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[Culture Origin Story] The Legend of the Churlmen


thesmellypocket
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[OOC Note: This origin story I created as an introduction for a new culture I am creating, the Ceorls, or Churls. But it got too long so I made it its own post! All this is original, but the last poem about Aethelflaed I took from the panegyric a mediaeval English chronicler praising a Mercian queen, for I could think of no better words to give our heroine.]

 

 

 

 

 

The Legend of the Churls
By Br. Edmond, O.S.J.

 

In the remotest epoch of ancient history, when Man and Elf were still young upon this earth, and shadowy saga sings of heroes but barely known,  a quaint little hillfort on a lonely hill was the centre of a people’s hope. This is the story of that hope as the Churls tell it today. The surrounding countryside, inhabited by peaceful farmers, was ablaze with dragon’s fire, and the awful roar of the beast echoed through the valleys, shaking the hearts of men to their cores. The keep of the fort was little more than a hovel with a flat wooden roof, built that a man might observe the plains and valleys beneath. On top wobbled a withering ash-tree, a trembling old man; a slave to fear. His name was Aethelred, whose name means in Old Churlish, the Poorly-Advised. He was once a great warrior.

 

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“We must prostrate ourselves before Coerlsbane, mightiest of Dragons! We must forget the Covenant of Horen, for where is he, or his Creator, upon this day? To see my people consumed with flame! O sad day! There is no fighting such a Dragon. Let us surrender ourselves to him; let us implore his mercy. My Huscarls! Presently bring hither my most precious possession - my joy, my life, my loveliness - yea, my heart and my soul! I know what must be done to save my people. Bring also the Dragon Priest!”

 

A sinister man shrouded in black robes slithered to the old Chief’s side. Aethelred said: “O Friend of the Dragon, thou mayst yet be the saviour of my race! Bring thou my only daughter down to the valley, bind her to a tree, and leave her there as an offering to the Coerlsbane. It may be that her virginal goodness shall yet appease his ire. Go!”

 

“O Father!” Cried the beautiful princess, the golden-haired Æthelflæd. “Thou needst not force me so to offer of myself as oblation for our people, if it be thy will! ” 

 

“O, ‘tis a heavier weight to me that if thou hadst resisted, for truly, O thou brightest evening-star of thy people, thou hast out-manned me upon this fateful day.”

 

“What be the manner of this devilry?” Roared a young Huscarl, the hot-blooded Hengst. He would go down in history by a different name. “How know’st thou that the Dragon will be thus appeas’d? For thou think'st to choose between death and disgrace! Disgrace thou choosest, and death too shalt thou have. If we die, let us die honourably with swords in our hands, for, even if die we must, the Creator shall accept us as a burnt offering acceptable to Him. His is not the ire of Men or Dragons, which flares up to destroy for its own sake. Rememberest thou not the trials of Horen, of Owyn and of Godwin? As silver is tried by the fire, so the Lord refines the just by trials. Therefore, let us humble ourselves before the Lord, believing that these scourges are meant for our profit rather than our destruction. If we win, we have won ourselves a great name for courage. And if be destroyed we must, eternal redemption is in the fanning of the flame. Therefore, my liege, be constant, and sin not. Do manfully.”

 

“This lad has read too many sagas and romances. Boy, thou hast not seen but a fraction of what I have. Obey thou my orders.”

 

The valiant-hearted Hengst replied: “Do as pleases you, but I shall go to face the Dragon.” This was the most preposterous suggestion the boldness of youth had ever conceived. Scornful laughter filled the air, and then…silence. “If any man prefers noble death to long life, follow me.” He cried. But none did follow. And breaking the deafening silence was echo of what the Churls now call Dracaansbell, Dragon’s roar, which is now the Churlish name for a thunderstorm. His resistance broke. He sheathed his sword and laid apart his shield.

 

Below, in the Valley, the noble Princess now stood bound and utterly at the mercy of Coerlsbane, who still circled the valleys and turned villages into ash. Hengst watched, dejected by his own cowardice and saddened by the fate of the sweet-tongued Aethelflaed. The strength of Men had failed. He could now see two fates for his people: either they would be slaves to a Dragon, or ash. As the wound in his heart festered to its lowest ebb, the dreadful roars seemed to be suddenly vanquished by a gentle, feminine voice that melted into his ear. “O, thou lonely one”, said she, pitifully. “Come down.” His determination was renewed. He thought he was going down to die, as before. But a faint flicker of hope also enlightened him, and suddenly he raced down to the Valley, whilst Aethelraed called after him desperately. 

 

On a dirt path meandering down the hill, he met the one who had spoken to him. His jaw dropped in astonishment. Her Elf-eyes were fairer than snow, her mantle calmly fluttered in a gentle breeze, which seemed to come from her, rather than pass by her, and she extended two merciful hands which held a shining sword. To this day, Churls call white flowers Aelfegan (Elf-Eyes)  they call a gentle breeze Aelfsbraeth (Elf-Scent) and an enchanted blade is called an Aelfsweord - an Elf-Sword. The sword was pattern-welded in the Churlish fashion, meaning that it was awash with glorious spirals that bejewelled the blade. But, more than this, the spirals shone with a brilliant splendour, leaving Hengst with no doubt that this was no sword of Men. He took it into his hands with exetremest reverence. Gently, she tied a stone around his neck. “Drop thy shield, child, and take off thy hauberk. Faith in thy God must be thy shield today, and valour thy mailshirt. There is no more to say. Whether thou shalt win or lose, I know not. But go gaily into the dark!”

 

Vicky Giavasi on Twitter: "The Accolade by Edmund Leighton. #painting  #Prerafaelite https://t.co/9taXQKTWKs" / Twitter

 

As he walked out upon the wide plain, he found the lily-white princess bound to a stalkish tree. As he was walking to the side, he heard something terrible. Something few men have ever heard. A laugh. The laugh of a dragon. It is very hard to put into words, and lives only in legends and the nightmares of children. Churlsbane’s laugh seemed to scorn even the stars into lowly contempt, melting oaken-sinewed Hengst’s valiant heart. He stood motionless whilst he saw the beast flutter silently over the hillfort, and all of a sudden consume it in flames. But the dragon did not roar this time. It seems he wanted the damsel to hear the screams of the burnt and burning, which pierced the plains all around. 

 

Damsel in distress - Wikipedia

 

The hot-blooded Hengst was about to run over to the lilly-white AEthelflaed, when the Dragon landed in front of him with a terrific crash. The Dragon did not talk, yet he spoke. They call me the bane of your people. I alone am your god. I did not spare those who sought to worship me, but thou hast shown promise. Thee shall I spare, if yield to me thou wilt. These words seemed to enter Hengst’s mind, but he shook them off with an Horenian effort of willpower. He took the Elf-Stone and held it up in defiance. Another terrible laugh. Then, just as Coerlsbane was about to engulf him in a mountain of flame, he drew the Aelfsweord. The flames seemed to cannon off the blade which blazed a brilliant red. Seething with anger, the Dragon picked him up and hurled him down, sending the Elf-stone tumbling down the valley. 

 

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O slave of mine! Torturous shall be thy death, and long and cruel. First thee shall I mutilate, then the maid, and thee again, and slowly, till thou shalt see each other thus mangl’d, and be cursed by a mutual piercing of hearts. Then at last shalt thou die. A fameless death, a hopeless death; a loveless death. And why has thy so-called God suffered thee to have such evils, being a man reputed upright?

 

“Not without love”, responded the king-hearted Hengst faintly, “For if I loved not, I should not be thus pierced out of pity for my lady. But I know that my Redeemer lives, and that this flesh which thou shalt turn to ash upon this day, shall gaze upon my God, even the Living God, and what in time is corrupted, shall put on incorruptibility. The flame is but temporal, but the flames of thy punishment shall be everlasting. And enslave me canst thou not, only thyself, if I fear not death.”

 

They dialogued thus for a few minutes, and many a saga has dwelt on such a dialogue. Not all versions of this story have such Creatorist themes, but this is the story as the Churls presently tell it. Yet while they thus dialogued, the Elf-Lady reappeared, and untied the dove-gentle Aethelflaed. Aethelflaed crept down to find the Elf-stone, and tied it to her mantle, the symbol of her virginity. The Dragon did not feel the patter of her feet upon his back. She tied the stone-adorned headdress about his neck, and all of a sudden he howled in anguish and fear. The enormous Dragon winced pathetically as the little maiden’s tiny foot seemed to him a weight that crushed his head. The Elf-Stone had unmanned the beast!

 

Clemency might have been shown the beast, had he remained thus. But, as the hot-blooded Hengst let his guard down, he attempted to swipe at him in one final gasp of strength. Hengst blocked the blow with the sleight of his sword, and then thrust it deep into his belly. The dragon dissolved into an enormous cloud of ash such as he had wanted to turn men into. 

 

The hot-blooded Hengst and the lily-white Aethelflaed would go on to marry, but, as mentioned before, Hengst, first King of the Churls, went down in history by a different name. He was called Aelfwine, which means Elf-Friend, and to this day the word of address for a ruler among the Churls is Aelfwine. All Churls alive today are said to be flowers borne of that noble root, descendants of that noble stock, and to this day they still sing the fame of their first parents. 

 

“Aethelred cowered to save his country’s breath,
Aethelred found a meet reward in death.
Aelfwine disdained, and fear’d not the Dragon’s flame,
Aelfwine found himself a country, life; endless fame.
"

 

And of Aethelflaed was sung:

“Heroic Elflede! great in martial fame,
A man in valour, woman though in name:
Thee warlike hosts, thee, nature too obey'd,
Conqu'ror o'er both, though born by sex a maid.
Chang'd be thy name, such honour triumphs bring.
A queen by title, but in deeds a king.
Dragons before the Churlish heroine quail'd:
Edmond himself to win such glory fail'd.”

 

To this day the Churls, or Coerls, which is the Old Churlish word for farmer, have a special love of the Elves, whose magic, by God’s grace, saved their race from destruction. 

 

And Aelfwine and Aethelflaed lived happily ever after, in this world and the next.

 

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Edited by thesmellypocket
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