Endymion
By DuoLordOfDeath
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the following characters! SO THERE! They are all copyright of J.K. Rowling...except for the angry Celtic mob. They're mine. ^^
~*Prologue - The Moon's Druid*~
There is a legend of the ancient Celtic wizards that tells of a handsome young druid wizard and the price and promise of his forbidden love. A myth of elegance and sorrow; curses and spirits, and an irrevocable spell of moonlight...
~*~*~*~
In the days before the Romans and Anglo-Saxons, a people lived on the British Isles; the Celtics. They were a heroic people; brave and daring; vicious in war and demure in peace. They saw spirits everywhere, and it was the Celtic priest's job to interpret what it was that the spirits desired. The priests, known as druids, would inform the people if their deities desired peace or war; if famine or plentiful food was to come. The universal translators; most holy and revered of all Celts.
There was one particular druid who was revered above all; a high druid who was gifted over the rest of his people. Handsome, young, and fleet of foot, he possessed a great connection with the nymphs that it was almost as though he was born of spirits rather than mortals.
One night, this young man was in the forest, contemplating and meditating when a sound, soft and slight, brought him from his reverie. Looking up, his sharp eyes found an elegant white stag before him, looking at him calmly, as if asking the druid to follow.
Startled and yet euphoric, the druid knew this to be a good sign. Stags of pure snow white were a symbol of the spirits, a sign of good fortune and prosperity to those who pursued it. Wasting no time, the young man leapt to his feet and ran after the swift apparition. Long black hair wild and free; leather vest and kilt askew about his well-built frame, he followed, hopeful and excited.
Soon, the elegant beast led the druid to a great tree-lined clearing, where a great, tree-lined lake sat, glassy smooth and ethereal. Silver moonlight glittered mysteriously against the unrippling water, and he could feel the presense of many spirits about. This was a holy place...
He watched as the stag stepped serenely to the edge of the lake and took a few drinks. Even then, the black water rippled not. After a moment of silent lapping, the stag raised his regal head, regarded the druid carefully, meaningfully, and took flight into the forest.
Confused as to why spirits would bring him here, the druid watched the beast flee and was about to follow when a movement caught his eye. turning, he saw a great silver wolf step from the foliage and up to the water. The canine gleamed ethereally as it gazed into the water, and slowly looked back at the druid, as if beckoning him to come gaze into the still lake.
Incurably curious, the druid stepped beside the wolf and gazed into the crystalline black pool. He was startled when he saw not his own reflection, but the reflection of his spiritual animal guide; a great ebony dog with pale eyes and a mysterious, noble countenance. Bewildered, he looked over at the wolf for a moment, then down to see what it was that his canine companion was looking at. His eyes widened as he saw not a wolf, but an elegantly handsome young man, features sculpted to an otherworldly perfection. Silvery blue eyes gazed back from those still depths, a smile playing on his lips. There was an aire of certain sadness in his features, of longing loneliness, like that of one long seperated from his loved ones; from the world. Mystified, the druid knelt, putting his hands out to touch the reflections.
"Don't."
The voice came suddenly, warm, smooth, and honey-toned. Startled, the druid looked up to find the origin of the voice and found the very same young man from the water standing beside him. His entire body was clothed in shining white robes, and silver light seemed to radiate from his lean, splendid form.
"Do not touch the water...wizard and druid though you are, if you were to touch the water or even myself would be leathal. Mortals are not allowed to touch such sacred things without suffering...though I seem a vision, I assure you, I am quite real."
Standing, the druid regarded the nymph with awe and reverence.
"Where is this place, spirit? Why did you bring me here?"
The nymph smiled mysteriously.
"I am the embodiment of the moon, and this pool where the moon shines so brightly is my home." He gestured to the mist-laden clearing; a great moor, then brought his fathomless eyes back to the druid. "As for why I brought you here...The heavens are a lonely place...I could no longer watch your world alone from my lofty, celestial perch. It has been too long since I have spoken with another save the brash horizon..."
The druid was confused; the nymph's cryptic answer did nothing to explain why he was here. Grey eyes curious, he glanced back to the still pond for a moment, then back up to meet those celestial eyes.
"I don't understand..."
The being smiled again. "I don't expect you to, for such things are hard to comprehend. All I ask is a few brief hours of camaraderie; you and I taking a night of freedom from the human and spirit world to run as our animals guide us. Will you come with me?"
Unbeknownst to the druid, the spirit was using this as an alterior motive. Many years before, the spirit had seen the birth of this child on his banks, the mother praying to him though she had been pained with labor. The nymph had pity for the mother and blessed her and her newly born son. Indeed, the baby was beautiful, and the mother pledged the son to be a druid for the gentle moon. The spirit had watched over the lad as he grew into a courageous and virtuous young man, intimate with the whispering voices of the wood. Indeed, the moon loved this young man; adored him with all his being.
Not knowing of this, however, the druid readily accepted. Blessed he must be for a great spirit such as the moon to want his mortal company.
Rejoicing, the moon laughed. "So eager, my reverent druid!" he commended, and beckoned him come forward. Waving his glowing hand, he smiled as the druid went into a trance, eyes closed in soft meditation.
"Let yourself be guided on instinct alone; follow me, for tonight, the forest is ours..."
When the druid had opened his eyes, he saw before him the great form of the silvery wolf, looking at him calmly. The great canine let a howl fly up to heavens; calling to him. It was then that the mortal realized the change; hands and feet now four paws; a great ebony dog stood there beside the water. So they ran together, barking as though laughing and racing through the trees.
Upon sunrise, they came back to the lake and the spirit returned to human form. He had begun to fade with the dawn; to return again with the adventing moon. Again a man, the druid smiled breathlessly. "I will be back tonight on the moonrise, good spirit. Farewell!"
The spirit stepped onto the unmoveable water and watched the man flee, black hair flying elegantly about his broad shoulders. He smiled tenderly. "I shall look forward to it, my blessed druid."
And so, as he promised, the druid came again that night, and they ran. Soon the mortal was visiting every night, and more and more they spoke instead of running; man to spirit and not canines side by side. Only returning home with the dawn and vanishing into the wood at dusk did the druid depart from the moon's gleaming side...for he too, had fallen victim to irresistable taboo. Enraptured by the kind, wonderful spirit, he had found his heart no longer was his own, but the moon's as well. Though they could not touch nor caress, they made love with words; ballads and sonnets, both rejoicing in the art of this forbidden pleasure...
Soon, however, the people that knew the druid began to notice his strange behavior. Nights saw him absent from his home, days saw him meditating or slumbering. so, one evening, when the moon was bright and waxed to full, they sent a scout to follow him; to see where it was that he retreated to when the sun vanished under the horizon. What the scout found was unbearable; to him, the greatest, most horrendous treachery ever witnessed. The spirits were not allowed to finagle with mortals; the gods forbade it! Flying on fleet feet back to the council, he told them all he had seen and heard; told of the handsome druid's adorned words and the elegant spirit's ardorous gestures.
Outrage! The gods demanded sacrifice to atone for his sins; only his blood sprayed on the feet of him who he adored would appease them! Spite in their eyes, they prepared for battle; swords and spears hung from their kilts and leather belts, and blue paint covered their faces. There would be shed crimson tonight; holy sacrifice for one of the most deadly sins. Their arms ready and prepared, they departed for the misty moor, silent and deadly.
Upon reaching the edge of the forest where the moor and lake reached out over the land, they saw indeed the proof of what the scout had said. Sinister rage darkened each face; when they sprang, it was sudden and fearless.
The druid, unarmed and unable to be aided by the spirit, was taken by surprise. But he would not fall like a weakling. Bare-chested and basking in the glow of his lover's light, he stood his firm ground; grey eyes fearless as he watched the onslaught take him. Fiery slashes of swords burned his body with liquid crimson; spears pierced flawless flesh, but he did not cry out. He had known the risks of his love; he would not bear shame for it by gracing their rage with a reply. Spattered with his lifeflow, he fell to the banks, gasping for air from pierced lungs, but his eyes were firm and steady. He saw the assassins come towards him; scorn in their eyes...
"Stop!" bellowed a great and sacred voice. silver light flooded the area, blinding the men for a moment, and then they saw..the terrible, awful rage that was painted on the moon's handsome face. Once kind eyes now burned with unquenchable revile; vicious winds blew his tawney hair about; ivory, bloodstained robes beating violently. Crimson-stained feet only graced the soft, grassy banks of his home...There would be no escape for these bigots.
"You have slain him; committed your so-called righteous atonement for what you call sins! In pleasing the gods, you have only aroused my own bitter hatred!" Voice strong with uncharacteristic rage, he opened his arms and the wind blew stronger, scattering limbs and causing the men to huddle before him.
"Ye of scornful and murderous deeds, hear me! You have slain one precious to the spirits and to me...for this crime, you will know the wrath of the moon; my tyranny! I cast upon ye a malevolent, bitter curse; one only of pain and woe! I damn ye and your descendants to these forests; victim to the very bigotry from whence came my lover's death! People will know you as lycanthropes; werewolves, and they will revile and scorn ye! Slayers will hunt you and your families; they will be no love for you!" The nymph's voice was laced with hatred, and he opened his arms to the night sky as the moon, loevly and full, came into view. "Once a month, on the nights when the moon has waxed to full, you will feel the pain and know the horror of the shade! A cruel, heartless beast, like that of a tyrannical wolf, will overtake your body and mind! Bloodlusty, ye will hunt humans for the kill; your bite will only spread this curse! Nothing in all that is good in this worild shall ever trust you again!"
As the words left his mouth, all the men started to cringe and go rigid. A terrible cry emanated thorugh the foliage, but it was soon drowned out by hellish howls as the first werewolves came into being. The nymph, still standing before his dying druid, watched bitterly as his hellish pack dispersed, biting and growling at each other. Spears and swords laying forgotten; covered in blood, the spirit turned then and swiftly knelt at the druid's bleeding side. Gazing desperatly into those dying grey eyes, he suddenly wished for humanity; if even for a moment..just to touch his warm hand before it went forever cold...No...not forever...he would be sure of that.
"I promise...there will come a day when you and I will rise from the ashes like the phoenix...reunited in flesh and blood, when the moon is tainted with crimson howls...I swear then that we will behold each other in our eyes once more..."
The druid, in his last throws of life, smiled up into that face. Reincarnation...the spirit was speaking of reincarnation...but for the nymph to give up immortality for a mortal man...
Ethereal robes spattered in blood, the spirit watched as the life fled from the druid's once vigorous body, and he wept silver tears. As the tears hit the black water beside the rock where the slain druid lay, the water rippled faintly, as though scattered by the wind. Spirits did not weep; for when they did, all the world moved with them.
The prophecy had been laid out...but eventually, it too, passed into myth, as all things do in time...
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By DuoLordOfDeath
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the following characters! SO THERE! They are all copyright of J.K. Rowling...except for the angry Celtic mob. They're mine. ^^
~*Prologue - The Moon's Druid*~
There is a legend of the ancient Celtic wizards that tells of a handsome young druid wizard and the price and promise of his forbidden love. A myth of elegance and sorrow; curses and spirits, and an irrevocable spell of moonlight...
~*~*~*~
In the days before the Romans and Anglo-Saxons, a people lived on the British Isles; the Celtics. They were a heroic people; brave and daring; vicious in war and demure in peace. They saw spirits everywhere, and it was the Celtic priest's job to interpret what it was that the spirits desired. The priests, known as druids, would inform the people if their deities desired peace or war; if famine or plentiful food was to come. The universal translators; most holy and revered of all Celts.
There was one particular druid who was revered above all; a high druid who was gifted over the rest of his people. Handsome, young, and fleet of foot, he possessed a great connection with the nymphs that it was almost as though he was born of spirits rather than mortals.
One night, this young man was in the forest, contemplating and meditating when a sound, soft and slight, brought him from his reverie. Looking up, his sharp eyes found an elegant white stag before him, looking at him calmly, as if asking the druid to follow.
Startled and yet euphoric, the druid knew this to be a good sign. Stags of pure snow white were a symbol of the spirits, a sign of good fortune and prosperity to those who pursued it. Wasting no time, the young man leapt to his feet and ran after the swift apparition. Long black hair wild and free; leather vest and kilt askew about his well-built frame, he followed, hopeful and excited.
Soon, the elegant beast led the druid to a great tree-lined clearing, where a great, tree-lined lake sat, glassy smooth and ethereal. Silver moonlight glittered mysteriously against the unrippling water, and he could feel the presense of many spirits about. This was a holy place...
He watched as the stag stepped serenely to the edge of the lake and took a few drinks. Even then, the black water rippled not. After a moment of silent lapping, the stag raised his regal head, regarded the druid carefully, meaningfully, and took flight into the forest.
Confused as to why spirits would bring him here, the druid watched the beast flee and was about to follow when a movement caught his eye. turning, he saw a great silver wolf step from the foliage and up to the water. The canine gleamed ethereally as it gazed into the water, and slowly looked back at the druid, as if beckoning him to come gaze into the still lake.
Incurably curious, the druid stepped beside the wolf and gazed into the crystalline black pool. He was startled when he saw not his own reflection, but the reflection of his spiritual animal guide; a great ebony dog with pale eyes and a mysterious, noble countenance. Bewildered, he looked over at the wolf for a moment, then down to see what it was that his canine companion was looking at. His eyes widened as he saw not a wolf, but an elegantly handsome young man, features sculpted to an otherworldly perfection. Silvery blue eyes gazed back from those still depths, a smile playing on his lips. There was an aire of certain sadness in his features, of longing loneliness, like that of one long seperated from his loved ones; from the world. Mystified, the druid knelt, putting his hands out to touch the reflections.
"Don't."
The voice came suddenly, warm, smooth, and honey-toned. Startled, the druid looked up to find the origin of the voice and found the very same young man from the water standing beside him. His entire body was clothed in shining white robes, and silver light seemed to radiate from his lean, splendid form.
"Do not touch the water...wizard and druid though you are, if you were to touch the water or even myself would be leathal. Mortals are not allowed to touch such sacred things without suffering...though I seem a vision, I assure you, I am quite real."
Standing, the druid regarded the nymph with awe and reverence.
"Where is this place, spirit? Why did you bring me here?"
The nymph smiled mysteriously.
"I am the embodiment of the moon, and this pool where the moon shines so brightly is my home." He gestured to the mist-laden clearing; a great moor, then brought his fathomless eyes back to the druid. "As for why I brought you here...The heavens are a lonely place...I could no longer watch your world alone from my lofty, celestial perch. It has been too long since I have spoken with another save the brash horizon..."
The druid was confused; the nymph's cryptic answer did nothing to explain why he was here. Grey eyes curious, he glanced back to the still pond for a moment, then back up to meet those celestial eyes.
"I don't understand..."
The being smiled again. "I don't expect you to, for such things are hard to comprehend. All I ask is a few brief hours of camaraderie; you and I taking a night of freedom from the human and spirit world to run as our animals guide us. Will you come with me?"
Unbeknownst to the druid, the spirit was using this as an alterior motive. Many years before, the spirit had seen the birth of this child on his banks, the mother praying to him though she had been pained with labor. The nymph had pity for the mother and blessed her and her newly born son. Indeed, the baby was beautiful, and the mother pledged the son to be a druid for the gentle moon. The spirit had watched over the lad as he grew into a courageous and virtuous young man, intimate with the whispering voices of the wood. Indeed, the moon loved this young man; adored him with all his being.
Not knowing of this, however, the druid readily accepted. Blessed he must be for a great spirit such as the moon to want his mortal company.
Rejoicing, the moon laughed. "So eager, my reverent druid!" he commended, and beckoned him come forward. Waving his glowing hand, he smiled as the druid went into a trance, eyes closed in soft meditation.
"Let yourself be guided on instinct alone; follow me, for tonight, the forest is ours..."
When the druid had opened his eyes, he saw before him the great form of the silvery wolf, looking at him calmly. The great canine let a howl fly up to heavens; calling to him. It was then that the mortal realized the change; hands and feet now four paws; a great ebony dog stood there beside the water. So they ran together, barking as though laughing and racing through the trees.
Upon sunrise, they came back to the lake and the spirit returned to human form. He had begun to fade with the dawn; to return again with the adventing moon. Again a man, the druid smiled breathlessly. "I will be back tonight on the moonrise, good spirit. Farewell!"
The spirit stepped onto the unmoveable water and watched the man flee, black hair flying elegantly about his broad shoulders. He smiled tenderly. "I shall look forward to it, my blessed druid."
And so, as he promised, the druid came again that night, and they ran. Soon the mortal was visiting every night, and more and more they spoke instead of running; man to spirit and not canines side by side. Only returning home with the dawn and vanishing into the wood at dusk did the druid depart from the moon's gleaming side...for he too, had fallen victim to irresistable taboo. Enraptured by the kind, wonderful spirit, he had found his heart no longer was his own, but the moon's as well. Though they could not touch nor caress, they made love with words; ballads and sonnets, both rejoicing in the art of this forbidden pleasure...
Soon, however, the people that knew the druid began to notice his strange behavior. Nights saw him absent from his home, days saw him meditating or slumbering. so, one evening, when the moon was bright and waxed to full, they sent a scout to follow him; to see where it was that he retreated to when the sun vanished under the horizon. What the scout found was unbearable; to him, the greatest, most horrendous treachery ever witnessed. The spirits were not allowed to finagle with mortals; the gods forbade it! Flying on fleet feet back to the council, he told them all he had seen and heard; told of the handsome druid's adorned words and the elegant spirit's ardorous gestures.
Outrage! The gods demanded sacrifice to atone for his sins; only his blood sprayed on the feet of him who he adored would appease them! Spite in their eyes, they prepared for battle; swords and spears hung from their kilts and leather belts, and blue paint covered their faces. There would be shed crimson tonight; holy sacrifice for one of the most deadly sins. Their arms ready and prepared, they departed for the misty moor, silent and deadly.
Upon reaching the edge of the forest where the moor and lake reached out over the land, they saw indeed the proof of what the scout had said. Sinister rage darkened each face; when they sprang, it was sudden and fearless.
The druid, unarmed and unable to be aided by the spirit, was taken by surprise. But he would not fall like a weakling. Bare-chested and basking in the glow of his lover's light, he stood his firm ground; grey eyes fearless as he watched the onslaught take him. Fiery slashes of swords burned his body with liquid crimson; spears pierced flawless flesh, but he did not cry out. He had known the risks of his love; he would not bear shame for it by gracing their rage with a reply. Spattered with his lifeflow, he fell to the banks, gasping for air from pierced lungs, but his eyes were firm and steady. He saw the assassins come towards him; scorn in their eyes...
"Stop!" bellowed a great and sacred voice. silver light flooded the area, blinding the men for a moment, and then they saw..the terrible, awful rage that was painted on the moon's handsome face. Once kind eyes now burned with unquenchable revile; vicious winds blew his tawney hair about; ivory, bloodstained robes beating violently. Crimson-stained feet only graced the soft, grassy banks of his home...There would be no escape for these bigots.
"You have slain him; committed your so-called righteous atonement for what you call sins! In pleasing the gods, you have only aroused my own bitter hatred!" Voice strong with uncharacteristic rage, he opened his arms and the wind blew stronger, scattering limbs and causing the men to huddle before him.
"Ye of scornful and murderous deeds, hear me! You have slain one precious to the spirits and to me...for this crime, you will know the wrath of the moon; my tyranny! I cast upon ye a malevolent, bitter curse; one only of pain and woe! I damn ye and your descendants to these forests; victim to the very bigotry from whence came my lover's death! People will know you as lycanthropes; werewolves, and they will revile and scorn ye! Slayers will hunt you and your families; they will be no love for you!" The nymph's voice was laced with hatred, and he opened his arms to the night sky as the moon, loevly and full, came into view. "Once a month, on the nights when the moon has waxed to full, you will feel the pain and know the horror of the shade! A cruel, heartless beast, like that of a tyrannical wolf, will overtake your body and mind! Bloodlusty, ye will hunt humans for the kill; your bite will only spread this curse! Nothing in all that is good in this worild shall ever trust you again!"
As the words left his mouth, all the men started to cringe and go rigid. A terrible cry emanated thorugh the foliage, but it was soon drowned out by hellish howls as the first werewolves came into being. The nymph, still standing before his dying druid, watched bitterly as his hellish pack dispersed, biting and growling at each other. Spears and swords laying forgotten; covered in blood, the spirit turned then and swiftly knelt at the druid's bleeding side. Gazing desperatly into those dying grey eyes, he suddenly wished for humanity; if even for a moment..just to touch his warm hand before it went forever cold...No...not forever...he would be sure of that.
"I promise...there will come a day when you and I will rise from the ashes like the phoenix...reunited in flesh and blood, when the moon is tainted with crimson howls...I swear then that we will behold each other in our eyes once more..."
The druid, in his last throws of life, smiled up into that face. Reincarnation...the spirit was speaking of reincarnation...but for the nymph to give up immortality for a mortal man...
Ethereal robes spattered in blood, the spirit watched as the life fled from the druid's once vigorous body, and he wept silver tears. As the tears hit the black water beside the rock where the slain druid lay, the water rippled faintly, as though scattered by the wind. Spirits did not weep; for when they did, all the world moved with them.
The prophecy had been laid out...but eventually, it too, passed into myth, as all things do in time...
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