She loves this, every moment, every kiss, every reassurance. Some day, maybe it will all sink in and make her a better person, but if not, she will be loved nonetheless. That is the true promise of the words Agnarr gave her, and the ones Megatron echoes now. Blessed are the failures, because they can pick themselves up and try once again.
She would revel in just that, the tenderness, the kissing, but it's important that she explain what the procession and the Hunt are--to her and to her children. And so she pets lightly along his cheek and shoulders, gathering words before beginning:
"It may be hard for you to understand, because so much of it has its roots in the mortal, human people of the Earth. Centuries ago, Asgardians came and went on the world as we chose. Some of us were worshiped as gods--and you could argue that belief changed us, or you could argue that we shaped that belief, and either way you would be both right and wrong. But some of our ethos has always been shared with the people we interacted with."
"Winter is a time of waiting, of breath held to see what the world will do next. It means deprivation and death for the unprepared, and for those who brace for it best, it means a clean slate, awaiting a rebirth. An understanding of that is important, even to those more impervious than most to the danger of the cold."
"Now...the Mari Lwyd is a story, among others humans tell, of a supernatural horse that heralds the season. In this particular tradition, Mari Lwyd was a divine horse, the mother of sacred foals--in a way, that is not unlike one of the stories of my exploits, though that tale was never literally true in my case. But it's close, close enough that I can claim a part of it."
"Mari Lwyd, as the folktale goes, was heavy with foal but was thrown out of the birthing stable in preference for a human mother, a different Mary, carrying the prophesied child of a different creed. An old religion cast out, in favor of a newer one."
"The debate between one belief system and another is of no interest to me. I simply don't care anymore, who worships who and how many. But the idea of the outcast, the mother still carrying unborn young and desperate for the security and glory that was taken from her--you can see, I think, why I'm fascinated. She goes door to door in the winter now, seeking warmth, and food, and welcome, but if she is allowed within, she will take what she wants, without mercy, as none was afforded to her."
She sits up a little to sing the next few words, a low, melancholy tune in a sweet, clear voice:
"And now I am Nightmare, I am rattling womb, The Uffington Wraith I've become, Forced into darkness, you've made me a fiend, Bridled with shadow, saddled with scream. From window to window, traversing the night, My face in your glass in a shudder of light, Seeking the deep of welcome befitting a Queen, Let me in once again, let me in!"
Loki threads her fingers through Megatron's; her energies are rising as she talks about this; it's something she feels strongly about, evidently, but those energies are not reaching out to him. She has control. "In the procession, I will carry the horse's head, and hide beneath the shroud, and the children will lead me door to door, singing carols. Because it's only a reminder, and not the Nightmare Herself, we will play chase with the inhabitants of any home that lets us in, and leave them nuts and fruit and candy. I'm not about teaching my children to actually terrorize mortals, but it's important for all of us, mortal or not, to remember that we create our own monsters."
There's a momentary pause, and then she adds, "Ben thought he might ride with the Hunt this year. I'll...explain that, as well, but I think I've been talking a lot just now."
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dancing_serpent
(no subject)
Date: 2020-12-14 07:09 pm (UTC)She would revel in just that, the tenderness, the kissing, but it's important that she explain what the procession and the Hunt are--to her and to her children. And so she pets lightly along his cheek and shoulders, gathering words before beginning:
"It may be hard for you to understand, because so much of it has its roots in the mortal, human people of the Earth. Centuries ago, Asgardians came and went on the world as we chose. Some of us were worshiped as gods--and you could argue that belief changed us, or you could argue that we shaped that belief, and either way you would be both right and wrong. But some of our ethos has always been shared with the people we interacted with."
"Winter is a time of waiting, of breath held to see what the world will do next. It means deprivation and death for the unprepared, and for those who brace for it best, it means a clean slate, awaiting a rebirth. An understanding of that is important, even to those more impervious than most to the danger of the cold."
"Now...the Mari Lwyd is a story, among others humans tell, of a supernatural horse that heralds the season. In this particular tradition, Mari Lwyd was a divine horse, the mother of sacred foals--in a way, that is not unlike one of the stories of my exploits, though that tale was never literally true in my case. But it's close, close enough that I can claim a part of it."
"Mari Lwyd, as the folktale goes, was heavy with foal but was thrown out of the birthing stable in preference for a human mother, a different Mary, carrying the prophesied child of a different creed. An old religion cast out, in favor of a newer one."
"The debate between one belief system and another is of no interest to me. I simply don't care anymore, who worships who and how many. But the idea of the outcast, the mother still carrying unborn young and desperate for the security and glory that was taken from her--you can see, I think, why I'm fascinated. She goes door to door in the winter now, seeking warmth, and food, and welcome, but if she is allowed within, she will take what she wants, without mercy, as none was afforded to her."
She sits up a little to sing the next few words, a low, melancholy tune in a sweet, clear voice:
"And now I am Nightmare, I am rattling womb,
The Uffington Wraith I've become,
Forced into darkness, you've made me a fiend,
Bridled with shadow, saddled with scream.
From window to window, traversing the night,
My face in your glass in a shudder of light,
Seeking the deep of welcome befitting a Queen,
Let me in once again, let me in!"
Loki threads her fingers through Megatron's; her energies are rising as she talks about this; it's something she feels strongly about, evidently, but those energies are not reaching out to him. She has control. "In the procession, I will carry the horse's head, and hide beneath the shroud, and the children will lead me door to door, singing carols. Because it's only a reminder, and not the Nightmare Herself, we will play chase with the inhabitants of any home that lets us in, and leave them nuts and fruit and candy. I'm not about teaching my children to actually terrorize mortals, but it's important for all of us, mortal or not, to remember that we create our own monsters."
There's a momentary pause, and then she adds, "Ben thought he might ride with the Hunt this year. I'll...explain that, as well, but I think I've been talking a lot just now."