The Sherwood Library
Beonne sat down in Her Chair By The Library Window with a soft oomf, cradling her chosen volume with care. During her first few weeks in London she’d torn through the class fae stories on the shelves. Scholarly pursuits hadn’t really held her interest (though she’d made the effort on Rowena’s behalf to become more learned) so she had scoured the shelves for more tales of myth. Turning to the first page of Robyn Hoode: The Playe, the young witch settled down for a good bit of reading.
Somewhere along the way however, in the quite expanse of the voluminous library, she’d decided what the story needed was a little pizzazz! She’d started off doing the voices quietly at first but when she realized there was no one there to bother, Beonne let her voice rise. She’d even taken to standing, acting out the scenes as the directions called, making her little corner a grand stage.
MAR. I neither need thy guard nor company.
ROB. Then, shall I leave you?
MAR. Pray you, do.
ROB. I see: We are not far, if you conceive a need—
MAR. I’ll call—but I shall not. Now leave me be.
[Robin starts to leave, then turns and slowly
unsheathes his sword. He crosses to Marian
and sets the sword on the ground beside her.]
ROB. At least, fair lady, keep my sword by thee.
If wolves come, but thy pride forbids thee shout,
Just rap them soundly, here, upon the snout.
[As he turns to go, Marian snatches up
the sword and points it at him.]
MAR. You are a fool to leave me armed thus:
For I am not afear’d to wield a blade.
A Love Letter?
[Enclosed: a crushed thistle with a length of parchment wrapped around the stem. Scrawled on the parchment in a slanted scrawl stained and smeared with moisture from the plant: ‘with love’]
B.
Is it strange that such simple words have the most profound effect on me? Home to you. Three words stitched together, a bundling of clumsy letters that took no more than half a second to write each and I am a mess. I have touched them with enough worship that I have imagined the pads of my fingertips can trace the curl of the ink, raised against the intimate whorls of my finger print. I wish I could see your lips mouth their way around the shape of the words, slick with the press of your nervous red tongue and soft with affection. Is it vulgar to wish that I could taste the words on your tongue?
My mother had nine children. She would have had three more had childbirth not been so difficult. I can’t shake the idea that bringing children into the world is a cruel thing as they are born only to get old. The loss of a child’s innocence is considered a travesty yet we bring children into the world in the hope that they grow up and is growing up not defined by loss of innocence? Maybe I am just in a morbid frame of mind sitting here holding your letter on the moors around the school, looking at stars that remind me of you for the mere fact they are unreachable.
She named him Wilhelm, half in honour of me and half in honour of the Kraut she married. I can’t help but think it is an awfully heavy name for a child that I can measure with my forearm.
If it’s not too forward of me to say, there is only one woman I would like to kiss me and I would hope no trickery would have to be involved.
I fear I would bore you if I spoke of books; I will go on for pages about single words and underdeveloped characters and motives that need no explanation. I will recommend Beowulf’s work though, but I would not be surprised if you had already read him.
Yours,
W
Dearest Freddie,
I adore the sprig of thistle! How is it such a small thing can bring so much joy? Some scent still clung to the plant and I stay in one spot for nearly an hour with it pressed to my lips trying to capture the smell. I fear that by the time we return I won’t be able to see them for myself! Do you think you could manage sending me more pressed flowers if you happen to venture outside? They’re wonderful little reminders of you and home. (Plus the fresh air will do you some good! Books are wonderful but one can only stay inside a library so long.)
And darling, do not fret for children! Though yes, it is encouraged at they grow would we deny them the wisdom that comes with that growth? If one cannot stay innocent at least one can be wise! That’s something…isn’t it? You should hope and do your best to see that Wilhelm - with his heavy name - grows up to be such a man!
You also must remember Freddie, if one doesn’t grow up one cannot partake in delightful activities - such as kissing. I’m afraid I must curse you though. I was doing a splendid job of not thinking of it or how I long to have your lips to mine again. And you ruined it! Naughty boy! I shall go distract myself with Beowulf now and hope to cleanse my mind of thoughts so I like lest they drive me mad with want!
Do keep yourself well!
Yours affectionately,
Beonne
[pressed to the paper just by her name are a pair of lip prints, the rosy red color of a lady’s lip stain]
(Source: doe-eyed-beonne)
CHRISTUS! | Thaddie and Beonne | Week 24
His arm hit that chair as he passed it and he laughed aloud, turning a little to face it. He tutted, waggling a finger at the high-backed wood, shaking his head in obvious amusement, still, before he continued on to seat himself elsewhere, closer to her, watching her,
‘Would you look at that,’
Thaddeus slurred, grinning some as he leaned into the back of it, legs spread and stretched far out in front of him, his fingers dancing over the bare table beside him,
‘Somebody put a chair there. Somebody should move it.’
He nodded, slouching a little bit, playing with a little, stray piece of wood that had broken apart from the smooth, flat top—or more a piece he’d pulled off, leaving a little dent in the table—he snickered a little bit.
‘Beonne.. Beonne who doesn’t think it’s cold and has two layers of skirt.’
He recited, hand waving in the air as if he really cared,
‘Why are you going to the kitchen?’
Thaddeus was obviously ignoring the fact that she thought he was drunk—and he was—and that he needed to be taken to bed. No, no, he’d been to bed already.
Sharp blue eyes followed the trail the wobbly lord took, flooding with relief as he sat again. Watching quietly as Lord Thurknell scolded the chair like an errant child, Beonne wondered if she ought to just leave him where he sat and make a runner of it. Would he follow? She couldn’t say for sure…but even if he did he seemed to far gone to make an effective chase.
Still, it felt rather odd to just leave the man as he was - despite her own misgivings of drunken men and their intentions Beonne was still a kind-hearted creature. A swelling of pity over took her as the loopy lord played with the table, fingers trailing along the wood. “I was just hungry,” she said honestly again. Casting a glance to the kitchen door her stomach rumbled quietly in want. Chewing on her lower lip her mind awoke to semblance of a working brain. If she left him he might remember the snub in the morning and cause trouble - a quick hallway conversation left her little information as to his character even if he had seemed the goodly sort. But booze had a good way of making men, even the goodly sorts, into dastardly bastards once under the influence. Even if he was acting like a dim child now there was no saying he’d stay that way.
“Are you sure there isn’t anyone I can call for you my lord?” Beonne asked again. “Where are you rooms?” If they weren’t that far she’d simply excuse herself and go to her food foraging, placating her guilt with sense. Staying where she was in the archway, the young witch cast a long glance over her shoulder, peering into the shadows. If this was home she’d offer to take him, free of fear that her reputation would be sullied. But here…but here she had Gondoline to think about.
CHRISTUS! | Thaddie and Beonne | Week 24
Thaddeus stopped in his drinking, peering over the rim of the cup as the woman bashed herself against a table, his eyes squinted and his lips tugged up into a smile, he was amused, and obviously so, she’d hurt herself and, bless, she was trying to hide it, trying to make sure he didn’t notice her but he already had.
‘You!’
He chimed, pulling the jug down from covering his face, his hand outstretched, pointing at her across the hall, eyes squinted as he tried to control the horrible double vision that was plaguing him.
‘What are you doing here?’
He squinted again,
‘What’s your name?’
Thaddeus still hadn’t noticed she was a “maid”, he hadn’t noticed that he didn’t know her, and he didn’t notice that he was far drunker than he should have been, though he definitely should have. He set the jug down as he pulled himself up onto his feet, and he stumbled a little bit, having to hold himself up on that table before picking the jug up again and slowly, slowly dragged himself over towards her using each table along the way to support himself.
Eyes shut tight and teeth pressing desperately into her bottom lip, Beonne stood stock still in the corridor as Lord Thurknell called out to her. Her hip ached where the table had caught her and stomped down the want to put her fingers to the flesh and test the injury. She would have ample time for that after she escaped to the kitchens. Drunken men were a sort of men she liked to avoid completely and it was quite evident that His Lordship was well into his cups. Straightening her back and doing her best not to appear like a naughty child caught at some mischief she walked just past the archway and into the main hall.
“I was headed to the kitchens my lord,” Beonne answered truthfully. “My name is Beonne.”
The young witch was actually rather surprised he remembered her and wondered if he also remembered their passing (and quite inane) conversation. Hopefully not! She had made such a fuss over the weather - afterwards when she realized his station she’d been quite embarrassed. Watching carefully as he stood, wobbling on his feet, Beonne kept her body angled towards the corridor lest she need to flee. The night in the stable had sharpened her senses to a painful degree when it came to drunkards and she hoped to escape Lord Thurnkell without incident.
“Are you all right there my lord? Should I fetch someone to help you to bed? Your valet perhaps?” she asked carefully, watching him make a dangerous beeline for a high backed chair.
A Love Letter?
B.
You should not be worried about my bruised feelings; if they are bruised I’m quite sure there is nothing to blame save my own sensitivity and, in that, the problem remains my own. I would prefer not to discuss your love with him if it’s all the same to you.
As lovely as it sounds, I will not go looking for it until you’ve had the opportunity to show me it yourself; I daresay it would not be as interesting to discover without being able to watch your face light with gentle, pure pleasure as it does when you see something beautiful (and you find so much beauty in this world). I would trade the world if it meant not missing the excited flutter of your eyelashes painted gold and gentle in the sun and the smile you wear sometimes that stretches your freckles across the bridge of your nose, the delicate stretch of your pink lips and the rose tinted apple of your cheek. Yes, not as interesting by half.
My family is fine, as always. My sister gave birth to a little boy, ruddy pink all over and as plump as a prize pig. She laughed and told me that she hopes he isn’t magic; she watched me running our Ma ragged as a child and she wouldn’t appreciate a repeat performance from her own brat. Her words, not mine.
I’m sure you’re doing fine. There’s not much you can’t do when you put your mind to it. If you are only a peasant girl from Scotland, what does that make me? We are one and the same, but don’t think that that means we aren’t twice as good as the cultured people in London.
Not much has happened that I’m aware of. Though, you know full well how I tend to migrate to quiet corners in the castle and lose myself for days. The world could have imploded and I would still be trudging breast deep in the stories of Kilhwch and Olwen.
W.
Dearest Freddie,
I was sure I would cause the room to flame with the fierceness of my blush at your words! I swear, you could out write the Devil if you had a mind to. I was so happy to receive your letter - so happy but also so pained! Would that I could be both here to support Gondoline in her time of worry and to return home to you. How is it with all the magic the world possesses no one has managed a way for that to be done? I promise that one of the very first things I shall do when I get home is show you the pond! It’s very nice for swimming.
I’m glad that you’re sister was able to deliver her baby safely! Helga’s taught me what she knows of midwifery and it seems a tricky sort of business. So much can go wrong! I think any woman who deems to become a mother is very brave. A child is a lot of work! Did you know there’s a woman down in the village who had ten?! Ten! Can you imagine it? Someone ought to give her a medal or knight her. What did your sister name her son? And I’m trying to imagine you as a “brat” and I admit I cannot imagine it! Have you some hidden mischievous streak I’m unaware of? If you do I demand you give me a peek when I return!
I’d love to watch your eyes twinkle with wrong-doing and your mouth pull into a smirk. Surely you’d look like some sort of dastardly fae prince ready to trick all the women into kisses! Like something out of a story! Though as much as I would love to see that I think I prefer you as you are. Your smile is gentle enough to warm even the coldest heart and I know mine is always grateful for having seen it. Oh, now I’m making myself miss home even more!
Will you send me some token with your next letter? A flower or a leaf? That way I could have a bit of Scotland with me?
I will admit that lately I’ve gotten better with my tasks - though Gondoline assigns few. I had the wonderful fortune of meeting the personal maid to the queen! She’s given me pointers. I don’t understand how anyone can be wary of such a ruler if she has such devoted subjects! Gondoline fears she’ll burn her at the stake…but I doubt the queen has any inkling of what she is. She’s done no magic at all! There’s been no mention of anything that even smacks of it. I do hope she’ll stop worrying soon. I want to see her smile again.
Do promise you won’t get horribly lost in books? I’d hate not to receive your letters. Maybe if you tell me what you’re reading that will help? Plus I’ve already gone through most of the fae stories the court library has and am looking for something else to read. Any suggestions you have would be welcome!
Yours affectionately,
Beonne
(Source: doe-eyed-beonne)
A Love Letter?
Dearest Freddie,
I don’t know why I haven’t been possessed to write you sooner! You really should have been at the top of my list - I’m sorry yours will be arriving after Gregory’s. Please don’t think it’s because I value his friendship over yours…I know your opinion of him and just want to make sure I haven’t bruised your feelings by it? I hope I haven’t! If he makes any snide comment about it tell him I said I won’t love him anymore if he bothers you!
Anyway, I’m writing because I’ve found I’m actually rather homesick. What a strange notion! I’ve never had it before…not when I left Valley Broad for Glen or Glen for Hogwarts. Though I like London it’s not really what I expected. It is quite grand and there is a lot of culture here but…I miss waking up in my warm room, surrounded by sunlight. I miss playing with my pet lamb, working in the greenhouse and going for walks in the woods. Did I ever tell you I found a little pond perfect for swimming?
I don’t think I did but I’ll tell you know - my friend Freya, a Dryad, she knows where it is! It’s not far from the place where you showed me the strange, skeletal horses I couldn’t see. It’s a lovely little place with a very small sandy beach along one side, the grass just after that very soft and wonderful to lie in! If you ever need a quiet spot it’s a good place to go.
How did your trip back to Wild Smith go? I’m afraid I’ve forgotten why you had to leave…my apologies. I hope your family is well! I’m sorry we didn’t see each other before I left but Gondoline really needed someone to come to London with her. I’ve done an excellent job at providing moral support I think but I’ve done little else well. Being a maid is more difficult than I expected. So many maids here are actually ladies themselves, serving a woman of higher status. I’m just some peasant girl from Scotland how can I possibly compare? I thought we might have free time to go to the theater or something but Gondoline hasn’t really done much. Therefore I haven’t really done much.
I’ll have to try and persuade her to show me the sights of the city! Maybe that will get her to relax. I’m missing you and home terribly! Tell me everything that has happened while I’ve been away!
Yours affectionately,
Beonne
CHRISTUS! | Thaddie and Beonne | Week 24
He’d been put to bed, he’d spent some time with Brutus up in that warm, moonlight-flooded room, the stuffed, relatively comfortable bed, the other man’s lips on his, on his skin, hands groping blindly in the darkness but now, now he was awake, now he was awake, still drunk, still merry, worked up and wanting to drink more.
He stumbled along the stone floors, fingers clutching at the walls, dragging himself along. It wasn’t long until he found himself in the main hall, a jug of wine clutched in his hands, trying to pour a glass before he decided to drink just from the jug. He was singing, too, and he hadn’t even noticed it, singing loudly and, thankfully enough, the walls were thick enough, the hall far enough, that the rest of the castle wouldn’t hear him.
Thaddeus’ singing soon turned to drunken humming, his legs swinging on the bench as he’d sat himself at the main table, just where he’d been sitting before—he didn’t much want to get caught sitting in a throne that wasn’t his.
‘quo Christus, invictus leo, dracone surgens obruto!’
He chimed, pronunciation completely off and everything just completely wrong, but he sang the little words he knew.
When she awoke sometime past midnight, the pale moon peeking in the window a veritable beacon against the inky dark sky, Beonne wondered sleepily how long it would be before she came to consciousness in her castle. Her castle surrounded by the wild Scottish countryside, flanked by a dark and mysterious forest that looked perfectly innocent during daylight hours and boasted a lake so fathomless she doubted even a mermaid could reach the bottom. With a sigh the young witch turned over in the bed she shared with Gondoline, quietly looking at her friend’s face. She did ease the homesickness somewhat but far more often than not Beonne wished to just leave London behind.
Carefully picking up the covers she slid out of the bed and from the room, stomach pinching in hunger. Time for a midnight snack!The scones lit along the hallways cast an eerie, soft glow along the walls as she maneuvered slowly from their room and towards the kitchens. The one good thing to come from their lengthy stay was the fact she now knew where the essentials of the London castle were located. Gone were the days where she had to stop a knight or fellow maid for directions.
Successfully transversing a staircase down to the floor below, Beonne made her way towards the main dining room, intending to cut across the empty expanse to reach the coveted kitchens faster. She stopped suddenly in the archway however when rather bad singing met her ears. Peeking into the room she saw Lord Thurknell sitting at one of the tables, kicking is legs about like a child and belting out at tune. Stepping backwards the young witch intended to leave the lord as he was and take the long way round to the place she sought but the corridor had other intentions.
Her hip bashed painfully into the side of some decorative table and Beonne cried out in pain, grasping onto the table and shutting her eyes tight, willing the pain away and hoping the lord hadn’t heard her. He seemed well into his cups - that should be enough of a diversion.
A Short Letter
Dear Elfrida,
I know you cannot read. So I will keep this simple. Have someone help you! Court is very nice. There are many pretty things here. The ladies have pretty dresses. The lords have hand swords. The queen is beautiful. The king is stately. The library here is very big! I am enjoying myself. I hope you are well!
Yours most affectionately,
Beonne
…is that you?
Norvel had been walking through the corridors, minding his own business, muttering the latest spell he had learned under his breath. He was caught quite off guard when he heard his name being shouted. He turned around, the voice sounding rather familiar, although he could not place it. He spotted Beonne and smiled. “Deonne!” He still rather messed up the pronunciation of her name, despite how many times he tried. There was just something about D’s and B’s which confused his little Viking mind. “How lovely to see you.” He did not know her very well, but he was familiar with her, considering that she was Helga’s younger sister. Never mind though, a familiar face, was always a welcomed one.
Being the girl that she was, the moment that the young witch realized it was indeed the viking man she knew from school, a smile broke out on her face and once she reached him she encompassed him in a tight hug. Pulling away quickly, she set her eyes to his and looked up expectantly. “This is fantastic! What are you doing here? How is…home?”
(Source: doe-eyed-beonne)
…is that you?
Looking down the corridor, the blonde young witch gave a little hop, trying to see past people’s heads. The sheer height of the man caught her attention and the blonde hair cemented the memory. “Noooorvel!” Beonne shouted down the hall, ducking between people to head towards him. To see a familiar face was pleasing as her heart was drenched with home sickness.
Sister to Helga Hufflepuff
~ Apprentice Healer~
The face of Holliday Grainger
Played by Jillian
sweet sister
my heart's owner ~ my dearest friend
my sally ~ my knight
Beonne (pronounced BEE-own) is the younger sister to one Helga Hufflepuff, Hogwarts Founder. The seventeen year old has been raised from birth mainly by Helga, her mother (Elara) having unfortunately died after a troublesome labor. Life, however, has never looked anything but rosy to this eternal optimist. With a default setting of "happy," Beonne hardly ever fails to find the silver lining in situations.
She has simple pleasures and though it seems sometimes she also has a simple mind, she is a curious and complex creature. Beonne believes the best of everyone and it is very difficult to shake her faith in people. Of course, such a caring and gullible nature leads to its fair share of trouble! But with her sister, two pseudo father figures, and the ever vigilant Helena Ravenclaw at her side, Beonne is ready to take on whatever life throws at her! And she'll do it with a smile.
