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Wolianger Week, Day 4: Royalty

ao3 | dw

In fair Il Mheg, of blossoms bright And hills of verdant green, Resideth there upon the lake My love, the Faerie Queen.

Unto her Kingdom she is bound, And set apart are we. And yet some lonesome nights, in dreams She cometh unto me

And whisp'reth sweet unto mine ear, “Fret not, my mortal love. When time hath made thee frail, and thou Hast labored long enough,

"I pray, lay down thy duty And hearken unto me, And here upon the crystal lake We’ll live eternally.

"No longer needst thou languish, Nor thy weary body strive. There’s milk upon my table, And honey from the hive.

"From thine own world, in mortal flesh Thou never canst be free. But loose the fetters of thy soul, And I shall carry thee.”

I left mine heart beside that lake, As sure as I yet breathe. Yet duty bindeth me to life; I cannot yet be free.

Steadfastly shall I labor For those we may yet save, And I’ll not forsake my duty Ere I’m neighbor to the grave.

Though e'en now my light is dimming Shall I count my duty o'er? Shall I go unto Titania Upon that crystal shore?

Shall I at length accept the gift My Queen would fain bestow— Forsaking the aetherial sea Where dear departed go—

Forsaking those who've gone before And there beyond await, For life eternal with my love At Lyhe Ghiah's gate—

From rebirth, ever sundered, Transfigurèd my soul Unto unchanging umbral thing Forever there to dwell?

Where fallen kingdoms sleep beneath And stars preside above, Resideth there upon the lake The Faerie Queen, my love.

--Excerpted from The Faerie Queen, an epic poem penned by Archon Urianger Augurelt in his last days and found in the Bookman's Shelves among his other writings.

Following the Warrior of Darkness's transformation into Titania, her companions were unable to return to their star, and at length, one by one they perished, their souls apparently dissipating into the aetherial sea as the connection to their distant bodies disintegrated. Only the Astrologian's fate remains unknown, as none were with him in his final hours. Whether he chose to pass unto the aetherial sea, or to accept the Faerie Queen's offer, remains a mystery.

This epic poem contains many verses, some complete and some fragmentary, suggesting that the Archon was not able to complete the work before he vanished from us. Nonetheless, The Faerie Queen remains a significant and beloved work across Norvrandt, the original manuscript archived in the Crystarium's Cabinet of Curiosity.

#woliangerweek #woliangerweek2025 #urianger augurelt #wolianger #woluri #titania au #annefiction #anne gposes #annepoetry #ffxiv fic #ariane clairière #gpose

I was going through some old posts the other day and ran across one I had completely forgotten about where in 2013 I said, "Maybe one day I'll write Chasind poetry."

Anyway in 2020 I wrote Chasind poetry, for this fic.

#it's funny how things come full circle sometimes #anyway it's actually a song and it has a tune and i've been meaning to record it for two years #i should really get around to that #annefiction #dragon age #annepoetry

You lift your head.

A Mainelina poem that I am never going to be able to format correctly in a tumblr post, so have a link.

#mainelina #annepoetry #agent carolina #agent maine #red vs blue

Scion

Carolina is the last of the Churches.

A poem for @rvbplatonicweek‘s Family Day. References canonical character deaths.

So it’s down to me.

We’ve never done memorials, us Churches. My mother’s plasma vapor, scattered to space, or rained back down. We had nothing, not even a stone, nothing to mark her dissolution but our slow collapse in its wake. And my father, even in life shrouded himself in stony silence and closed doors, and in the end entombed himself.

And you-- like the ones before, you went out prismed, nine beams of light. Nine names you could not forget. You were made of what he did to you-- but you were more than him, too, and you went out bright.

I can rest on that, at least-- if I can rest.

Figured I’d go like her, if we’re being honest. Didn’t we all? With the circle tightening every day, in glass and glass and glass we saw our faces mirrored in the dead. We fought, but we were all waiting for the end

and I’m still here. I don’t know how to feel. Don’t know what it means to be older than my mother, to have survived one war, and then another. Some days I feel like a ghost. Some days

my head gets echoey without you. I don’t miss their voices. I know how much of them were lies. I know what gone means now, when I close my eyes,

but I’m still here.

#agent carolina #epsilon church #leonard church #allison church #rvb platonic week #annepoetry

Cascade

Red vs. Blue. Agent Texas, mostly gen with a touch of Tex/Church. 750 words. Rated T. Also on AO3.

Written for the RvB Angst War ( @rvbficwars ), prompted by @nogoawayok:

the moment PFL-era tex discovers what she is

This is sort of experimental, but I was physically incapable of resisting this prompt. “Beth Allison” is thanks to @queseraawesome, who was kind enough to share that headcanon.

Warnings: nothing major, just allusions to Allison’s canonical death and the Director’s deliberate isolation and manipulation of Tex.

My name is Alpha My name is Beta My name is Tex

Helljumper, helljumper, where you been? Feet first into hell and back again.

I’m Beth Allison. Friends call me Tex.

if I never take my armor off I am a soldier. I am at war. No rest for the wicked. Feet first into hell. You should wear your armor as much as possible and familiarize yourself with its functions. Your armor is your lifeline, agent. Use it well.

if I never take my helmet off Atmospheric conditions unsuitable. This armor will be the only thing between you and the vacuum of space. I am a soldier. Nobody needs to know my face.

#rvb angst war #agent texas #rvb fic #nogoawayok #annefiction #annepoetry #guess i might as well bring out that tag again huh #red vs blue

Helljumper, Helljumper, where’ve you been? Three iterations and back again.

When I die, please bury me deep. Keep my memory, let me sleep.

Don't cry for me, don't shed no tears. Don't say goodbye, or face your fears.

Helljumper, Helljumper, where’d you run? Gone to Blood Gulch in the sun

And when we die, it’s not the end. We’re reconstructed again and again.

Don’t you worry, don’t come undone-- It’s just my ghost on a blue flag run.

Helljumper, Helljumper, where'd you go? Gone to Sidewinder in the snow

And one early morning ‘bout zero five the ground will rumble and split the sky.

Don’t you worry, down below. Say you forget me, let me go.

Based on the Helljumper Cadence as heard in Halo: Forward Unto Dawn.

#annepoetry #i'm sorry #agent texas #red vs blue

Oh so look what I found in my drafts. I think this comes from when I was contemplating Wash and Epsilon against the Orpheus and Eurydice myth. It's still rough, but I'll share it anyway and maybe make some more revisions later.

* * *

There wasn't one turning -

there were many. Your footfalls, soft as salt, whisper on the floor, your eyes always drawn behind, for you are chained by memory. Behind the glass of your gray eyes, a thousand secrets, a thousand lies not yours. But yours to carry to the surface. Just a little further now.

#rvb problems #annepoetry

Spindleweed

It is an old country saying that spindleweed grows best for the sorrowful. Verdant spindleweed in a household’s garden has often brought neighbors offering consolation, usually without even asking what might be wrong.

This originates from the plant’s use as a seasoning for dishes meant to speed the recovery of the infirm. A person who grows much of it is likely caring for the fatally ill.

-An excerpt from The Botanical Compendium, by Ines Arancia, Botanist

Flag of my sorrow, sown after Ferelden’s bitter rains with a prayer it would take root and wouldn’t drown.

But the sun returned, and our garden’s choked with healing leaves that draw the neighbors’ eyes. I find small tokens on the step: a loaf, a coin or two, though in the streets they barely meet my gaze.

Maker, I would do anything – but my entreaties late have turned to red leaves, and twisted stems. I bend at these strange spindles, threaded with the flax of terror and hope, turning and twisting.

Crimson careful-plucked from ready stalks, sufficient left to keep them thriving in the tenuous spring. The pruning makes them climb, twining toward the sun.

Hands at the mortar, crushing, leaves for the pot of thinning stew that sustains you, if only just. Stirring them in, I close my eyes only a moment cease my watch. Only a moment wanes my strength, only a moment. I cannot.

In the morning I’ll wake hollow, and going to the garden, find my heart ensnared among scarlet leaves. Twist and turn.

(Also on AO3)

#Dragon Age 2 #spindleweed #annepoetry