In the Name of the Goddess
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marysueviruswell... here it is. the beginning of a bunny i probably should have ignored. before i get started, i wanted to say a few words about it. kind of an extended Author's Notes before i actually put down anything else. bear with me while i try to explain the mess that keeps tumbling about my brain.
as you all likely know, the idea for this stems out of watching The Mists of Avalon a few months ago. the bunnies just kind of swarmed out of nowhere and, upon mentioning them to Daz, what follows is the result. i've always like Arthurian legend and have seen it from both sides of the coin. traditional legend likes to say that Morgaine, also called Morgan Le Fay, plotted to bring about the downfall of her half brother, Arthur. she even conceived a child with him... yada yada yada. we've all heard or read or seen the story. for those of you who may not have read or seen The Mists of Avalon, the story is told from Morgaine's perspective and she more or less a pawn in a game being played by Merlin and Vivienne in the hopes of ensuring the survival of the old gods.
the story of Arthur, Morgaine and the Knights of the Round Table happened at a time when Christianity was coming to England. we all know that Guinevere was devout in her beliefs and that she spent the rest of her days in a nunnery after her affair with Lancelot. in The Mists of Avalon, some of the underlying plot is the clash between the old and new religions. that was some of the inspiration for my fic. but only some.
please let me say that i have not set out to abuse religion in any way. its a plot device, pure and simple. while i proudly proclaim myself pagan, i don't feel its my place to tell anyone what they should and shouldn't believe. the opinions expressed within the following fic are mine and mine alone. and i am in no way implying that this is how Christianity behaves. again, simply my own opinion. i did my best to portray religion as a kind of faith. nothing more or less. it won't show so much in this chapter, but it will be there in future chapters. please don't take any of it to heart. it is simply a device used for the furthering of the story.
some of my information comes from a book i own entitled Celtic Myth & Magick: Harness the Power of the Gods and Goddesses while other information came from a pair of websites i looked over. first was a Wikipedia page, which you can find here Cernunnos, and the other was from a website about Druidry, which is here Cernunnos (there is a link at the bottom of this page to take you to the main page of the site) the names, which i will provide a pronunciation guide, were found by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dazzledfirestar , who is responsible for helping me plot this out. i believe we came up with an interesting way to present the story.
on the names, i am sure that you will be able to tell which Sue is which. we did our best to keep the girl's names close to their original ones. the men, however, are a slightly different story. i won't tell you who they are so you're going to have to more or less guess which man each of the Sues has been paired with. and, since this is an MSV, there are a couple of other appearances here that you will have to guess about. one of the Marvel Men is playing Cernunnos. and, since this is based on Arthurian legend, there will be an appearance by Merlin. who is being played by someone who isn't from the Marvel Universe.
again, you get to guess, now, i suppose, without further ado, its time to get the show on the road.
Title: In the Name of the Goddess
Prologue
Fandom: a cross between the Marvel Universe and Arthurian Legend
Rating: mature.
Warnings: there will be violence and sex. maybe not language. but definitely the others. lots of religous references
Disclaimer: the Marvel men, even though hiding behind other names, do not belong to me. they belong to Marvel and whoever the hell else owns them. i'm simply borrowing them for the fun of it. i like putting them through hell, don't you know? i'm not making money from this, either. so don't even consider what you can score off me. i'm broke. not a penny to my name. the Sues belong to the women who thought them up, namely Dazzledfirestar, Nan, SFC, Gin and myself. don't steal them. they'll kick your ass. the name and concept of the Mary Sue Virus belong to Daz, who graciously allowed me to use it for my own personal pleasure.
In the Name of the Goddess - the Index
Names and Pronunciations:
Goddessess:
Morgan and Faye (no change)
Deryn: DEH-rin
Rhosyn: HROS-in
Heulwen: HAYL-wen
Gwynedd: GWIN-eth
The Men:
Celyn: KELL-in
Hefin: HEV-in
Konrad: same as Conrad
Pedran: PED-ran
Aneirin: ah-NEY-rin
and now, here's the story:
Rain pounded against the thatched roof of the cottage, pattered against the skins stretched over the windows. The wind blew hard, howling through the strong trees surrounding the small home before rattling the door on its leather hinges. A fire burned in the hearth, keeping the chill of the storm from seeping through the walls. Thunder rumbled, low and ominous, shaking the very ground with its strength, while forked spears of lightning rent the darkness.
For much of the day, the blue of the sky had been obscured by a thick layer of angry looking clouds. Heavy and pregnant with rain, they had thickened and boiled overhead until nearly dark. Just before the glowing orb of the sun had sunk below the horizon, the iron grey clouds had broken open in a torrent of fat drops that pelted anything they could. The old woman had seen the signs written in that heavy bank of clouds, had known it for what it was, and she'd kept her sweet little grandchildren close to her bosom. Once upon a time, she'd been able to tell a soul exactly when the rain would fall. She'd lost some of that art as she'd grown older. As she'd grown tired.
It was almost time now. Almost time.
An excessively loud crack of thunder brought tiny, girlish shrieks from her three little girls. It also startled a cry from the baby in his cradle. She watched as her daughter moved to the shifting cradle and scooped the baby up, making soft noises at him to soothe his fear. "Come here, my poppets. I'll keep you safe from the fury of the storm."
Three little girls with sandy brown hair huddled into her opened arms. She snuggled them close and pressed a kiss to each child's head. The youngest, a wee sprite of a lass barely past her third moon, looked up with large, golden hued eyes and frowned. "Gran, why does the sky cry?"
The old woman smiled at the wee tot and hugged her close again, then glanced toward one of the skin covered windows and her smile faded to a frown. "The sky cries, poppet, because the Goddess Morgan is filled with sorrow."
"The Goddess Morgan?" the oldest of the three asked, eyes wide with confusion.
The old woman rolled her eyes toward her daughter, who sighed and shook her head. Brialle had long ago decided her path. While the old woman would never tell her what choices she should make in her life, she was a touch disheartened to know that all of the things she'd taught her eldest child had been cast aside in favor of a false prophet's teachings.
"Yes, poppet. The Goddess Morgan."
"Who is that?" The middle girl's voice was filled with curiosity.
"No stories, Mum," Brialle said. The old woman and her three grandchildren turned their gazes toward the woman. There was a stubborn set to her jaw that suggested she meant what she said. "I don't want you filling their heads with your fantastical tales of pagan gods long forgotten."
"These stories, as you call them, were good enough for you and your brothers and sisters. And there is more truth to them than there is to your one God." The old woman kept the scorn out of her voice, but only just. She allowed her daughter to see her displeasure on her face. Brialle gently laid the baby in his cradle, then shot a scowl her mother's way.
"I don't want them exposed to your flights of fancy. There are no pagan gods, Mum. There is nothing for them in your stories. They will be raised in the church of the one true God." Brialle's eyes held disapproval.
The old woman sighed and shook her head. "I am still your mother, Brialle. And I will spin whatever tales I wish to tell my poppets. There's no need to worry over whether or not I will sow seeds of wonder and awe in their ever curious minds and hearts. My time will be over soon and you will have them for your own. You will be able to teach them whatever lie it is you wish to teach them. Until I go, though, I will tell them any tale I choose."
"Mother," Brialle began. But the old woman lifted her hand and brought her daughter's words to a halt.
"Go tend my grandson. Or finish the preparations for the coming harvest. Go do something while I tell my girls tales of past glories and the wonder of the Gods."
The two women stared at one another, a battle of wills waged silently against one another. The three young girls watched their mother and grandmother without uttering a word, knowing instinctively that they shouldn't say anything. Tension grew, thick and heavy, as time passed them by. Eventually, Brialle broke eye contact and turned her attention to a pile of sewing that rested in a basket by a chair near the fire. She retired there and left the old women with her the three little girls.
When they were sure that their mother wasn't going to interrupt them, the oldest gave her grandmother an anxious look. "What are you and Mummy arguing about, Gran?"
The old woman drew a breath and offered her girls a tender smile. Watching them grow up had been one of the joys of her life and, while she wanted to remain and see each of them reach their womanhood, she knew that time was running out. There was a certain feel to the air that told her her time on this plane was nearing an end. And if she was going to go on to the next world, she wanted to ensure that the old legends lived on. Her grandchildren was a good place to start.
"What does Mummy mean by pagan Gods?" the middle girl asked with a frown. "And who is the one true God?"
"The one true God is the Christian God, my girls. Christians believe that there is only one God and that he is responsible for everything you see in the world." She sat back in her chair and searched her memories for what it was she knew of the Christian God. She'd spent many years ignoring the ever encroaching tidal wave of Christianity. Pretending that this new religion wasn't pushing back the amazing world of the old Gods.
"Oh, I know!" the oldest exclaimed with a soft gasp. "Father Thomas tells us stories about God and his son. He says that we should put our faith in God. He says that God loves us."
The old woman nodded at that. Of course she'd heard it all before, a very long time ago. She'd held a secret hope, in her younger days, that the cult of Christianity would die out and leave her people to their beliefs. But the priests had kept coming. And the belief in the one God had kept spreading. And her people had forgotten that they'd once believed in a group of Gods and Goddesses who aided them in everything from the harvest to childbirth to war to death and even beyond. She and her kind were a dying breed. She had to pass on her knowledge.
"Very good, my girl. That is exactly who the one God is," she told her granddaughter.
"Then who are the pagan Gods?" the middle girl questioned.
"Those are the old Gods. They were here before the one God. Male and female deities that had power over the harvest, the rain, fire and wind. Even life and death. They were plentiful and they were powerful."
"What could they do, Gran? Father Thomas says that God can do anything."
The old woman drew a breath as she thought about what she should tell the three eager girls gathered around her. "They can do anything they wish, poppets. They have powers beyond a mere mortal's comprehension. But there are so many of them that they each have their own special area that they were responsible for."
The oldest girl looked puzzled by this. The old woman leaned forward. "What is it, poppet?"
"Father Thomas says we're all God's children. Does that mean that the old Gods are God's children?"
The old woman laughed at this, reaching out to tweak the girl's nose. "If anyone is the child, it is the new God. And he is a child of the old Gods, my girl. The old Gods have been around since before man ever set food upon the land. They gave birth to all of us. They gave us the grass and the trees. They gave us food to eat and water to drink. They gave us the animals of the forest as well as the animals of the farm."
A snort brought the old woman to a halt and she gave her attention to her daughter. Brialle didn't look up from the tunic she was stitching for her husband but the old woman could sense her derision. She ignored the stab of disappointment she felt over her child's abandonment of all she'd taught her over the years. There were still three beautiful children before her to which she could teach the old ways. And that was what she was going to do while she still had time.
"Gran," the middle girl began, her face filled with a seriousness that was uncharacteristic for the usually happy child. A few lines appeared on her forehead as she thought deeply about something. "Why is there fighting happening between people who believe in the old Gods and those that believe in the new God?"
It was a very astute and intelligent question for a girl so young. It deserved a proper answer. "Well, poppet, some people feel threatened by things they do not understand. They react with violence. Some of the priests of this new God have used fear and intimidation to make followers of the old Gods give up their ways."
"Father Thomas says its wrong for us to believe in the old Gods. He says they're false Gods." This came from her oldest granddaughter. The old woman turned to look at her daughter a moment before considering the answer she would give.
"I think, my girls, that perhaps Father Thomas doesn't understand that the old Gods want the same for their followers as the new God wants for his. The arrival of the new God has made some forget that the old Gods answered their prayers in time of famine and war, when their children died for no reason and when things seemed so impossible that they wanted to give up." She paused to give her girls a gentle smile. "I don't think Father Thomas is wrong in his faith of his God. Everyone should have faith in something. But I do think its wrong of him to tell people to turn from their faith in favor of another. You should all be allowed to choose for yourselves which path it is you wish to walk in life."
"Father Thomas tells us that we won't go to Heaven and be with God if we don't believe in Him."
The old woman sighed. So much of what she'd believed was gone now, pushed aside by the spread of Christianity and its one true God. To see her grandchildren taught that what she'd known all her life was wrong pierced her heart in ways that nothing else could. "We each have to answer for our lives when we die. It doesn't matter what we believe in. We all have to face the deeds we've done, both the good and the bad. It makes no difference if you believe in the old Gods or the new God."
"Morgan is one of the old Gods?"
"She is, my sweet. The Goddess Morgan helped bring men and women together in marriage. She helped women grow heavy with child. And her twin brought lust to mankind, gave them the ability to fall in love with one another."
"Like Mummy and Papa!" the middle child exclaimed. The old woman smiled and nodded her head.
"Yes, my girl. Like your Mummy and your Papa." The old woman fell silent a moment or two, allowing herself to lapse into memory. The girls held their breaths, waiting for her to continue her tale. After some minutes of silence, the youngest of the three tugged on the old woman's skirts insistently.
"Gran, more!"
"Yes, Gran. Tell us more!" the oldest begged.
"There's so much to tell, so many stories to share. Where shall I begin?" She asked the question, mostly to herself. But the girls each suggested she start with Morgan. The old woman considered it, then shook her head. "No, my girls. If I'm to tell you tales of the Gods, then I shall have to start with the beginning."
The girls settled themselves more comfortably around their grandmother, turning eager faces up at her. The old woman smiled and sorted through all the bits of pieces of knowledge she held until she found precisely the one she wanted to start with. "Tonight, I shall tell you about Cernunnos."
"Who's that?" The words came from the oldest girl, her face wrinkled in confusion. It was obvious to the old woman that her girls had never heard the name of the All Father before.
"Cernunnos is the First Father. The All Father. He and the All Mother are the ones responsible for bringing the rest of the Gods and Goddesses into being. He rules over the animals and forest, over the lands of death and even over fertility."
The middle child screwed up her face as she pondered the last word. "Gran, what is fertility?"
"Mum!" Brialle broke across her words and brought them to a halt. There was displeasure in the younger woman's voice. It seemed she didn't want her children to know of such things as fertility. The old woman rolled her eyes at the prudish manner that had taken over her oldest child. She'd never though to see the day.
"When the land we plant with seed produces grain for us to harvest, we say that it is fertile. When our cattle grow fat with and give birth to calves, we say that they are fertile. And we say the same about a woman when her belly rounds with a growing babe. There is no shame in knowing these things," she told them, the last aimed at a daughter she didn't think she knew any longer. "In the old days, we danced and sang to give thanks to the Gods and Goddesses for ensuring such events happened."
"Pagan rituals, held under the full moon of night. Men and women dancing without their clothing. Its shameful and sinful to dance like that," Brialle muttered under her breath.
"I recall a time or two when you danced naked under the full moon in honor of Gwynedd with your husband to be." The old woman's words brought bright spots of red embarrassment to Brialle's cheeks. More importantly, she fell silent once more. And it intrigued the three little lasses who listened to their mother and grandmother avidly.
"Mummy and Papa danced naked outside?" the eldest girl asked with a titter of laughter coloring her voice. The old woman simply nodded. Three little heads turned to stare at their mother. The youngest had no idea what was going on. She was simply mimicking the actions of her older sisters. Tinkling, childish laughter echoed around the cozy room for a bit before trailing off into silence. All that remained was the crackle of the fire burning in the hearth.
"Tell us more about Cernunnos," the oldest said after a while. Obviously, she was more interested than her mother in the old ways. The old woman took heart.
"Cernunnos is, as I said, the All Father. He sometimes wears a crown of antlers upon his head and other times, the antlers sprout from his head. His hair is rich and brown, as is the beard upon his chin. His skin is dark, as if he spends all his time in the sun. Around his neck he wears a golden torc. He is guardian of the forest creatures and Lord of the Hunt."
The oldest girl blinked at the description, her face showing surprise. "How do you know what he looks like, Gran?"
"Everyone who follows the old ways knows what Cernunnos looks like. They know what the all the Gods and Goddesses look like."
The girl's eyes went wide with shock. "All of them? But... Father Thomas says that no one really knows what God looks like. One time, a boy named Arthur asked and was told that God is light and love."
The old woman rolled her eyes at that. "Cernunnos is handsome and charming. He is never without feminine companionship." Brialle snorted again, but said nothing more. "And he is responsible for Morgan's sorrow."
"How? What did he do to make her sad?" This came from the middle girl and it was plain to see by the look upon her face that she was prepared to be sad with Morgan.
"He sent her to Earth and it was on this plane that she fell in love with a mortal." Three sets of golden colored eyes went wide at that. The old woman pushed on before any of her grandchildren could ask questions. "Not only did he send Morgan to Earth, but he sent her sisters, too."
"Morgan had sisters?" The middle girl asked this question, obviously thinking of her own sisters. The old woman nodded in reply.
"Morgan has five sisters. One is twin to her. Each of them holds control over a different aspect of life. Morgan's twin, called Faye, can bring lust to a young man or woman. She can also help them fall in love with one another. Morgan is Goddess of marriage and fertility. I told you this earlier," the old woman paused, a smile of fond remembrance curling her mouth up at the corners. "Gwynedd is Goddess of the Moon. Rhosyn is Goddess of Hearth and Home. She is another fertility deity. Deryn is Goddess of Death and War. And Heulwen is Goddess of the Hunt. The Virgin Huntress."
A choking sound erupted in the corner, but the old woman ignored it. She kept her attention focused on the avid faces gathered round her. "Morgan has lots of sisters," the middle girl intoned. She fell silent as she thought for a moment or two, then smiled. "I'm glad I don't have as many as she does."
"Be quiet," the oldest ordered. "Gran is telling us a tale. Tell us about Morgan and her sisters, Gran. We want to know more."
"Yes, Gran. We want to know more," the second added, her voice filled with eagerness.
"This all happened long before you three were born, when the world was in turmoil. Cernunnos saw that his people were struggling to survive famine and war and treachery, so he gave each of the five Goddesses tasks to be performed in the mortal realm. He knew, in his great wisdom, that they needed the people as much as the people needed them."
"And this is why it rains when Morgan is sad?"
The old woman chuckled softly at the excitement in her oldest granddaughter's words. Perhaps all would not be lost if the three of them took to heart the things she wanted to teach them. "No, my poppet. I will tell you about Morgan's sorrow in good time."
"But why would Cernunnos send Morgan to Earth if he knew it would make her sad?"
"Because she had to teach people that the old Gods were still there for them. She and her sisters. Each was given a different task to perform and each task saw them understanding that there was so much more to life than power and the worship of mankind. Each learned that they are as tied to the people as the people are tied to them. You cannot have a God or Goddess without followers. It isn't so simple as that. The lives of the people are deeply intertwined with the lives of the Gods and the same can be said in reverse."
The girls were silent as they tried to understand what their grandmother meant. She only sat and watched them, allowing them time to fully explore her words. Finally, after many minutes of nothing more than the crackle of flames in the hearth, the oldest girl broke the silence that had fallen. "He wanted them to learn a lesson even while they were teaching one?"
"Yes, my sweet. That is exactly what Cernunnos sought for each of the Goddesses." She smiled at her girls, beaming at their obvious intelligence.
"What lessons did they need to learn? Didn't they know it already?" The middle child wore an expression of confusion as she asked her questions. "Father Thomas says that God is all knowing. Aren't the old Gods all knowing?"
"The old Gods are not without their flaws. No God or Goddess should be so perfect that they cannot learn anything from their followers or each other. Not even Cernunnos, the All Father, is without his faults," the old woman explained patiently. "But it is through our faults that we learn and grow. This is how we become better people. Such is the same for the Gods. They are simply loathe to admit that they have many things in common with mere mortals."
"What were they meant to learn, Gran?" the oldest questioned, hungry for the knowledge. The storm, forgotten with the spinning of tales, made its presence known with a loud rumble of thunder that shook the frame of the small, comfortable cottage that had been the old woman's home for a very long time. She knew that no harm would befall it, or its occupants, but her grandchildren were not so sure and shrieked loudly enough to waken their baby brother. The three of them huddled closer to their grandmother while their mother stood and moved to the thrashing cradle so she could soothe the flailing, crying babe contained within.
"I can't tell you that without telling you why they were sent to the mortal plane, my poppets," she said, watching her daughter out of the corner of her eye.
"Then tell us the story, Gran. We want to know."
"Not tonight, children." Brialle's tone was firm, allowing for no argument. The girls' faces took on looks of disappointment. Their mother stood against those looks without flinching. "To bed with the lot of you. Your grandmother is tired and its well past your bedtime. Should your father find out you were up so late..."
There was no need to finish the warning. As one, the girls yelped and scrambled to their feet. They each pressed a wet, girlish kiss to their grandmother's wrinkled cheek before hurrying off to the small area partitioned off as a room with thick drapes.
Nothing was spoken between mother and daughter for quite some time. The old woman wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and simply stared at the fire while her child, after soothing the baby one more time, returned to her sewing. The crackle of the flames, eating away at the wood in the hearth, kept them company until the night had progressed and the girls were deep into their dreams.
"I don't want you to fill their heads with such stories, Mum. Their father and I believe in God. I won't have you tainting them with your pagan tales of gods and goddesses that don't exist." Brialle used her firm tone. The old woman ignored it.
"I will tell them whatever tales I wish, Daughter. I will have them know the same Gods and Goddesses you grew up with. I will have them know the old ways before I leave this world. Time grows short for me. If you wish to ignore the teachings I shared with you as a child, that is your choice. But my grandchildren will know the same things you knew at their ages. I won't get to tell the tales to my grandson. My granddaughters will have to be enough."
Distress passed over Brialle's face. "You shouldn't talk that way, Mum. You won't be going anywhere."
"Of course I will. Very soon, Daughter, I will join your father. Goddess bless his soul, he'd be so hurt to hear you disparage the old ways. The same ways you were brought up with."
"Mum..." There was real pain in her child's voice. The old woman waved a hand at her that brought silence between them.
"You've made your choice, Brialle. I didn't stand in your way when you gave yourself to the one God. As much as it pained your father and I, I allowed you to do as your heart said was right. You should allow your children the same chance." The old woman sighed and glanced again at the fire. "I grow weary, child. So weary. I simply want rest."
"Then go find your bed, Mum. The night is late." There was a slight hesitation in Brialle's voice, as if she were trying to decide if she should apologize or not. She shook her head, as if pushing the urge away, and frowned. "We can discuss this tomorrow."
"I don't mean that kind of weary, child. My body is tired. It grows old while my mind remains young. I need a rest from all this," the old woman said, waving a hand around her to indicate everything and nothing all at once. She fixed a steady stare on her daughter. "There will be no discussion about this, child. I will tell my grandchildren my tales. I will start tomorrow. So that I can finish them before I leave this world."
"Mum. Please don't talk like that." This time, there was such pain in the younger woman's voice. Despite their differences over the years, that pain said clearly that she still loved her mother deeply.
The old woman reached up and patted her daughter's cheek with a gnarled hand. "You'll do well without me, child. I know this to be truth. Now let an old woman seek out her bed and take her rest. You'll soon be rid of me and then you can do whatever you like. Just allow a foolish old woman one last request. Allow me to tell the girls my tales."
"Of course, Mum," Brialle whispered softly. The old woman turned away before the tears could fall from her daughter's eyes. She felt empty and hollow in her victory. Pushing aside her daughter's sorrow, she sought out her bed. Tomorrow, she could begin her tales.
As she settled into the softness of her cot, she stared up into the darkened room. "Soon, my beloved. I'll be joining you soon."
as you all likely know, the idea for this stems out of watching The Mists of Avalon a few months ago. the bunnies just kind of swarmed out of nowhere and, upon mentioning them to Daz, what follows is the result. i've always like Arthurian legend and have seen it from both sides of the coin. traditional legend likes to say that Morgaine, also called Morgan Le Fay, plotted to bring about the downfall of her half brother, Arthur. she even conceived a child with him... yada yada yada. we've all heard or read or seen the story. for those of you who may not have read or seen The Mists of Avalon, the story is told from Morgaine's perspective and she more or less a pawn in a game being played by Merlin and Vivienne in the hopes of ensuring the survival of the old gods.
the story of Arthur, Morgaine and the Knights of the Round Table happened at a time when Christianity was coming to England. we all know that Guinevere was devout in her beliefs and that she spent the rest of her days in a nunnery after her affair with Lancelot. in The Mists of Avalon, some of the underlying plot is the clash between the old and new religions. that was some of the inspiration for my fic. but only some.
please let me say that i have not set out to abuse religion in any way. its a plot device, pure and simple. while i proudly proclaim myself pagan, i don't feel its my place to tell anyone what they should and shouldn't believe. the opinions expressed within the following fic are mine and mine alone. and i am in no way implying that this is how Christianity behaves. again, simply my own opinion. i did my best to portray religion as a kind of faith. nothing more or less. it won't show so much in this chapter, but it will be there in future chapters. please don't take any of it to heart. it is simply a device used for the furthering of the story.
some of my information comes from a book i own entitled Celtic Myth & Magick: Harness the Power of the Gods and Goddesses while other information came from a pair of websites i looked over. first was a Wikipedia page, which you can find here Cernunnos, and the other was from a website about Druidry, which is here Cernunnos (there is a link at the bottom of this page to take you to the main page of the site) the names, which i will provide a pronunciation guide, were found by
dazzledfirestar , who is responsible for helping me plot this out. i believe we came up with an interesting way to present the story. on the names, i am sure that you will be able to tell which Sue is which. we did our best to keep the girl's names close to their original ones. the men, however, are a slightly different story. i won't tell you who they are so you're going to have to more or less guess which man each of the Sues has been paired with. and, since this is an MSV, there are a couple of other appearances here that you will have to guess about. one of the Marvel Men is playing Cernunnos. and, since this is based on Arthurian legend, there will be an appearance by Merlin. who is being played by someone who isn't from the Marvel Universe.
again, you get to guess, now, i suppose, without further ado, its time to get the show on the road.
Title: In the Name of the Goddess
Prologue
Fandom: a cross between the Marvel Universe and Arthurian Legend
Rating: mature.
Warnings: there will be violence and sex. maybe not language. but definitely the others. lots of religous references
Disclaimer: the Marvel men, even though hiding behind other names, do not belong to me. they belong to Marvel and whoever the hell else owns them. i'm simply borrowing them for the fun of it. i like putting them through hell, don't you know? i'm not making money from this, either. so don't even consider what you can score off me. i'm broke. not a penny to my name. the Sues belong to the women who thought them up, namely Dazzledfirestar, Nan, SFC, Gin and myself. don't steal them. they'll kick your ass. the name and concept of the Mary Sue Virus belong to Daz, who graciously allowed me to use it for my own personal pleasure.
In the Name of the Goddess - the Index
Names and Pronunciations:
Goddessess:
Morgan and Faye (no change)
Deryn: DEH-rin
Rhosyn: HROS-in
Heulwen: HAYL-wen
Gwynedd: GWIN-eth
The Men:
Celyn: KELL-in
Hefin: HEV-in
Konrad: same as Conrad
Pedran: PED-ran
Aneirin: ah-NEY-rin
and now, here's the story:
Rain pounded against the thatched roof of the cottage, pattered against the skins stretched over the windows. The wind blew hard, howling through the strong trees surrounding the small home before rattling the door on its leather hinges. A fire burned in the hearth, keeping the chill of the storm from seeping through the walls. Thunder rumbled, low and ominous, shaking the very ground with its strength, while forked spears of lightning rent the darkness.
For much of the day, the blue of the sky had been obscured by a thick layer of angry looking clouds. Heavy and pregnant with rain, they had thickened and boiled overhead until nearly dark. Just before the glowing orb of the sun had sunk below the horizon, the iron grey clouds had broken open in a torrent of fat drops that pelted anything they could. The old woman had seen the signs written in that heavy bank of clouds, had known it for what it was, and she'd kept her sweet little grandchildren close to her bosom. Once upon a time, she'd been able to tell a soul exactly when the rain would fall. She'd lost some of that art as she'd grown older. As she'd grown tired.
It was almost time now. Almost time.
An excessively loud crack of thunder brought tiny, girlish shrieks from her three little girls. It also startled a cry from the baby in his cradle. She watched as her daughter moved to the shifting cradle and scooped the baby up, making soft noises at him to soothe his fear. "Come here, my poppets. I'll keep you safe from the fury of the storm."
Three little girls with sandy brown hair huddled into her opened arms. She snuggled them close and pressed a kiss to each child's head. The youngest, a wee sprite of a lass barely past her third moon, looked up with large, golden hued eyes and frowned. "Gran, why does the sky cry?"
The old woman smiled at the wee tot and hugged her close again, then glanced toward one of the skin covered windows and her smile faded to a frown. "The sky cries, poppet, because the Goddess Morgan is filled with sorrow."
"The Goddess Morgan?" the oldest of the three asked, eyes wide with confusion.
The old woman rolled her eyes toward her daughter, who sighed and shook her head. Brialle had long ago decided her path. While the old woman would never tell her what choices she should make in her life, she was a touch disheartened to know that all of the things she'd taught her eldest child had been cast aside in favor of a false prophet's teachings.
"Yes, poppet. The Goddess Morgan."
"Who is that?" The middle girl's voice was filled with curiosity.
"No stories, Mum," Brialle said. The old woman and her three grandchildren turned their gazes toward the woman. There was a stubborn set to her jaw that suggested she meant what she said. "I don't want you filling their heads with your fantastical tales of pagan gods long forgotten."
"These stories, as you call them, were good enough for you and your brothers and sisters. And there is more truth to them than there is to your one God." The old woman kept the scorn out of her voice, but only just. She allowed her daughter to see her displeasure on her face. Brialle gently laid the baby in his cradle, then shot a scowl her mother's way.
"I don't want them exposed to your flights of fancy. There are no pagan gods, Mum. There is nothing for them in your stories. They will be raised in the church of the one true God." Brialle's eyes held disapproval.
The old woman sighed and shook her head. "I am still your mother, Brialle. And I will spin whatever tales I wish to tell my poppets. There's no need to worry over whether or not I will sow seeds of wonder and awe in their ever curious minds and hearts. My time will be over soon and you will have them for your own. You will be able to teach them whatever lie it is you wish to teach them. Until I go, though, I will tell them any tale I choose."
"Mother," Brialle began. But the old woman lifted her hand and brought her daughter's words to a halt.
"Go tend my grandson. Or finish the preparations for the coming harvest. Go do something while I tell my girls tales of past glories and the wonder of the Gods."
The two women stared at one another, a battle of wills waged silently against one another. The three young girls watched their mother and grandmother without uttering a word, knowing instinctively that they shouldn't say anything. Tension grew, thick and heavy, as time passed them by. Eventually, Brialle broke eye contact and turned her attention to a pile of sewing that rested in a basket by a chair near the fire. She retired there and left the old women with her the three little girls.
When they were sure that their mother wasn't going to interrupt them, the oldest gave her grandmother an anxious look. "What are you and Mummy arguing about, Gran?"
The old woman drew a breath and offered her girls a tender smile. Watching them grow up had been one of the joys of her life and, while she wanted to remain and see each of them reach their womanhood, she knew that time was running out. There was a certain feel to the air that told her her time on this plane was nearing an end. And if she was going to go on to the next world, she wanted to ensure that the old legends lived on. Her grandchildren was a good place to start.
"What does Mummy mean by pagan Gods?" the middle girl asked with a frown. "And who is the one true God?"
"The one true God is the Christian God, my girls. Christians believe that there is only one God and that he is responsible for everything you see in the world." She sat back in her chair and searched her memories for what it was she knew of the Christian God. She'd spent many years ignoring the ever encroaching tidal wave of Christianity. Pretending that this new religion wasn't pushing back the amazing world of the old Gods.
"Oh, I know!" the oldest exclaimed with a soft gasp. "Father Thomas tells us stories about God and his son. He says that we should put our faith in God. He says that God loves us."
The old woman nodded at that. Of course she'd heard it all before, a very long time ago. She'd held a secret hope, in her younger days, that the cult of Christianity would die out and leave her people to their beliefs. But the priests had kept coming. And the belief in the one God had kept spreading. And her people had forgotten that they'd once believed in a group of Gods and Goddesses who aided them in everything from the harvest to childbirth to war to death and even beyond. She and her kind were a dying breed. She had to pass on her knowledge.
"Very good, my girl. That is exactly who the one God is," she told her granddaughter.
"Then who are the pagan Gods?" the middle girl questioned.
"Those are the old Gods. They were here before the one God. Male and female deities that had power over the harvest, the rain, fire and wind. Even life and death. They were plentiful and they were powerful."
"What could they do, Gran? Father Thomas says that God can do anything."
The old woman drew a breath as she thought about what she should tell the three eager girls gathered around her. "They can do anything they wish, poppets. They have powers beyond a mere mortal's comprehension. But there are so many of them that they each have their own special area that they were responsible for."
The oldest girl looked puzzled by this. The old woman leaned forward. "What is it, poppet?"
"Father Thomas says we're all God's children. Does that mean that the old Gods are God's children?"
The old woman laughed at this, reaching out to tweak the girl's nose. "If anyone is the child, it is the new God. And he is a child of the old Gods, my girl. The old Gods have been around since before man ever set food upon the land. They gave birth to all of us. They gave us the grass and the trees. They gave us food to eat and water to drink. They gave us the animals of the forest as well as the animals of the farm."
A snort brought the old woman to a halt and she gave her attention to her daughter. Brialle didn't look up from the tunic she was stitching for her husband but the old woman could sense her derision. She ignored the stab of disappointment she felt over her child's abandonment of all she'd taught her over the years. There were still three beautiful children before her to which she could teach the old ways. And that was what she was going to do while she still had time.
"Gran," the middle girl began, her face filled with a seriousness that was uncharacteristic for the usually happy child. A few lines appeared on her forehead as she thought deeply about something. "Why is there fighting happening between people who believe in the old Gods and those that believe in the new God?"
It was a very astute and intelligent question for a girl so young. It deserved a proper answer. "Well, poppet, some people feel threatened by things they do not understand. They react with violence. Some of the priests of this new God have used fear and intimidation to make followers of the old Gods give up their ways."
"Father Thomas says its wrong for us to believe in the old Gods. He says they're false Gods." This came from her oldest granddaughter. The old woman turned to look at her daughter a moment before considering the answer she would give.
"I think, my girls, that perhaps Father Thomas doesn't understand that the old Gods want the same for their followers as the new God wants for his. The arrival of the new God has made some forget that the old Gods answered their prayers in time of famine and war, when their children died for no reason and when things seemed so impossible that they wanted to give up." She paused to give her girls a gentle smile. "I don't think Father Thomas is wrong in his faith of his God. Everyone should have faith in something. But I do think its wrong of him to tell people to turn from their faith in favor of another. You should all be allowed to choose for yourselves which path it is you wish to walk in life."
"Father Thomas tells us that we won't go to Heaven and be with God if we don't believe in Him."
The old woman sighed. So much of what she'd believed was gone now, pushed aside by the spread of Christianity and its one true God. To see her grandchildren taught that what she'd known all her life was wrong pierced her heart in ways that nothing else could. "We each have to answer for our lives when we die. It doesn't matter what we believe in. We all have to face the deeds we've done, both the good and the bad. It makes no difference if you believe in the old Gods or the new God."
"Morgan is one of the old Gods?"
"She is, my sweet. The Goddess Morgan helped bring men and women together in marriage. She helped women grow heavy with child. And her twin brought lust to mankind, gave them the ability to fall in love with one another."
"Like Mummy and Papa!" the middle child exclaimed. The old woman smiled and nodded her head.
"Yes, my girl. Like your Mummy and your Papa." The old woman fell silent a moment or two, allowing herself to lapse into memory. The girls held their breaths, waiting for her to continue her tale. After some minutes of silence, the youngest of the three tugged on the old woman's skirts insistently.
"Gran, more!"
"Yes, Gran. Tell us more!" the oldest begged.
"There's so much to tell, so many stories to share. Where shall I begin?" She asked the question, mostly to herself. But the girls each suggested she start with Morgan. The old woman considered it, then shook her head. "No, my girls. If I'm to tell you tales of the Gods, then I shall have to start with the beginning."
The girls settled themselves more comfortably around their grandmother, turning eager faces up at her. The old woman smiled and sorted through all the bits of pieces of knowledge she held until she found precisely the one she wanted to start with. "Tonight, I shall tell you about Cernunnos."
"Who's that?" The words came from the oldest girl, her face wrinkled in confusion. It was obvious to the old woman that her girls had never heard the name of the All Father before.
"Cernunnos is the First Father. The All Father. He and the All Mother are the ones responsible for bringing the rest of the Gods and Goddesses into being. He rules over the animals and forest, over the lands of death and even over fertility."
The middle child screwed up her face as she pondered the last word. "Gran, what is fertility?"
"Mum!" Brialle broke across her words and brought them to a halt. There was displeasure in the younger woman's voice. It seemed she didn't want her children to know of such things as fertility. The old woman rolled her eyes at the prudish manner that had taken over her oldest child. She'd never though to see the day.
"When the land we plant with seed produces grain for us to harvest, we say that it is fertile. When our cattle grow fat with and give birth to calves, we say that they are fertile. And we say the same about a woman when her belly rounds with a growing babe. There is no shame in knowing these things," she told them, the last aimed at a daughter she didn't think she knew any longer. "In the old days, we danced and sang to give thanks to the Gods and Goddesses for ensuring such events happened."
"Pagan rituals, held under the full moon of night. Men and women dancing without their clothing. Its shameful and sinful to dance like that," Brialle muttered under her breath.
"I recall a time or two when you danced naked under the full moon in honor of Gwynedd with your husband to be." The old woman's words brought bright spots of red embarrassment to Brialle's cheeks. More importantly, she fell silent once more. And it intrigued the three little lasses who listened to their mother and grandmother avidly.
"Mummy and Papa danced naked outside?" the eldest girl asked with a titter of laughter coloring her voice. The old woman simply nodded. Three little heads turned to stare at their mother. The youngest had no idea what was going on. She was simply mimicking the actions of her older sisters. Tinkling, childish laughter echoed around the cozy room for a bit before trailing off into silence. All that remained was the crackle of the fire burning in the hearth.
"Tell us more about Cernunnos," the oldest said after a while. Obviously, she was more interested than her mother in the old ways. The old woman took heart.
"Cernunnos is, as I said, the All Father. He sometimes wears a crown of antlers upon his head and other times, the antlers sprout from his head. His hair is rich and brown, as is the beard upon his chin. His skin is dark, as if he spends all his time in the sun. Around his neck he wears a golden torc. He is guardian of the forest creatures and Lord of the Hunt."
The oldest girl blinked at the description, her face showing surprise. "How do you know what he looks like, Gran?"
"Everyone who follows the old ways knows what Cernunnos looks like. They know what the all the Gods and Goddesses look like."
The girl's eyes went wide with shock. "All of them? But... Father Thomas says that no one really knows what God looks like. One time, a boy named Arthur asked and was told that God is light and love."
The old woman rolled her eyes at that. "Cernunnos is handsome and charming. He is never without feminine companionship." Brialle snorted again, but said nothing more. "And he is responsible for Morgan's sorrow."
"How? What did he do to make her sad?" This came from the middle girl and it was plain to see by the look upon her face that she was prepared to be sad with Morgan.
"He sent her to Earth and it was on this plane that she fell in love with a mortal." Three sets of golden colored eyes went wide at that. The old woman pushed on before any of her grandchildren could ask questions. "Not only did he send Morgan to Earth, but he sent her sisters, too."
"Morgan had sisters?" The middle girl asked this question, obviously thinking of her own sisters. The old woman nodded in reply.
"Morgan has five sisters. One is twin to her. Each of them holds control over a different aspect of life. Morgan's twin, called Faye, can bring lust to a young man or woman. She can also help them fall in love with one another. Morgan is Goddess of marriage and fertility. I told you this earlier," the old woman paused, a smile of fond remembrance curling her mouth up at the corners. "Gwynedd is Goddess of the Moon. Rhosyn is Goddess of Hearth and Home. She is another fertility deity. Deryn is Goddess of Death and War. And Heulwen is Goddess of the Hunt. The Virgin Huntress."
A choking sound erupted in the corner, but the old woman ignored it. She kept her attention focused on the avid faces gathered round her. "Morgan has lots of sisters," the middle girl intoned. She fell silent as she thought for a moment or two, then smiled. "I'm glad I don't have as many as she does."
"Be quiet," the oldest ordered. "Gran is telling us a tale. Tell us about Morgan and her sisters, Gran. We want to know more."
"Yes, Gran. We want to know more," the second added, her voice filled with eagerness.
"This all happened long before you three were born, when the world was in turmoil. Cernunnos saw that his people were struggling to survive famine and war and treachery, so he gave each of the five Goddesses tasks to be performed in the mortal realm. He knew, in his great wisdom, that they needed the people as much as the people needed them."
"And this is why it rains when Morgan is sad?"
The old woman chuckled softly at the excitement in her oldest granddaughter's words. Perhaps all would not be lost if the three of them took to heart the things she wanted to teach them. "No, my poppet. I will tell you about Morgan's sorrow in good time."
"But why would Cernunnos send Morgan to Earth if he knew it would make her sad?"
"Because she had to teach people that the old Gods were still there for them. She and her sisters. Each was given a different task to perform and each task saw them understanding that there was so much more to life than power and the worship of mankind. Each learned that they are as tied to the people as the people are tied to them. You cannot have a God or Goddess without followers. It isn't so simple as that. The lives of the people are deeply intertwined with the lives of the Gods and the same can be said in reverse."
The girls were silent as they tried to understand what their grandmother meant. She only sat and watched them, allowing them time to fully explore her words. Finally, after many minutes of nothing more than the crackle of flames in the hearth, the oldest girl broke the silence that had fallen. "He wanted them to learn a lesson even while they were teaching one?"
"Yes, my sweet. That is exactly what Cernunnos sought for each of the Goddesses." She smiled at her girls, beaming at their obvious intelligence.
"What lessons did they need to learn? Didn't they know it already?" The middle child wore an expression of confusion as she asked her questions. "Father Thomas says that God is all knowing. Aren't the old Gods all knowing?"
"The old Gods are not without their flaws. No God or Goddess should be so perfect that they cannot learn anything from their followers or each other. Not even Cernunnos, the All Father, is without his faults," the old woman explained patiently. "But it is through our faults that we learn and grow. This is how we become better people. Such is the same for the Gods. They are simply loathe to admit that they have many things in common with mere mortals."
"What were they meant to learn, Gran?" the oldest questioned, hungry for the knowledge. The storm, forgotten with the spinning of tales, made its presence known with a loud rumble of thunder that shook the frame of the small, comfortable cottage that had been the old woman's home for a very long time. She knew that no harm would befall it, or its occupants, but her grandchildren were not so sure and shrieked loudly enough to waken their baby brother. The three of them huddled closer to their grandmother while their mother stood and moved to the thrashing cradle so she could soothe the flailing, crying babe contained within.
"I can't tell you that without telling you why they were sent to the mortal plane, my poppets," she said, watching her daughter out of the corner of her eye.
"Then tell us the story, Gran. We want to know."
"Not tonight, children." Brialle's tone was firm, allowing for no argument. The girls' faces took on looks of disappointment. Their mother stood against those looks without flinching. "To bed with the lot of you. Your grandmother is tired and its well past your bedtime. Should your father find out you were up so late..."
There was no need to finish the warning. As one, the girls yelped and scrambled to their feet. They each pressed a wet, girlish kiss to their grandmother's wrinkled cheek before hurrying off to the small area partitioned off as a room with thick drapes.
Nothing was spoken between mother and daughter for quite some time. The old woman wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and simply stared at the fire while her child, after soothing the baby one more time, returned to her sewing. The crackle of the flames, eating away at the wood in the hearth, kept them company until the night had progressed and the girls were deep into their dreams.
"I don't want you to fill their heads with such stories, Mum. Their father and I believe in God. I won't have you tainting them with your pagan tales of gods and goddesses that don't exist." Brialle used her firm tone. The old woman ignored it.
"I will tell them whatever tales I wish, Daughter. I will have them know the same Gods and Goddesses you grew up with. I will have them know the old ways before I leave this world. Time grows short for me. If you wish to ignore the teachings I shared with you as a child, that is your choice. But my grandchildren will know the same things you knew at their ages. I won't get to tell the tales to my grandson. My granddaughters will have to be enough."
Distress passed over Brialle's face. "You shouldn't talk that way, Mum. You won't be going anywhere."
"Of course I will. Very soon, Daughter, I will join your father. Goddess bless his soul, he'd be so hurt to hear you disparage the old ways. The same ways you were brought up with."
"Mum..." There was real pain in her child's voice. The old woman waved a hand at her that brought silence between them.
"You've made your choice, Brialle. I didn't stand in your way when you gave yourself to the one God. As much as it pained your father and I, I allowed you to do as your heart said was right. You should allow your children the same chance." The old woman sighed and glanced again at the fire. "I grow weary, child. So weary. I simply want rest."
"Then go find your bed, Mum. The night is late." There was a slight hesitation in Brialle's voice, as if she were trying to decide if she should apologize or not. She shook her head, as if pushing the urge away, and frowned. "We can discuss this tomorrow."
"I don't mean that kind of weary, child. My body is tired. It grows old while my mind remains young. I need a rest from all this," the old woman said, waving a hand around her to indicate everything and nothing all at once. She fixed a steady stare on her daughter. "There will be no discussion about this, child. I will tell my grandchildren my tales. I will start tomorrow. So that I can finish them before I leave this world."
"Mum. Please don't talk like that." This time, there was such pain in the younger woman's voice. Despite their differences over the years, that pain said clearly that she still loved her mother deeply.
The old woman reached up and patted her daughter's cheek with a gnarled hand. "You'll do well without me, child. I know this to be truth. Now let an old woman seek out her bed and take her rest. You'll soon be rid of me and then you can do whatever you like. Just allow a foolish old woman one last request. Allow me to tell the girls my tales."
"Of course, Mum," Brialle whispered softly. The old woman turned away before the tears could fall from her daughter's eyes. She felt empty and hollow in her victory. Pushing aside her daughter's sorrow, she sought out her bed. Tomorrow, she could begin her tales.
As she settled into the softness of her cot, she stared up into the darkened room. "Soon, my beloved. I'll be joining you soon."
