#lady of the green kirtle

[to-the-western-wood]

Narnia characters as: iconic tumblr quotes (part 2/4)

edmund, to eustace: pick a god and pray

.

lucy: there's no point being grown-up if you can't be childish sometimes

.

edmund, to peter: god may judge you but his sins outnumber your own

.

eustace, holding a sword: tell me the name of god you piece of shit

the lady of the green kirtle: can you feel your heart burning? can you feel the struggle within? the fear within me is beyond anything your soul can make. you cannot kill me in a way that matters

eustace, raising the sword, tears streaming down his face: I'M NOT FUCKING SCARED OF YOU

.

puddleglum, ten minutes after the previous quote: decay exists as an extant form of life

.

jadis, to edmund: you kneel before my throne unaware it was born of lies

[iliveinnarniaandstudyathogwarts]

People of Narnia

Lady of the green Kirtle Queen of Underland

[liminal-zone]

The Lady laughed: the richest, most musical laugh you can imagine.

[thedawntreaders]

the silver chair except eustace's dragon curse never truly left.

it remains dormant on earth of course, for there is no need of dragons there and it certainly is no place for them, but when eustace is put in situations of high, high risk in narnia, it can't help but come out instinctively.

the poor boy doesn't figure this out until it happens.

eustace never had a particular desire to die, but he gave himself no choice in the split second moment he takes to dive in front of prince rilian. for an old friend such as caspian, he would give his life to him and his family as many times as they'd need, even if he only had one to spare. a proper act of sacrifice, he reasons to himself, much nobler in comparison to what he did last time he was in narnia. lucy and edmund would be very proud, wouldn't they?

jill covers her eyes and screams.

but what should have been human skin caught on the witch's serpent fangs turns brittle and cold, like the hardened scales of a dragon's hide. the sorceress flies backwards and releases a piercing screech.

prince rilian shakes jill, begs her to open her eyes. she shakes her head. she can't, she won't. eustace is dead. eustace is dead!

an unfamiliar roar reverberates throughout the dark castle. oh no. jill finally peeks through her fingers, a new bout of fright expelling her grief. what now? hasn't she suffered enough? but her hands fall quickly to her side and she stumbles back, looking, up, up, up.

standing between her, rilian, and the serpent, stood a gallant dragon, one that towered over the two humans and blew fire into the air.

"eustace?" jill whispers.

eustace stares down the lady of the green kirtle in the eyes and grins. why, this evens out the playing field, doesn't it? his snout flares and he roars once more.

you will pay for what you've done, witch.

oh, if only reepicheep were here to see him now.

[who-canceled-roger-rabbit]

Jabba the Hutt, Claude Frollo, the Child Catcher, and the Lady of the Green Kirtle are all in that category of villains who creeped you out as kids and creep you out in a whole other way when you revisit it as an adult

[missempanada]

Does anyone think Narnia's Lady of the Green Kirtle may be inspired by Persephone? Just a thought.

[residentmiddlechild]

Y’all Narnia fans ever just think about Prince Rillian for over 20 seconds and get super sad?? 

Cause this guy…this guy is great and so underrated, but there’s so much angst going on. First, his mother is killed, enough trauma for anyone for their whole life honestly (he probably still thinks about how he could have saved her). Second, he gets brainwashed and held captive by his mother’s killer for years. (She abused him horribly and likely sexually) and then he finally returns home to have his father die in his arms. And then, on top of all that, he has to reintegrate into society and rule his country. 

I sincerely hope he had some old friends to help him out and give him some kind of support system. The poor guy has so much trauma. I hope he ends up happy. I hope Puddleglum visits him to cheer him up. I hope he marries a nice girl and stops having continuous nightmares about the Lady of the Green Kirtle.

[characterswithcolorsnamesfight]

Prelim Poll 12

Propaganda here

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

The Dragon’s Spoil (Aemond Targaryen x Rivers! Reader) Part 2

Part 1   |   Part 2   |  Part 3   |   Part 4  

Summary: The baseborn daughter with little knowledge of who your Lord father was, your life is caught in the midst of war. The Riverlands are the base for the Greens and the Blacks, dragons loom in the skies, and men die daily, especially within the walls of the cursed Harrenhal. It’s only when a certain one-eyed dragon comes for his retribution. The year is 130 AC and war endures.

A/N: It was good to see people liked the first part, so I’m continuing with this. If you’re not aware, this series will be around 4 parts, sort of following what happens at the end of the dance of Dragons. 

I also changed the ending to the final part as initially, Vhagar was going to eat the corpses instead or burn them, but it made me think that Aemond wouldn’t do that. Despite killing pretty much all of House Strong, he will still respects their bodies to give them a respectful funeral rite similar to the cremations Targaryen family members get.

I also promise the next chapter is when it gets most spicy.

Tags: slight mention of threat, some gore at the end.

Wordcount: 1,817

The Dragon’s Ruin

It feels like an eternity when you next see the Prince.

Criston Cole has you dragged away into the kitchen of the castle, throwing a cleaner apron that is not stained in mud. “I’m sure one of the ladies has a spare gown for you to wear.”

There are no true ladies of Harrenhal, only those that were dragged to live here by the husbands if they were willing. You gritted your teeth, finding some reprieve when the Hand leaves the room, only to allow you a short moment to change.

You can’t do much apart from try and drag the mud out from the bottom of your gown, already was it stained and appropriately dirtied from days of labour around the castle. The castellan had made sure you were occupied in cleaning: especially in places that had little to no to see you.

You wipe at your brown kirtle with some water in a bucket close by, changing your previous apron with one that is just as messy as the previous one, except the stains seemed more appropriate for a cook. You tie your long black hair up in a bun, loose ringlets fall and frame around your face and fail to fall back behind your ear.

You’re appropriate when the Hand comes for you again, muttering along the lines of “the Prince wants to see you in his chambers” before you’re dragged by the arm again, through the corridors you’ve known all your life. 

It’s not hard to find him: he’s in the same apartment you had previously been cleaning, its fireplace still unlit and ash messily strewn in a manner that had looked to of been discarded. He would be displeased to have his room not the cleanliness of one in the Red Keep.

The One-eyed Prince is situated in a chair by the unlit fire, idly preoccupied in waiting for you as if he had been called to see you and not the other way around. For a moment when you both enter the room, he does not look to address either, and you see in the split second how he does not seem as calm as he usually is.

His hair is thrown forward past his shoulders, long and graceful, he is caught staring with a stare of longing and unknown thoughts. It makes you wonder just what he is thinking, whether he is proud of his doings, or if war has strengthened him into becoming the man he was meant to be.

He is playing at war. You think, staring at him. Boys as green as summer, they think they’re untouchable.

“My Prince,” Criston addresses and the split moment of being with his thoughts bring him back, his eye turning just enough to see you both in his peripheral, “the bastard you called for.”

“Thank you, Cole,” Aemond speaks calmly, though one hand is squeezing his thigh with might that you think he’ll rip the fabric. “You may leave us both.”

Cole obeys like the loyal dog he is, leaving through the doors and closing them shut, leaving you with the man who killed all in a minor House, and what he could do with a girl like yourself.

You could only imagine what Perra was feeling, how she had been lucky to escape with her life. If Aemond had found out that her uncle had been working alongside the Blacks, you were certain her head would have been sent over to him in a lavish box. 

She was the daughter of a knightly house. She escaped because her name was important, not yours. You think, and sadness spreads through your chest. If you had been born a lady of some house, you wouldn’t have to worry about the judgement, the hatred. It burnt in the back of your skull knowing they stared when you walked past, whispering the lies about you.

Witch. Sorcerer of Harrenhal. Killer of babes and men.

They had all been lies, though, if you had been a witch, you wished your stares could burn through a man’s skull. The part about killing babes was false when you had rarely seen children born in a place such as this. Harrenhal was not the place that would bring life but take it. 

You had been warned that bastards were sterile, never able to create life. It was “to curse them for their unfaithful parents.” Though you did know some bastards could reproduce, you dared think the rumour had been true just for yourself.

Though, you feel rather relieved that you wouldn’t be able to, the constant reminder is enough to make you believe so. You wished you were the witch people called you by, just so you could curse the Prince who had waltzed in and dug up everything root and stem. House Strong could never come back and if they could, the baseborn girl that came from the line could certainly not be legitimised to restrengthen its line.

Aemond is standing from his seat when you blink out of your thoughts, staring at his lips move when you realise he is asking you something. “Who was your father, my Lady?”

My Lady. It stings when you hear that come from him, and you almost laugh at the absurdity. You were everything but a lady. Witch. Sorcerer. You think he uses it to humble you, to remind you of what you were.

“I did not know who,” you answer coolly, “many whispered it had been Ser Simon or Lord Lyonel. Some even said Harwin or the Master of Whispers himself, though I would believe they would be similar in age to me the same way a sibling or cousin would be.”

“How old are you?”

“I am three-and-twenty, my Prince.” You grit your teeth when you say his title.

“And your mother?”

A sad smile appeared on your features, hoping that he did not see it appear before you look away from him. “My mother too, was a mystery I never got to know.”

Aemond hums at your word as he slowly stalks closer towards you. “It is not right for a child not to know their parent.” He speaks causally. “The Mother above can be cruel in most ways.”

“It is the sins of the parents that bring bastards into the world, my Prince, not the Mother.” You say, and when he turns his head to you sharply, you dart away to look elsewhere. 

You curse at yourself for overstepping and speaking when you shouldn’t have.

He stares you down with fascination, humming lightly in a singsong tone. “You’re familiar with the Seven, but you were never brought into the Faith?” 

“A novice life would not suit me well,” you shrugged, smiling to yourself. “I simply could never remember the prayers. Harrenhal is cold but I would rather prefer these walls than those of cold and dreary Oldtown.”

Aemond chuckles at that and it takes everything not to gawk at him when you hear it. It’s soft and subtle, but it sounds surprising and oddly nice to hear come from him. “I suppose you’re right. My mother always thought I would make a great knight, fighting in tourneys.”

“I suppose we were put here for greater purposes.” You speak, trying not to look as intimidated under his purple-eyed gaze.

He stares at you, not saying much, but his eye flicks through emotions as if flicking through a book. It’s unnerving but it draws you in ever the same as a moth to flame. You’re intimidated, but you’re intrigued to know more about him, even when you feel such conflicting feelings of wanting to see him and the entirety of the Greens burn.

You find your words come easier, and you ask the crucial question that had plagued your mind since the moment he landed in the courtyard. “If you aren’t going to kill me, my Prince, why am I here?” 

honestly to him before you find yourself lost in his gaze and you forget everything about hating him. 

 Aemond draws his hands behind his back to straighten his back and appear taller, towering over you with ease. It’s as if just staring at his features makes you feel lost in his Valyrian beauty, and you forget everything about hating him. 

“I need a handmaiden and someone who is most familiar with Harrenhal. You would fit both best, am I correct?” He speaks earnestly.

“That… would be correct.”

He is close enough that you can smell the oils on him, the smell of musk that any proud warrior would wear. It's powerful and overwhelming, but it’s almost as if the way he's standing so close to you is his ploy to make you subservient to him. “My brother will only ask that the prominent line of House Strong is destroyed, not of its baseborn. After all, he had taken… to creating some of his own.”

Oh. He was far from a faithful man, and certainly fit the role of a sloth and licentious King. “My condolences to the Queen.”

Aemond hums amusedly as he traces back to his seat, “I require a fire. I expect you know how to work one?”

“Indeed, my Prince.”

“Very well,” he spoke, his face turning just enough that you see his visible eye, burning with something that makes your heart flutter and your stomach twist, “you will have my undivided protection from all the men in this castle. I swear it on my life.”

It doesn’t make you feel any better to know that, rather you think of one thing that you wish you could ask him aloud, and what about you?

You curtsy rather clumsily, forgetting your footing but playing it off as you leave his chambers, hurrying past Cole who awaits just outside. You almost bump into him as you catch him scowling down at you.

You’re blinking away your confused thoughts, muddled in a worry of feelings and mixed emotions. You hate him, and you should hate him for everything, but his looks and charm were everything that made you feel lured to him. 

Standing back in the place you recalled not long before, the courtyard is a sore sight. Blood still cakes the ground, but the bodies are all replaced with a large pile of ash, some mixed with plates of metal and burnt articles of clothing.

Your stomach twists once again as you back away from the sight, turning back as your vision catches something perched on the walls above.

Thinking it was a raven at first, your heart drops when you recognise that no, they’re not birds, but the heads of every member of House Strong.

Your fists clench into your apron and you’re nearly quick to tears as you look away, remembering your job was to collect firewood for Aemond’s chambers.

Hurrying away, you think if there was any way Targaryens were immune to fire.

[llamagirl28]

Honestly, I would love to hear more about the ROs that haven’t appeared yet.

Of course! Under the cut, cause it's getting long

Nimue appeared briefly in chapter 2 but I'm going to include her here anywhere. So, as you may know, she's Merlin's daughter - and only child - as well as his apprentice. Her mother is a High Priest in Avalon, and Nimue herself will admit to missing Avalon terribly - yet she chose to become Merlin's apprentice. She keeps a curious eye on Mordred (watching their career with interest so to say 👀).

She loves long walks in the woods, loves to be by water and enjoys swimming. She's a good cook. Out of everyone in Camelot she's closest with Gawain. She's very fond of cats (I may actually give her a kitty in game). She has a beautiful singing voice, and often hums to herself while working.

She hates the cold. She's always bundled up in winter. Her favorite colors are those shades ranging from green-blue. She loves reading, and Gawain is all too happy to provide her with suggestions. She keeps a lot to herself. Has a penchant for eavesdropping 👀 and generally at parties you can find her roaming the room, observing people. She's a very skilled sorcerer, and also an adept of the Lady of the Lake. Her outfits consist a lot of stays over chemises with petticoats and overskirts, kirtles over chemises. And belts with pockets to carry stuff.

Elaine is the youngest child of the Astolat Ducal family. Has always been very sporty/outdoorsy and would spend hours playing outside and watching the knights play. She befriended a dragon, Felix, around her age, bonding over their shared love for flying, sports and nature, and they'd often joked about becoming knights. She's a light weight when it comes to alcohol. She loves showing off her muscles. Has always been intrigued by dragons' culture and history.

About Sophie, I actually did some changes to her backstory! Interesting ones. She had a brother before too - tho he was younger. Now it's her twin brother, Magnus! He's still the one preferred for the throne, despite her being first born by a couple minutes. The Council of Nobles (who are the ones actually in power, behind the scenes) in her kingdom don't want her as Monarch because she's actually really interested in taking an active role in leading, uncovering their corruption and making all sorts of changes - including perhaps an attempt at democracy 👀

She loves dogs - and got a dog of her own when she moved to Camelot to become a knight. Elaine uses she/her (doesn't bother her/doesn't really care) but she's not comfortable being considered a woman - or a man. Loves bread and pastry. It's just so good. Wears pants with tunics/shirts/jerkins/doublets in either soft, pastel colors (like violet, blue, yellow, mint) or simple browns. Goes for comfy, cozy, practical clothes but does like to dress up in elaborately embroidered doublets and shirts for special events.

She's always been very studious and diligent, becoming intrigued by different topics and subjects. Has random knowledge on all sorts of things as a result. She can wield a dagger well enough. She loves wearing flowing dresses in all sorts of pastel and soft colors - her favorite color in pink. She loves flowers and plants. Has a sweet tooth. She also draws very beautifully.

Agravain is a fellow knight who joins the Round Table after Mordred. They're the bastard of some Camelotian noble, whose mother is a servant at his castle. Their father has always resented them and they've been badly treated by him, his wife, and their oldest child. Agravain actually looks up a lot to Morgana - and wishes to befriend Mordred. They feel they have a lot in common, that they're kindred spirits - very much "us against the world". Mordred's relationships with them will have a big impact on Agravain.

They're sweet and earnest, and sort of bashful, though they can get very snappish and irritable and angry in certain situations. They get easily jealous (not just in romantic relationships, but friendships too). They're afraid Mordred - or anyone else they become close to - might abandon them. Has worked very hard to become a Knight of the Round Table. They have a passion for sewing and love designing and making their own clothes. Thinks cloaks are very cool.

Isac is a sorcerer, and son of the so called Rebel Queen. The bloodline of sorcerer he's a part of originates from the Deer King himself, and their affinity is for plant manipulation. Which you bet comes in handy for robbing people on highways that go through the forest, and protecting their castle which is also found within the woods. He's very easy going and a shameless flirt who will shoot his shot with Mordred - but backs down the moment you refuse/aren't interested in his flirting. He loves deep, lush colors, low v-neck shirts, wearing lots of rings and walks in the deep parts of the woods. His favorite hanging spots are some abandoned Deer King Temples. Has a streak for mischief. His childhood best friend is a dragon. There's one cousin close to him in age that he's also closest to, whom he loves to (affectionately) annoy.

[mask131]

Of course, parallels are always going to be drawn between Tolkien's Legendarium and Lewis' Narnia. But, as someone who loves to study the depiction of magic in fantasy, there is one parallel that keeps sticking with me, or rather two-in-one.

Parallel one: Both authors have in their fantasy world a group of magic-users of a same gender (the Istari/Order of the Wizards/the Five Wizards ; the coven of the Northern Witches), with only two members of this group being fully explored as characters (Gandalf & Saruman VS The White Witch and the Lady of the Green Kirtle), and the others being left vague and mysterious (only a handful of info on Radagast and the Blue Wizards ; zero info about the other Northern Witches)

Parallel two: Both chose to depict wizards in their fantasy worlds as magical because they are actually supernatural entities that took a human form (the Istari are Maiar - divine spirits/minor angels/"daemon" in the Greek sense of the term - who were sent as messengers/helpers/emissaries ; the various wizards of Narnia are fallen stars undergoing penance for mysterious crimes). Plus, both authors presented three wizards to their audience, two forming an obvious duo (Gandalf and Saruman ; Coriakin and Ramandu), while the third is a "lesser" character (Radagast because he only appears in mentions and secondary tales, always in an indirect way ; the Hermit of the Southern March because he has all the traits of a Narnian wizard but is never called, adressed or identified as such).

[to-the-western-wood]

eustace, to the lady of the green kirtle: if the good die young then you might live forever

[iliveinnarniaandstudyathogwarts]

The White Witch and The Lady of the green kirtle according to AI

[queenlucythevaliant]

Still not over these terrible summaries

Worst offender: the HHB summary totally spoils the biggest twist in the book

SC spoils a pretty big twist too (the underland) and also calls the Lady of the Green Kirtle the "Emerald Witch"? Which isn't what she's called?

"Army of Talking Beasts" excuse me?? Does Trumpkin mean nothing to you?? Glenstorm??? Doctor Cornelius??? Also "conquered" is probably the wrong word; it's not conquest, it's revolution

"Evil came to Narnia" in MN, not LB. That's just blatantly wrong. I get where they're coming from, but dude. C'mon.

In conclusion, these editions came out in the 70s but whoever wrote this copy should be fired

[grogusmum]

MAY: Yes, You May (part one)

A Beltane Story

OBERYN MARTELL X f!READER

W/C: 800ish

SUMMARY: You meet a golden robed stranger at the maypole on Beltane. Part 2 will be the smut portion of our story, if you are so inclined.

WARNINGS: None to speak of unless you feel Oberyn needs his own. As always, if you see something, say something. Please let me know in my DMs, and I'll add it.

A/N: Here is the May installment of The Wheel of the Year, my theme for @yearofcreation2023 Organized by the effervescent @oonajaeadira and @writeforfandoms.

Obviously, I had hoped it would be ready for Beltane itself. Many apologies for that, I hope you enjoy it, belated as it is. The POV flips toward the end.

The nine sacred trees Rowan - the wizard's tree; Briar - burn him that is so keen and green; Oak - fiercest heat giver of all timber; Alder - very battle-witch of all woods; Holly - burn it green, burn it dry; Elder - him that furnishes horses to the armies of the Sidhe burn; Birch - burn up most sure the stalks that bear the constant pads; Aspen - burn, be it late or early; and the Yew which is singled out as being sacred to the feast.

Song of Forest Trees

Beltane Bannock Recipe

You see the ribbons flitting on one of the year's first mild breeze before hearing the music, as you make your way into the village proper.

Bathed in oils and dried petals, dressed in your best kirtle and newly sewn shift, beribboned hair with flowers of bluebell, king’s cup, and the little stars of wood anemone wreathing your head- you look forward to the festivities. Humming as you go, with the Beltane Bannock fresh from the fire in your wicker hamper. It warms your side as you enter the common. A tree stripped of branch and twig but for the very top where it was bedecked in flowers and the aforementioned ribbons of red and white stands at the center. Merrymakers call to one another, and young men with flower-bedecked branches make their way to adorn them upon the doors of their lady-loves. You feel a pang, but try to shake the feeling, calling to friends in greeting.

As the festivities ramp up, you join the maypole dance, you bow to your left then to your right, but are brought up short. A dark-haired man you've never seen bows to you with a smile like a cat that got the cream, your face warms under his intense gaze. You begin the dance, and your partner - the stranger dressed in gold, while looking high born and perhaps from a faraway place, dances like he was raised right in the village, making you more and more curious. Then you break from him to weave the ribbons, above and below, you smile and laugh with your family and friends, but every time you reach him his eyes lock with yours. You decide he probably does this with all the women, while the dance is still slow you notice he looks appreciatively at both women and men.

Then music speeds up and the spectators clap in time, and the dance keeps pace and colors blur, faces pass yours, smiling, whooping, alight with the energy of the day. When the dance finally ends you are glowing and breathless from the joy of the dance. You turn again to bow, and the stranger takes your hand and kisses it with a deep bow, his eyes on yours, he too is aglow, his quickened breath fanning over your hand. You can't help but imagine it on your neck or more discreet places. The newcomer smirks as though he is reading your thoughts. In attempt to stave the prickle of embarrassment you bow and make to depart quickly. He let's you go but not before pulling you in close, and that breath is on your neck just as you imagined, he smells incredible of spice and something you don't know, it's bright and fresh.

"I hope to see you later this night, I am thinking our dance is not quite done."

His voice fit him perfectly, causing you to shiver. It's smooth; his words dripping off his tongue like honey.

After the handfasting and feast, the fires are lit with the wood of the nine sacred trees, and the livestock are brought to walk between the two bonfires. You know folk will begin to pair up. Perhaps it is time to slip away. You begin to back out of the firelight and right into someone, solid and broad. You stumble, and he catches you-

“You will not be jumping over the fire?” He still has you around the waist, loosely, not to cage you without choice, but comfortably like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I-” you stutter, “ I-

He is handsome, beautiful even. You knew this from the dance- but in his arms, the firelight flickering over his features, it is overwhelming. His aquiline nose, jaw sharp as a knife, the column of his neck long and his dark eyes now softer, attentive and his pillowed lips with a natural pout, all breathtaking, a laugh plays at the corners and then the sun comes out at dusk - he smiles.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“No, I mean, yes… she stiffles a laugh. “I was not planning to, no. One must choose wisely in such a small village. I have no beau, and what is understood on Beltane night can be sorely mistaken all the rest of the year.”

Oberyn’s smile widens-

“Yet those fields will not bless themselves.”

At this, she laughs openly, and Oberyn’s interest becomes a need. Oh, she is beautiful, soft, her eyes sparkling with mirth as they did during the dance and her mouth - how he wants to taste it. When her laughter subsides, the sultry look that replaces it lets him know they are on the same page.

“Well, that won't do, will it. What do I call you, good sir?”

“I am Oberyn… of Dorne”, The Prince of Dorne said, deciding not to include his station.

“Well, Oberyn of Dorne, you dance like a Killarian,” she says after introducing herself.

May I join you?"

“Yes you may. Come, let us to the fires.”

💚THANK YOU FOR READING💚REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE MUCH APPRECIATED💚

If you would like to read more of my Oberyn fics or any of my writing, you can find my masterlist here and if you care to be tagged for future fics follow this link to my handy dandy taglist form.

[who-canceled-roger-rabbit]

If I had a nickel for every charismatic, seductive, musically talented baddie with a snake motif and a mysterious past, who was written by a Problematic White Guy and goes down in a brief fight preceded by a drawn-out argument, I'd have two nickels.

I have to specify the bit about musical talent and a mysterious past, or else I could also be talking about the young version (pre-Fiennes, with hair and a nose) of an evil wizard written by a certain Problematic White Gal.