#aelfe

[diana-andraste]

Æ is for Ælf

In Anglo-Saxon medical literature, we occasionally come across cures for ailments apparently caused by ælfe, elves. For example:

Make a salve against elfkind and night-walkers and the people with whom the devil has sex …

An Old English Alphabet

[aelfswart-blog]

About Me

Aelfswart

I chose an Anglo-Saxon name as my tumblr name for the same reason I use Anglo-Saxon names for the deities and archetypes that I work with.  I speak and think in English, I am culturally of English descent, and while I have Slavic and Celtic ancestors mixed in with the Germanic/Anglo-Saxon ones, I have gone by an Old English surname my entire life.

Aelfswart, or black elf, is a rough translation of my own first and middle names into Old English.

I am a humanistic pagan who utilizes a vaguely Anglo-Saxon Pantheon in worship and ritual.

I am a socialist, a feminist, a pacifist, a supporter of the LGBT community, and open to other cultures, religions, and races.  You will find that these things very much color how I interact with deities and archetypes.

I do rely heavily on personal gnosis.

 More on the Anglo-Saxon concept of Aelfe here

[gangsofolympia]

Leilae and Ingil have a short discussion (excerpt from Gangs of Olympia)

"Those damned traitors! They would turn us against each other!" Leilae gazed into the fire, leaving Ingil to speak to her back. She ground her nails into her palms, heat building inside her body and bringing tears to her eyes, which she lowered in shame.

The rebel boy's image danced in front of her eyes, and his words would not leave her mind--

"Look, you're a Milern. You know what it's like to want to be free from the Bleadh..."

Did she? Leilae had been born a free Milern in Caelenya. Her father, however--she had always had trouble imagining the king of the Aelfe Milern, Orothan the Handsome, toiling away in nothing but rags under a Bleadh's whip.

But the situation was different. The Deinya were better off than they were before they came to Ysla Ipthiel. They no longer starved, no longer spent the nights in fear, afraid that they would be murdered in their sleep for the little bit of water they had left in their bottles. They had work. They had shelter. Why would they complain when all that was out there for them was the Deathlands?

"It seems they've already succeeded in converting one Bleadh--or should I say 'Elia' now--to their cause," Ingil replied. Leilae did not answer, attempting to collect herself. She should not show such open displays of emotion. She wiped away her tears, disgusted.

Only with family was she allowed to bear her soul. That was the way of the Milern. Only with her father--the coldest Aelfe she knew--could she cry.

And with herself.

Perhaps when they married, Ingil would allow her to shed tears in his presence, but would she dare express herself freely in front of her betrothed? Before the marriage? Maybe not freely, but maybe just...

   Leilae turned cautiously toward the Dolisie, but he did not seem to be bothered by her distance, nor did he seem to care. In fact, he was much too busy grooming himself to even take note of Leilae's breech of etiquette. Ingil ran his fingers through his silver hair, moving on to pick stray pieces of lint and dust from his clothes, reminding Leilae of a swan preening its feathers.

Annoyed at her eagerness to give the Dolisie any extra attention than he already received, even in the midst of her own attempt to attract attention to herself, Leilae huffed, focusing on the fire once more.

It seemed her betrothed would not be comforting her, upset as she was, and though Leilae was disappointed, she was not surprised. The Dolisie had a way of--distracting--many of those in his presence, but concern for others was not a trait he possessed. Though most of these others--those who did not know Ingil as well as Leilae had come to know him during the past year--would say differently, as the shining silver "prince" had a smile and a compliment for anyone he encountered. Except for Leilae, of course.

Leilae knew he would never care for her, so she had to be strong--all by herself, and that meant showing no weakness. As far as Ingil was concerned, they were just having a casual conversation brought on by a bit of stray curiosity.

"Yes, I know of the Aelfe. The one those foolish rebels somehow convinced to fight for them." she said. "It's a shame. Ithrimane Aelinde--was he not honored for his heroic efforts during the Outsider Invasion just a few years past?"

"He was," Ingil said with a sigh. He finished preening, running his hands down his robe one last time.  "But I suppose some will simply fight mindlessly for any cause. He probably got bored and joined the rebels." Leilae turned to meet his eyes, forcing a smirk onto her face.

"I suppose I'm no stranger to causing trouble out of sheer boredom, but I've grown up now. I know better than that."

"Perhaps he never learned," Ingil replied. He shrugged. "Ah, well, this time around, he will certainly learn a very valuable lesson--and have time to ponder it while swinging from the end of a rope." Leilae detected a soft chuckle as it escaped from the Dolisie's lips. "Was it Aelinde who lost a leg that year? Or a foot? Poor thing, I don't see how he would be of any use to anyone, much less a band of rebels living like animals up in the mountains."

"Did he?" Leilae asked. "Did he lose a leg? I've heard rumors of someone losing his leg, but I didn't know it was him. His injury was not mentioned on his plaque in the grand chamber."

"I believe he lost the leg afterward, after the Invasion, though the details on how it happened are--well, simply choose a scenario, and others will confirm it. Eagerly, even," said Ingil. "I guess Asuriel was right about him--he called the boy reckless and needlessly angry, and obviously, Aelinde wasn't too fond of the General, to say the least. He almost killed Asuriel very shortly before losing his leg--however that happened.

But despite his failure, Aelinde managed to shake our most famous and seasoned warrior up quite a bit, and Asuriel didn't get his position by being a bad fighter, you know. Imagine his reputation if he had been killed by that young brat. He'd be laughed straight into an Elia, no matter how dead he was, and then his wife, his children, his cat, his precious medals, even his ashes would be thrown straight into the Deathlands." Ingil stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"What did you think of him, by the way?"

Leilae's voice caught in her throat.

"I - what do you mean?"

"What did you think of General Asuriel when we dined with him last week? Oh, don't tell me you've forgotten already." Ingil rolled his eyes.

"No, I haven't forgotten!" Leilae held her shoulders back, lifting her gaze. "It just isn't typical of you to seek my opinion."

"I was simply wondering. It's not as though I'm asking for advice, dear." Ingil turned away, reaching for a nearby carafe filled with red wine. "But nevermind." He said it softly, focusing intently on the wine, which he now poured into a crystal glass. The liquid seemed to glitter crimson gold as it neatly filled the bowl. "It's not important."

[gangsofolympia]

Just One More (excerpt from Gangs of Olympia)

"Hathar, orwa yaeth, issen cellán?" He just wanted one more, but Father knew better. His son could never just have one.

    "Raen, Cieradh ce suiarnë deit alodhnarbë gáriel ingírië." Hathar crossed his arms, looking down at the little half-elf with a smile in his eyes.

Cieradh felt his face redden, emotion building up in his throat, but instead of crying, he stomped his foot down and frowned as hard as he could. Hathar's eyes hardened, and he calmed the boy quickly with a wave of his hand, but still, Cieradh really wanted another raspberry, and honestly, he didn't want to save any raspberries for the others. He wanted them all to himself. But Hathar always had the last word, and he took his son's hand, leading him down the path toward the village of Cäéth Cuayrnja.