mom had a pin like this I asked where she got it. She didn't remember but she did have a second one, so here we are

I couldn't find a proper shop but I did find this Amazon listing for some pins like it. If someone can find a non Amazon place to get it from for those who(reasonably) don't want to use Amazon, please share

Classic metal, though the stem is a bit long

Artemis and Apollo. I couldn't not have them together. I like how they are sitting on/in their associated celestial bodies and just generally they look good. Plus it's Artemis, basically the patron god of aces(yes there are three eternal virgins but Artemis is the one with all the famous myths about it)

Osp pins so, not always available, sorry. But here is were they are when they Are available

Both are two rubbers

Demeter, goddess of harvest, wheat, ect. Admittedly I think I got her more because of her paired pin than her, but she does have the good quality that I've come to expect from osp, though her back card seems to have been mixed up with her partner's though it's more obvious on said partner.

Same osp shop

2 rubbers

Hestia, goddess of the hearth and home, and another of the three eternal maidens(I need to get the Athena pin next time, get the full trilogy). You know if it wasn't for the whole ancient times and amab thing, I'd have made a great vestal virgin(yes I know they are roman and Hestia is greak, but her and Vesta are roughly equivalent). Also getting into the back card thing, Hestia has a sheath of wheat and Demeter has a fire(it's ontop of the pillar behind Demeter), like I said, pretty sure they got swapped

Same OSP shop, hasn't changed

2 rubbers

#my pins #buzz lightyear #overly sarcastic productions #mythology #while taking the pictures i found a weird bump on the floor where i painted my nails and was the same color as my polish. oops

0 notes

titan-gods · 9 months

Text

My morning prayer

To hestia (opening)

Hear me o' hestia, first and last,

Child born of rhea, swallowed

And kept by Kronos,

Twice-born like your siblings,

You tend the world's hearths.

Elbows bent, hair protected

From the licking flames,

Each God knows your scared part

Of sacrifices;

All revere you, offering

Sweet Incense and fat.

Eternal maiden, you take

These precious things;

Then with necessary warmth

You reciprocate.

As breath enlivens a gas

Stoves flames, please accept

Meek utterances, simple words,

And keep watching over

Stove-fires fluttering, dancing-

Yes, watch the modern

Hearth;- let these words please, goddess

To themis

O hear me great goddess themis,

Lady of law and custom of divine!

Who's brothers fought to overthrow and who was spared.

Loom at these Incense and smell the fragrance of what I offer.

Look after me and spare me

From disorder and injustice

Help me, help us o' good-counsled goddess

To artemis

O hear me artemis, our keen-eyed

Queen, I beg you hear me now

Goddess born island of Delos, Sister of apollon. Please protect me

Today and see I seize opportunities

And aim justly. We honor and

Thank you goddess huntress

To psyche

O hear me psyche, goddess of the soul

She who fell in love with love himself. She who

Faced those challenges fiercely, help me

Face my challenges with as much courage

As you had. Bless you dear goddess, thank you

To Aphrodite

O' hear me pleasant goddess Aphrodite. Who's beauty is

above all and who was born from seas froth. Bless me

Today that I will find and give love to those

Around me. Thank you!

To hestia (closing)

O goddess hestia! Your power extends

Over all alters and hearths, thus,

All prayers and sacrifices end

With you, dear goddess, because you

Are the guardian of the innermost things

Thank you!

#hellenic deities #hellenic paganism #hellenism #theoi #hellenic gods #hellenic polythiest #hellenic pagan #hellenic #hellenic polytheism #prayer

1 note · View note

phykios · 3 years

Text

volcano kiss scene but make it medieval, for @perseannabeth 💙 note that this is little more than a fancy rewrite, but... marble king verse is too good to be done with completely

***🌊***🌊***🌊***

June, 1446

As Percy led his little band of adventurers through the tunnels of the Labyrinth, himself, his questing partner Ana Zabeta, his childhood companion Aegidius, and his half-brother, the cyclops Tison, following a marvelously clever creation of the god of fire, he allowed himself, for a brief moment, to feel a small sense of pride. They had finally located a deity who not only did not appear to have any negative designs on their characters, but had also promised them his help--after they had performed him a small favor, of course.

Hephaestus had fashioned for them a little spider made of metal, who moved about as though it had a beating heart, darting this way and that, nearly invisible, were it not for their torchlight flickering off its shiny, shiny legs. Though he would never speak it aloud, Percy felt a particular kind of pride on Annabeth’s behalf, as she followed the eight-legged creature with neither complaint nor fear. He knew full well just how totally she detested the beasts, her eternal and forsworn enemies, just as their mother had been an enemy of Athena.

They rounded a corner, moving from a passageway lined with a strange, shiny substance which felt cool to the touch to one of crudely-cut stone, when he spotted a tunnel off to the side, dug from raw earth, wrapped in thick roots which pried their way through the holes in the stones. Aegidius had noticed it as well, slowing his pace until he stopped entirely in front of the dark, gaping maw in the wall. “Aegidius,” Percy said, stopping as well. “What is it?”

It was as if he had not heard him. The satyr merely gazed into the black tunnel, his curly hair rustling in an impossible breeze.

“We cannot delay!” said Annabeth. “We must keep moving!”

“This is the way,” Aegidius muttered, hushed and reverent. “It is here.”

He couldn’t possibly mean… “The way to Pan?”

But Aegidius ignored him, turning instead to Tison, the creature whose very nature often rendered him speechless with fear. “Do you not smell it, too?”

“Yes,” said Tison. “Earth. The forest.”

Before them, the spider skittered further down the stone corridor. If they delayed any further, the trail would be lost to them.

“Once we have finished our errand for Hephaestus,” said Annabeth, “then we can return for Pan, I swear it.”

“The tunnel will have gone by then,” said Aegidius, with a confidence Percy had rarely seen before. “A door such as this will not remain open for long--and I must enter it.”

“But,” she said, desperate, “the forges!”

He looked at her sadly, but firmly. “I cannot go with you this time, Annabeth.”

Percy had forgotten--Aegidius was not only his companion. He had been Annabeth’s as well. He had been responsible for seeing her safely over the magical boundary in Sigeion. But the spider was nearly out of sight, and they could not tarry any longer before the gateway to the god. “We will continue to the forges,” he decided. “Aegidius, you go on to seek Pan.”

“No!” she gasped. “It is far too dangerous. If we part ways, we might never find each other again! And I cannot let you go alone.”

It was then that Tison, gentle creature he was, put his hand on Aegidius’ shoulder. As much fear as satyrs held for cyclops, Tison, for some odd reason, held just as much, if not more, for the satyrs. They had made an amusing pair at times, two of the sweetest, kindest people Percy had ever known, cowering in fear at the other. But Tison showed no fear now. Now, he was brave. “I shall go with him.”

Percy could not believe his ears. “You will?”

He nodded. “The satyr needs help. We shall find the god of the wild--together.”

Aegidius took a deep, steadying breath. “I wish I could see this through to the end with you, but--”

“I understand,” said Percy. The search for Pan was his life’s goal, the final prize in a quest which had taken his father, his father’s father, and so many searchers before him. If he did not succeed on this journey, the Council of Cloven Elders would never give him another chance. “I pray that you are right.”

Shoulders square, suddenly possessed of a confidence Percy had rarely ever seen from him, save for when he deliberated on how keftedes paled in comparison to spanakopita, he grinned. “I know that I am.”

Percy took a heartbeat to gaze on him one last time, imprinting him in his memory--just in case. “Be careful,” he told him. Then, he looked towards Tison, and opened his arms to his half-brother, who went into them willingly, squeezing Percy so strongly his eyes just about burst from his sockets.

Tison and Aegidius then disappeared into the darkness of the tree roots, lost to the wild.

“This was a mistake,” said Annabeth, her voice trembling. “We should not have let them go.”

“We will see them again,” Percy replied, attempting to summon Aegidius’ confidence. “Now, come on. The spider will not wait for us any longer.”

“Do not remind me,” she said, shuddering.

Before very long, the tunnel grew warmer, the stone walls red and glowing. The air felt as though they were walking through a giant oven, as though they had been transported into one of the forges beneath the villa for Hephaestus’ children, and he supposed, in a way, that they had. The tunnel sloped down, deeper into the earth, the spider nearly tripping over itself to reach the bottom, Annabeth right behind it.

Percy jogged to catch up. “Annabeth!” he called. “A moment?”

She glanced back at him, but did not cease her quick pace, forcing Percy to match her. “Yes?”

“I have a… question,” he panted, “regarding what Hephaestus… said, about your mother.”

“She swore never to marry,” Annabeth said, easily. Curses, Annabeth did not appear to be even remotely out of breath. He felt like such a fool compared to her, always. “She is one of the maiden goddesses, alongside Artemis and Hestia.”

Percy frowned. He had not recalled that detail about the war goddess--though, he was rather infamous for nodding off during lessons. Perhaps he had simply slept through that particular lesson. “But, if she is a maiden goddess, then--”

“How is it she came to have demigod children?”

Blushing, he nodded.

Now, this was not at all appropriate conversation, he knew. Young boys and girls were not meant to discuss such things with each other--not yet anyway. But Percy was nearly a man, and besides, he had spent enough time with Carlos and the older boys at the agoge to pick up a few pieces of knowledge here or there. Hopefully, Annabeth would think the flush on his cheeks was due to the heat of the cavern.

“Do you know how Athena was born?” she asked him.

“She was born from… the head of Zeus? In armor?”

“Precisely. She was literally born from his thoughts--and thus, her children are born the same way. When Athena falls in love with a mortal partner, it is a purely intellectual affair, just as it was with Odysseus in the epic tales. Our mother says that it is the truest kind of love.”

“So,” said Percy, frowning. “Your father and Athena… you were not--”

“I was born from their minds,” she interrupted, quickly. “Sprung from the divine thoughts of my mother and the mortal ingenuity of my father. Her children are gifts, blessings on the mortals she favors.”

“But--”

She turned to him, exasperated. “Percy, the spider has nearly vanished. Do you really wish for me to explain the precise details of my birth?”

Flushing even harder, he snapped his jaw shut.

Victorious again, she smirked. “I thought not.”

Running ahead to catch their guide, Percy followed, very neatly put in his place, and not certain he would ever be able to look at his friend the same way ever again. Some things, he decided, were perhaps better left as mysteries.

After another few minutes or so, they emerged into a cavern, larger than any stadium Percy had ever seen. It felt to be five times the size of the mighty Colosseum. There was no floor, just miles of bubbling lava beneath their feet. Standing on a rock ride which encircled the cavern, Percy saw a complex, overlapping network of metal bridges spanning the width of it, meeting on a huge platform in the center which housed the largest anvil he had ever seen, a block of iron the size of a villa. Dark, strange shapes moved about them, like formless shadows, too far away to discern what manner of creature they might be.

“We cannot sneak up on them,” said Percy, noting the distinct lack of places to hide with some despair.

With a slight grimace, Annabeth picked up their metal guide, its form having changed to a small ball, and slipped it into a fold in her dress. “I can. Wait here.”

“Hang on--” But Percy was too late, as Annabeth put on her magical cap, a gift from her mother, and vanished from his sight.

Percy cursed. He did not dare call after her, not willing to draw attention to her tactics, but nor did he appreciate the idea of her approaching the forge on her own. If those creatures could repel the likes of Hephaestus, what hope did Annabeth have? It was not safe. She was their leader--they could not risk her life. Percy would not risk her life.

Alas, he could never sit still for very long. Creeping along the outer rim of the lake of molten rock, he darted from stalagmite to stalagmite as best he could, hoping to find a better vantage point. Really, Annabeth should have known better.

The heat was horrendous, heavy and oppressive. Drenched in sweat, and eyes stinging with smoke, he moved along, staying as far from the edge as was physically possible, until he found his way stopped by a large metal box, fitted on wheels. Peering inside, he saw it was full scrapped metal, bits and bobs of broken swords and lumpy shields, piled on top of one another. Nothing he could reasonably use for an extra weapon, or even some kind of defense. Making to squeeze himself around it, he suddenly heard from up ahead a voice, rough and grating, speaking an ancient language which no man alive had heard for a thousand years.

Monsters, he knew.

There was no time to run away, no place to hide… except for the box. Leaping inside, covering himself with a dented aspis, he curled his fingers around his father’s sword, that blade Anaklusmos, hissing as the sharp metal of his bed cut between the soft parts of his armor, biting his tongue so no curse could escape.

With any luck, the monsters would pass him by, and he could continue along unmolested.

That was when, of course, that the box lurched forward, pushed along by the monsters, carrying Percy along with it. Malaka! Was he about to be tipped into a smelting pot?

All around him, he heard the chatter of terrible beasts. He was not so skilled in the ancient tongue as Annabeth, but even he could recognize a few words here or there, “weapon” and “cyclopes” and “furnace,” and some names as well: Zena, hissed with scorn, Posidaota, spat with bile, and, most chillingly of all, Kronos, spoken with reverence and awe.

Percy blinked against the sudden light as his cover was removed from his person, revealing himself to the monster, who was so taken aback by his presence, that it blinked back at him in return. For a few moments, neither of them moved, so shocked were they by the other’s sudden appearance. Then, springing into action, Percy slashed upwards, dissolving the beast in a cloud of golden smoke. Snatching up another shield and leaping from his bed of spikes, he saw with his preternatural vision a small army of at least twenty monsters, black like dogs, but with sleek, shiny skin, and legs which looked to be more suited for swimming than scrambling around the rocks of Aitne.

With a hearty battle-cry and another wide swipe, he repelled the front row of these creatures, carving himself some space to jump, sprinting for the mouth of the tunnel. The monsters followed after him, baying and growling as a pack of ravenous wolves, and they would have caught him, tearing him to pieces, had they been but a little bit faster. Thinking quickly, at the top of the tunnel, Percy hurled his shield into a column, the rocks crumbling upon impact, burying the monsters and blocking off the path with a great, noisy cave-in.

He doubted it would keep them trapped for very long. Not only that, he very much doubted that they had been the only monsters in the cavern. Percy had just announced his presence to anyone who might have been listening, destroying their chance for any sort of subtle reconnaissance.

And Annabeth was still out there, somewhere, invisible.

“Annabeth!” He yelled, running towards the platform at the center of the ocean of lava. “Annabe--!”

An invisible hand clamped over his mouth, wrestling him down behind a large, bronze cauldron. “Silence! Do you mean to have us killed?”

Arms flailing, he managed to locate her head, slipping off her cap of invisibility. She shimmered into view as an island emerging from the mist, scowling and covered in ash and grime. “It’s far too late for that,” he said, grimly. “I came upon a group of monsters, and brought the roof crashing down on them.”

Hissing curses, her hands clenched, as though she meant to strangle him, before she visibly managed to control her temper. “You said there were monsters?”

He nodded. “I know not what kind. I had thought they may have been dogs, were it not for their flippered feet and human hands, adorned with claws. They spoke of furnaces and weapons, making arms for the first Titanomachy.”

“Telkhines,” she gasped, eyes wide. “Of course! I should have known. I had wondered when I saw… well, look.”

Together they peered over the lip of the cauldron. In the center of the platform stood four of these demons, larger than any Percy had seen before, standing at least the size of a fully grown man. Their black, scaly skin glistened in the light of the fire as they labored, sparks flying between mighty hammer strikes on a long piece of glowing, hot metal, hissing to each other in the ancient language. “What are they saying?” he whispered to her. If he could not understand them, Annabeth surely would.

“They are talking of fusing metals,” she said, frowning. “Other than that, I--I cannot say.”

“Is that bad?”

She stared at him, incredulous. “The telkhines betrayed the gods,” she said, “for practicing dark magics. For their transgressions, Zeus banished them to Tartaros.”

“Alongside Kronos.”

She nodded. “We must return to Hephaestus at once--”

But no sooner had she spoken than a sharp, clawed hand pierced its way through the rubble of Percy’s cave-in, pushing aside the rocks which blocked its path, followed closely by its snout, teeth long and sharp and dripping with saliva. “You must return to the god,” Percy said, moving into a crouch. “Leave me here.”

“What?” she shrieked. “No! I will not leave you!”

At any other time, he would have praised her for her courage, but not now. “You must! Let me distract the monsters, and perhaps the spider can lead you back through the Labyrinth. You are the leader of this quest--you must take the message back to Hephaestus.”

“But you’ll be killed!”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, turning to face her. “As well, there is no other choice.”

She glared at him, her lips pulled back almost in a snarl worthy of one of the monsters. He knew this look of hers well--it was the one she wore whenever she considered hitting him for his foolishness.

But rather than hit him, she did something which shocked him even more.

She grasped the collar of his tunic, pulled him close, and kissed him. “Be careful, phykios,” she murmured against his lips, breath hot. Then she put on her cap, and vanished.

Percy couldn’t breathe, and not for the smoke. Had it not been for the lava, the monsters, the weapon, the quest, he would have been quite content to sit there all day, thinking of nothing but the softness of her mouth and the way her eyes sparkled in the firelight, unable to even recall his own name.

A sea demon screamed, jolting him back into reality.

The horde of monsters, freed from their prison, charged across the bridge towards him. Percy scrambled up from the ground, running for the middle of the platform, startling the large monsters so thoroughly that they dropped the red-hot blade over which they labored. It was as long as they were tall, curved like a crescent moon, its shape burning into his vision, sending shivers down his spine.

Unfortunately for Percy, the monsters recovered quickly from their shock. Every which way he turned, his exit was blocked by a small army, surrounding him. Cutting him off.

Raising Anaklusmos, he prayed that they could not see the blade shaking.

“Son of Poseidon,” rasped a demon, speaking Percy’s own language now. “We are honored by your visit, fish-blood.”

He spread his senses, casting about for an escape, but there was none. He was trapped.

“Will you strike us down, half-blood?” asked another one. “An you try, the rest of us shall tear you to shreds.” Licking its lips, it advanced on him, claws glinting in the glow of the forge. “Perhaps we shall deliver you to your father in pieces--an omen of the horror we shall visit upon him, and all the rest of the twelve, for their betrayal.”

Annabeth would not have allowed herself to be cornered this way, but Percy was no strategist. If the gods favored him at all, they would have seen to Annabeth’s escape, leaving him to his doom.

Was this to be his doom, he wondered? Trapped in the heart of a volcano, overrun by monsters which would use his bones to pick their teeth?

The tallest of the demons plunged its hand into the furnace, scooping a handful of molten rock. “Let us see the might of Olympus,” it said, grinning. “Let us see how long it takes him to burn!” And it threw the lava at Percy.

Dropping his sword, he swatted at his clothes which had been set alight, as though he had merely had an unfortunate run-in with the lava trap at the agoge, but it was not nearly enough, the fire engulfing him with each passing second. At first, oddly, it had only felt warm, though it grew hotter and hotter with every heartbeat.

“Your father’s nature protects you,” one monster sneered. “Makes you hard to burn. But not impossible, fish-blood. Not impossible.”

Later, Percy would struggle to remember the particulars. He would recall only the fire, and the pain. He would not remember how he crumpled to the floor in deepest agony, the sea demons howling in delight at his terror.

Nor would he remember the voice of the naiad at the farm of the giant Geryon. The water is within me, she had said.

Between waves of torment, there was a tugging sensation in his gut, calling vainly for water where there was none: not a river, nor a stream, nor even a petrified seashell. Percy called for the sea, the towering waves which could wash away villages, the currents which could destroy ships in a single blow, the endless power of the ocean, and he called for these things inside of himself, letting it loose in one terrible, horrible scream.

Fire and water collided, a typhoon of unearthly power shooting him up from the beating heart of Aitne on wings of superheated steam, peeling his skin away, another piece of flotsam flung from the earth by the force of the blast. Higher and higher he flew, further than Icarus, than Bellerophon, than Zeus himself, so high that the lord of the heavens would not be able to reach him--and then he fell, a shooting star, hurtling towards the sea which would not save him. Not this time.

#aegidius = grover btw #the marble king #perseannabeth #my fic #darkmagyk #pjo #percabeth #the rivalry ends here #marble timestamps

42 notes · View notes

zenalios · 3 years

Text

Untamed Seas; 1 - Prologue

Index (R18+)

Summary

Amphitrite, sea goddess, and daughter of Nereus, is less than willing to marry an Olympian, let alone Poseidon, the very god who overthrew her father. She does so nevertheless, in a desperate move to protect her sisters following Nereus’ absence.

The marriage is beneficial to them both: Poseidon gains legitimacy through a union with her, effectively solidifying his control over the seas, and Amphitrite guarantees her sisters' safety, along with all prestige due her status as queen.

The catch? She finds his domineering personality utterly insufferable, and he, the most fearsome god, resents being stuffed into an unwelcome marriage.

They have all eternity to make it work.

TW // Abuse - Verbal and Physical ; Abusive Relationship ; Forced Marriage

Crete, the island where the newly crowned king of gods was said to have been raised.

It was on this little haven that Zeus’s foster-mother, Amaltheia, had chosen to throw a dance honouring the Titanomachy, on the mountain named after him, though the supreme god himself would not attend due to injuries sustained in his fight with Kronos. The remaining six traitors would not be present either, and these were their reasons given:

“Hestia simply does not do parties, Demeter needs rest from tilling the land, Hera must attend to Zeus' injuries, Hades is away imprisoning Kronos in Tartaros, and Adamas is away conquering new lands.” Amaltheia had ticked off her fingers in that order. And...? Doris gestured for her to continue. The goat nymph sighed, “Not coming.” Doris crossed her arms, an air of impatience coming from the Oceanid. "You’re absolutely sure that one won’t come?"

Amaltheia scowled at her. “This is the fifth time you’ve asked me about this, and the last time I will answer you —no, he has never attended a single one. Now, will your fifty daughters be in attendance or not?” The maiden huffed, “Tell me now or I will strike them all off the list.” The threat worked like a charm. At once, the freshwater nymph hastily scrawled down seven names onto the parchment. Amaltheia peered at it, then at her old acquaintance. “So few?”

Seven daughters, to be precise. One for each missing member of the Traitors, as they were so called amongst the Titans’ supporters, Doris included. Amaltheia suppressed a sigh. “I’ll see what I can do, my lady.” So saying, Oceanus’s daughter left by the same river she had come. Only then did Zeus’ foster mother release a sharp exhale. She straightened the piece of parchment for a better look —having counted the seven names did not necessarily mean she had properly read them.

A sudden shadow cast itself over her, at which she moved away to bring the parchment into the sun; the shadow followed. Before she could turn again, a bandaged hand had plucked the parchment away from her.

“Hello, mother.” A familiar voice rang in the nymph’s ear. Amaltheia spun around, “Zeus!” She beamed at her pride and joy. How he had grown, she sighed with much satisfaction. “I thought Hera was tending to your injuries?” Zeus, who had far outgrown her by now, replied as he studied the parchment. “Yes, well, we’ve had a little argument over Metis.” Metis was his first wife, by Oceanus, and whom he had only just swallowed a week prior. She watched him closely, her own question lingering in her mind. Someone else, another of Oceanus’s children, had stopped by recently. She simply could not put her thumb on who: it was either one of the many river gods, or one of the great river god’s thousand daughters. “Is this for that dance you’re throwing in my name?”

Amaltheia blinked. “Yes.” A little chuckle fell from his lips as he began to read the names aloud:

“Amphitrite, Thetis, Galatea, Galene, Erato, Proto, and Doto.”

The goat maiden gasped inwardly. So that was who had come to visit. Oh, Gaia, and she had sworn to Doris that Zeus would not be coming five times over. That included not allowing him to know Nereus’s daughters would be in attendance. She reached to snatch the lowered parchment in his hand, only to have it rise further into the air. “Son, give that back.” Amaltheia offered her foster son a bright, albeit, strained, smile. “You don’t need it, right?”

Zeus wore a strange smile of his own. “As a matter of fact, mother, I do.”

She threw the king of the gods a wary look, “Why?”

“It seems I will be coming to your little party after all.” Amaltheia nearly swooned at his words. The nymph steadied herself on a nearby rock. “But I’ve already told everyone you won’t be coming.” She pleaded with Zeus, hoping she could still save the situation. Doris would be furious with her if she knew the god had already attained the list of attendees —specifically the one with her daughters’ names. “And,” she continued unsteadily, “I’m almost done with preparations. If you come now, I’ll need even more time to prepare and to rearrange all the events I’ve planned, so— ”

“What, rearrange drinking and dancing?” Zeus snorted at her. Amaltheia instantly shut up. “Easy, just don’t tell anyone I’m coming. It’ll be our little secret.” He waved the paper at her, a little glint in his eye, the sort of look the nymph could not reconcile between the boy she had raised and the king that now stood before her. “I’ll be needing this one, mother.”

“What about my guest list?” Her helpless question hung in the air. She tried begging with her son once more, “I can’t possibly recall those seven names alone —I have at least two hundred guests!” At that Zeus simply shrugged, “All you need to do, mother, is to remember the name Amphitrite. If her sisters come, let them in too.”

“Amphitrite?” Amaltheia repeated slowly in bewilderment. “Why Amphitrite?”

Zeus tapped the sides of his temples, winking at her. “Because I say so.” He stooped down to kiss her on the cheek, and just like that, the king of the gods had also departed from her island with a leap and bound. Amaltheia sank down onto a nearby rock, a troubled feeling in her chest. Had Zeus taken interest in Nereus’ eldest daughter?

“Should I warn them?” She wondered aloud. Oceanus and Doris would be extremely displeased to find out her foster son would be attending after all. Aside from the powerful Styx, wise little Metis, who had given Zeus the potion to debilitate Kronos, was one of Oceanus’s favourites; and Doris had essentially charged her multiple times with ensuring her own daughters’ safety, away from Zeus, who had grown into a lecher. She sat there for a while, elbows propped on her knees, deep in thought.

At last, the nymph lifted her head, her mind resigned to the change of plans.

She would simply not tell them. A parentless goat nymph as herself, who had no illustrious background and no special powers but the one to shift into animal form, stood no chance against these great gods. She sniffed. Travelling to Oceanus was an arduous journey too, accessible only to beings who possessed water-related abilities.

There was no way for her to get there to begin with, Amaltheia reasoned as she stood up and dusted her hands on her skirt. If asked, she could always feign ignorance —Zeus had come to surprise his own foster mother. Though her worries did not end there, the nymph decided to brush them aside to focus on more pressing issues like the construction of a pavilion for guests and private rooms for revellers.

2 - Snake

#untamed seas #ari writes #snv #shuumatsu no valkyrie #record of ragnarok #snv poseidon #snv zeus #poseidon record of ragnarok #zeus record of ragnarok #poseidon x oc #poseidon x amphitrite

29 notes · View notes

antiloreolympus · 3 years

Text

6 Anti LO Asks

1. Ok but thank you for posting that panel of hades “questioning” Persephone virginity because that’s the moment I gave up on the comic. This is the romantic lead literally SHAMING the lead character for her choices over her own body, which yes we as an audience know it wasn’t her choice to join the maidens, but he doesn’t know that! He thinks it’s her own choice and he’s shaming her for it! What gives him the right to talk to her like that? Why can’t a woman decide her body is her own and not for consumption of a man? I might even say manipulating her into potentially, as he sees it, leaving the organization she seems happy in so he can eventually sleep with her and have it framed it was her choice, not him shaming and slyly manipulating her over it to where she’s changing her life to accommodate him and his wants because he can tell she fancies him. It’s an absolutely disgusting moment, and it’s even worse when the following panels are of her feeling shame she isn’t comfortable with sex (for obvious reasons, she was R*PED only a few episodes before) and that she doesn’t feel she can “give him what he wants” because he just badmouthed the idea of eternal maidenhood. How anyone can read that and not want him far away from her afterwards is just maddening to me. That’s not a romantic interest, that’s a cruel old man who is grooming and manipulating her into being submissive to him and his wants. I would say it’s a brilliant villain moment, but she’s going to end up married to him and potentially bearing him children. That’s not a happy ending, that’s a domestic nightmare framed as romantic.

2. what are persephone's actual powers? other than plants and hair-growth and ... being gigantic?

3. it's disgusting for Hades to say its "contradictory" for a fertility godess to stay a maiden. Seriously? Hestia, Artemis. and Hecate are all fertility goddesses (not like Rachel cares) who actually aid in childbirth and women getting pregnant and they're almost always considered to be chaste maidens. Being able to birth children doesn't mean you're required to have sex. He's the "romantic & misunderstood" lead and yet he's shaming her into being sexually available? How is that not manipulative?

4. I bet RS forgot about skirts/dresses. She seems to forget a lot of things, which leads her to retcon them when people point it out or ask about in Q/A.

5. That’s also something I noticed, a lot of the fashion recently, especially for the women, has gotten way more old fashioned? It all looks out of the 1950s - 1960s, which I don’t get? She’s trying to go for a modern universe, yet their own fashion is regressing? The gloves are especially a weird choice. In art it’s either to show elitist glamor (so not good) or to show someone is closed off and hiding, which doesn’t fit in a literal therapy session where she’s supposed to be opening up. Even the men’s non-suit outfits are all out of the 1980s at the earliest , which are all gaudy. It’s very strange. I think she has ADHD and I know that means, especially for artists if it’s especially severe, they need to change stuff up to keep their interest, but this is just a weird way to do it, if that’s what it is.

6. Ah yes, I too show emotional stress in my characters by breaking all their fingers and bending them in random directions.

#anti lo #anti lore olympus #lo critical #lore olympus critical #anti lo art

26 notes · View notes

countrydionysia · 3 years

Text

To Hestia

Hail, eternal Hestia, Goddess wholly bless’d and bright

Belovèd by all mortals who have known Your cherished light

You who Zeus’s holy hearth so dedicated tend

Inspiring genuine regard in each for fellow men

Hestia of the council who is ever keen and fair

Fortunate are mortals who in Your bounty share

Yours is the life-giving fire in every home on Earth

A testament to Hestia and Her tremendous worth

Daughter of Rhea, lovely-haired, born both first and last

Your gen’rous worship here on earth is wholly unsurpassed

Lady of abiding flame upon the Mighty Mount

Never shall the lips of men Your holy name denounce

You, by sea and sunlight, were near-ceaslessly pursued

And so, amongst immortals, there arose a futile feud

Yet though much desir’d by comely beings such as these

You nob’ly chose to persevere e’er in virginity

Pledged in stern self-sacrifice to remain a Maiden pure

You in solemn victory, a prosp’rous peace procured

For this enduring vow, Your crucial forfeiture maintained

See, amongst the Shining Ones, the fortune that You gained

You receive the first and last of sacrifices all

You are honored faithfully in every home and hall

Communication and compromise amongst men You inspire

You gather all in harmony around Your sacred fires

For You are Queen over comfort and rest, safety, family, and love

You are the warmth within the fire, the shelt’ring roof above

Praise to You, rich in blessings, receive just adoration

For Your flames hearten hopeless men and ignite transfiguration

Come ye Goddess, fill this home and harken to my plea

Bestow upon these faithful ones Your vast prosperity

Attend this rite, O’ fiery Maiden gleaming in the flames

You are the heart of community, all mortals laud Your name

Entry for: #modernhymns Religious/witchy sideblog: @magnoliessence Potentially triggering content: #virgingoddess #virginity #virgin

#modern hymn #tw virginity #tw virgin #tw virgin goddess #rural dionysia 2020 #submission

52 notes · View notes

argetcross · 7 years

Text

Here a Witch, There a Witch

Witchhood, Celica’s Act 5 arc, and Treatment of Women in Echoes (aka several thousand words of musings. Coherency not guaranteed. Spoilers of course.)

I find the narrative choice of turning Celica into a witch who is then saved by the intervention of Mother Mila a really weirdly interesting one?

First off, I skimmed the Gaiden script and this doesn't happen. This is probably the weakest part of the whole story for me in Echoes, and, in Gaiden, it's even more confusing.

Jedah: Alm's trapped in Dragon Mountain. You must want to save him. If that's so, then follow after me. If you offer yourselves as sacrifices to Lord Doma, Alm's path shall also open up once more!

Witchhood, the soul of a Branded child, Duma needing both Alm and Celica, all of that isn't spoken about, so it's not certain what exactly Jedah is doing all that time. So it's literally a game device to force you onto a linear Alm path. At the very least, turning Celica into a witch makes a bit more sense if you assume that there's some equal power exchange, which Jedah hints at. Celica's soul, her Brand, her magic, all are things valued by Duma, namely strength. Taking both Celica and Alm’s soul would restore Duma to a sanity and power he’s been lacking for ages. Okay, sure.

The idea of sacrificing your humanity for a love one is supposed to foil to Rinea and Berkut (and to a smaller extent, Jedah and his daughters, probably). The idea of witchhood is so interesting because you get many different 'witches' in the game. You have those that chose the contract of their own accord (Nuibaba) and kind of exists outside of Jedah's faction. You have the witch sisters, which Sonya says it was Jedah's sacrifice to Duma that turned them to witches, but Jedah counters her, saying they offered up their souls willingly. You have Delthea who for all intents and purposes gets witch like powers when controlled by Tartarah. Finally you have Celica who, even after having her soul offered up to Duma unwillingly, is controlled but also is mentally present enough to tell Alm to kill her.

The idea of men sacrificing women for power is one that happens a lot in this game. The villains, Fernand, Berkut, Jedah, all destroy their relationships with women in their lives and women who reject notably megalomaniac men survive (Sonya, Mathilda). The masculine and feminine dichotomy of Duma and Mila is pretty slanted towards the Father who destroys and the Mother who gives life. This is echoed in the paternal relationships in Echoes (Rudolf + Alm, Lima + Celica) all being quite toxic ones while the maternal ones (Liprica + Celica is the most significant, Mother Mila being redeemed is another example) having positive connotations.

(Side Note: Given the eternal sleep of Duma, Sonya, no matter what her ending suggests, could not have become a witch by offering up her soul to Duma. The ending therefore, one could argue, is simply trying to demonstrate the futility of retrieving souls already sold, and Sonya could have easily taken up residence in Nuibaba's manor with ill rumors abound.)

(Second side note: The time when Alm is saved by Celica's pendant, notably that comes from Celica's mother as one of the gifts. Was it meant to protect Celica against the influence of witches? Lady Liprica did not want Celica to stand in front of Mila - did she fear Celica to lose her soul to not a god but a goddess? Was Celica's giving nature what allowed Alm to succeed even when he wasn't prepared for Duma's true might, possibly crippling her own protection in the self-sacrificial nature she had? The last one is almost certainly a yes.)

You also have quite a bit of 'liberation' through the protagonist's part (Delthea, Mathilda, Celica) in contrast to the hordes of witches that you can't save due to their lost souls to Duma. So why can you save who you can save?

Berkut and Rinea are easily understood. Berkut volunteered himself up to Duma, Rinea, being sacrificed but also unwilling to leave Berkut's side, is unable to be redeemed. Simple enough.

Delthea is controlled not by Duma but by Tartarah and notably against her will. Upon killing Tartarah, she's freed - so attempts to create witches can be thwarted through destroying the arcanist controller. Also- the soul didn't actually get to Duma in this case. Nuibaba did not actually sell her soul to Duma. Her contract was with Medusa and she's referred to as an arcanist despite her witch class.

Marla and Hestia - it's hard to tell if you can believe either Sonya or Jedah's story as the total truth. They were almost certainly coerced on some level, but Hestia mentions that she should have lived her life freely like Sonya. Again, a scrap of her own personality and some hint at a decision she made? It's hard to tell, but it's likely we couldn't save them because again, there was something in their process of becoming a witch they couldn't recover from. Did they make that decision out of their own lust for power? It’s likely.

Now to Celica, the strangest of the potential witches, not only does she get her soul returned to her- it's through stabbing her with the Kingsfang/the Falchion. She gets her soul returned to her despite Jedah being convinced her soul is already devoured. How on earth does Mila have Celica’s soul if Duma has taken it?

Well game logic suggests that by killing Celica, Duma loses her soul. You see this with Berkut and Rinea, in death, they are freed from Duma’s control. Suddenly, Hestia’s last words make sense. Duma’s not all-powerful.

In the same vein, Mila finally gets over her fear of selling out her brother. Of note, Duma never used the Kingsfang on Mila and Mila never took an advantage to kill her brother. They fought bitterly but they also, like overgrown siblings, never wanted to kill each other. They were, in some ways, too proud and far more concerned with their own interests rather than those of humans’.

So maybe from this viewpoint, it makes sense how Celica’s self-sacrifice spurs Mila into finally releasing her seal on Falchion and entrusting her brother’s fate to someone who was able to do something she could never bring herself to do - trust in her opposite and sacrifice each other for the greater good.

Of note, in Gaiden, instead of the witch dialogue, you get this:

Cellica: It won't work. Judah possesses some mysterious power that's obstructing all our attacks. Besides, countless Bigles keep coming to entangle us. We can't even move anymore. We're probably already done for... Sorry, Alm. I wasn't able to do anything for you after all. I've had a strange premonition... A feeling that something terrible will happen to you... That's why I came this far on a quest to rescue Mila... That's why, until then, I didn't want you to fight. Because of that... I acted so cold. I'm sorry... The truth is, I've always...

This is after the crypt. I mean logically, this is because the game wants you to play as Alm as the hero and Celica now steps into a role similar to Zelda in TP - both a maiden to be saved as well as the wise queenly character to aid the hero. What's interesting is Echoes actually plays up Celica's self-sacrificial nature and her inherent importance, because of the part about giving up her soul. Gaiden's Celica actually makes less sense - she has no plan, she is just feeling defeated and like she failed Alm. Even if Echoes Celica makes a bad decision, she's takes action that makes a lot of sense for Celica at this moment - that is, a Celica abandoned by her goddess and used to bearing a lot of survivor guilt about her existence as princess.

For comparison, the Echoes dialogue goes:

Celica: Back on the island, I had a dream. A dream where something terrible happened to you. So I decided to petition Mila for the strength to protect you. Yet for all my travels, you’ve still faced terrible danger. And you were even forced to end your own father’s life. …I’d seen it all. I knew it was coming, but I couldn’t change a thing. I failed to keep you safe, Alm! Alm: That’s not… Celica, none of what’s happened is your fault. You’re not to blame for any of it! Celica: But I won’t lose you… I won’t let any of you die! I don’t want you to fight Duma. I don’t want anyone to be hurt or killed. That’s my only desire in this life.

Why did Celica believe Jedah? A lot of people kind of groaned when she bargained with Jedah, but I think, stepping back for a moment, looking at how Celica views the gods is important. Even if she doesn't agree with Duma, she still reveres him. Her ending dialogue with Duma is pretty much that. She recognizes what he did for Valentia but seeks to free him from his madness. However, at the beginning, she believed if the gods were lost, the land would become barren and humankind would surely die. She's not at Duma tower to kill gods, she's at Duma tower to retrieve a god and restate the natural order of Valentia. Celica, who was looking for Mila in order to circumvent the sufferings and the destruction of humanity, of course would turn herself into the problem. It's not that she trusted Jedah, but I think Celica at this point had been coping with a vast body of knowledge and pressure about the gods and their effect on the world that Alm never really considered. She makes a hard decision in absence of her own faith and confidence, in her eyes, a choice that would protect everyone.

The problem is Rudolf, in moving against the Duma Faithful, has already broken the Accord and set in motion events that means Celica's mission is a failure. The gods HAVE forsaken her. Mila notably doesn't come to her senses until the two branded children are about to kill each other in front of her. (Honestly, I think the Fire Emblem team has a small fetish for stabbing your loved ones, especially under possession. Awakening flashbacks anyone?)

Celica upon seeing Mila in stone, has a crisis of faith essentially stalls her entire arc. Is this weak writing? Yeah, it really is. Celica’s arc lacks its personal climax. Alm has his Rigelian heritage and Berkut on top of this. Celica’s arc gets absorbed into Alm’s. Celica needed something else to restore her faith in herself, especially after her mental surrender.

Is the answer faith in loved ones? Partially. That part is already in the game though.

Celica: I do. It’s as Mila said… We’ve had the strength to live and fight for our world this whole time. I lost faith in that somewhere along the way… But right now, it seems the most obvious thing in the world. I trust in mankind like I trust in you, Alm. Absolutely, and without hesitation.

The issue I think that would resolve this best would be actually in how they handle Mila. What would have strengthened Celica's final decision would be Mila reaching out to Celica rather than Alm, acknowledging how it was Celica that uncovered the mystery of where she was, came all the way to save her with her own, very human powers. That her journey to Mila gave her a greater wisdom and understanding of the relationships between gods and men that Alm couldn’t have known.

Isn't that a kind of strength even the gods couldn't predict?

#fe15 spoilers #fe echoes #celica #alm #mila #fe gaiden #arget rambles #my meta #duma #what even is this #feel free to talk to me about this #as much as I love this game #and the emotional arc was super punchy #I think the way they handled this was just #good bad weird and yet still emotional #so who even knows what's going on #maybe I just need to write fanfic or something

15 notes · View notes