Realm: Fic - Subrealm:
Dec. 30th, 2009 10:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
choco_froshMeantime, some Yuletide fic that I've been working on. Over a week late, and still not really complete, but I thought I'd better get it online before I leave town tomorrow...
Proclamation of the Yule Peace, Adversane, YL 214:
Along with a fair proportion of the town’s population—those who hadn’t gone home to the country, that is—I got up at dawn on what we would call December 21st to hear the Yule Peace proclaimed. At roughly ten thousand people, Adversane is New Myrca’s largest city, but it still feels like a village to me. It felt even more like one today, as a couple of thousand of them crammed into Townhall Square in the freezing night air for the event. Every few moments, I would bump into another neighbor or old acquaintance, and all around me were people greeting old friends, laughing over shared jokes, or exclaiming over classmates who hadn’t gone home for the season. Despite this, the square held an odd sense of quiet: talking was subdued, partly because of the solemnity of the occasion, partly because many of those in attendance had only just woken up. Mulled wine and cups of hot garrabo were much in evidence; so was yawning. The square waited.
Townhall Square apparently grew up around a crossroads, where the road (perhaps “trail” would have been a better word originally) to the Minsterburg and along the lake branched off from the main route between the bridge and the Citadel. Nearby was the best route down the Escarpment to the lower town, and as such the future square was an obvious meeting place, and developed into a market (as it still is today). That said, it wasn’t particularly near anything else, and so the Square itself was laid out relatively late (in YR 97) several generations after the city’s founding, when its various component settlements were finally beginning to grow together. Indeed, the Square neighbourhood represents the capitol’s first real planned development, and thus set the precedent for the new quarters elsewhere. Its creation was partly the result of a newly organized city government, which took the opportunity to move out of the Citadel and build a new, common town hall on the site. The Old Town Hall still stands, although a major rebuilding effort a generation later turned it into a wing of the impressive stone structure (“Arlond’s Hall”) that replaced it. The rest of the square is historic houses, built and rebuilt at so many periods (and now frequently converted into offices, government buildings or inns) that this one-time planned development is one of the most heterogenous in the city. The spire of Central Church, the oldest Free Reformed church in town, dominates the far corner of the square; the rest of the structure was partly masked by houses from where I was standing.
The Yule Peace is proclaimed in Adversane every year by a member of the Cabinet, but this year a particular air of excitement hung in the air. Margaret Smith had been elected King as Margaret V the previous year: she was a Free Churcher, but was known to be into both High Church ritual and pagan borrowings, and so this, her first Yule Proclamation, was expected to be a bigger event than the usual bundled-up official with a staff. We were not disappointed.
Somewhere behind the buildings, the sun must have shed its first rays over the horizon. Here in the square, a single trumpet pealed as the King’s messenger appeared on the edge of the crowd. Waving the butt of his staff from side to side, he cleared a path through the crowd until he stood on the steps of the Hall. We could now see that he was dressed in a red, fur-lined robe, like a bishop gone decadent or a pagan go∂i. His hat was of the standard, three-flapped furry kind, augmented with a truly ridiculous tuft of pheasant, eagle and woodpecker feathers; more hung down the back on strings. The whole effect was eye-catching, and obviously meant to be. The same could be said of his ceremonial staff, which looked as though it had been selected specifically for its odd shape, and was hung with bells. And rattles. And mussel shells, and copper amulets, and more feathers, and wood carvings, and other things that I couldn’t even identify. It was amazing, really, that you could here the BANG when it hit the courthouse steps over the jingling of its ornaments, but it practically echoed off the houses.
“In the name of the King! Today begins the joyous season of Yule, and this day, the shortest of the year, is sacred to two faiths, as the feast of the holy Apostle Thomas, and the most solemn Solstice. Therefore it is the more fitting that on this day a general Yule Peace should be declared in the name of the King, to last over the joyful day of Christmas and the season that follows, until the end of Kingsday. All persons are directed to observe this holy season, and in particular the holy days just mentioned, with due reverence, and otherwise quietly and peacefully to conduct themselves, refraining from and avoiding occasions of strife and evil behavior: For whoever breaks the Peace and disturbs these holidays by any unlawful or improper behavior shall face our extreme displeasure, and suffer double the penalty prescribed by law for any such action. But to all our fellow citizens who shall preserve the peace for this year, we wish much joy in this season, and in the year to come.”
I wasn’t sure whether to clap, and was forestalled in any case by a nudge in the ribs from Jon. A woman, bare-headed despite the freezing temperature, had emerged from the Hall and now stepped forward. Apparently from memory, she recited a poem called “The Shortest Day”: I later learned that was said every solstice, a tradition said to have been brought from Earth, although the poet (Susan Cooper) was one I’d never heard of. [Possibly her works disappeared during the Purge? Have Archives check.] In any case, it concludes with “Welcome Yule!” And the crowd replied, in a voice that rattled the windows, “Welcome, Yule!”
A brass band that I had only vaguely noticed before struck up something jaunty; the Herald bowed to the Reciter; the Reciter bowed to the Herald; and the crowd, now joyful and chattering loudly enough to drown out the music, began to disperse. For many in Adversane (and indeed around New Myrca), it isn’t really Yule until that shout. Meantime, everyone headed off toward home or, as in our case, toward the nearest bar.
Proclamation of the Yule Peace, Adversane, YL 214:
Along with a fair proportion of the town’s population—those who hadn’t gone home to the country, that is—I got up at dawn on what we would call December 21st to hear the Yule Peace proclaimed. At roughly ten thousand people, Adversane is New Myrca’s largest city, but it still feels like a village to me. It felt even more like one today, as a couple of thousand of them crammed into Townhall Square in the freezing night air for the event. Every few moments, I would bump into another neighbor or old acquaintance, and all around me were people greeting old friends, laughing over shared jokes, or exclaiming over classmates who hadn’t gone home for the season. Despite this, the square held an odd sense of quiet: talking was subdued, partly because of the solemnity of the occasion, partly because many of those in attendance had only just woken up. Mulled wine and cups of hot garrabo were much in evidence; so was yawning. The square waited.
Townhall Square apparently grew up around a crossroads, where the road (perhaps “trail” would have been a better word originally) to the Minsterburg and along the lake branched off from the main route between the bridge and the Citadel. Nearby was the best route down the Escarpment to the lower town, and as such the future square was an obvious meeting place, and developed into a market (as it still is today). That said, it wasn’t particularly near anything else, and so the Square itself was laid out relatively late (in YR 97) several generations after the city’s founding, when its various component settlements were finally beginning to grow together. Indeed, the Square neighbourhood represents the capitol’s first real planned development, and thus set the precedent for the new quarters elsewhere. Its creation was partly the result of a newly organized city government, which took the opportunity to move out of the Citadel and build a new, common town hall on the site. The Old Town Hall still stands, although a major rebuilding effort a generation later turned it into a wing of the impressive stone structure (“Arlond’s Hall”) that replaced it. The rest of the square is historic houses, built and rebuilt at so many periods (and now frequently converted into offices, government buildings or inns) that this one-time planned development is one of the most heterogenous in the city. The spire of Central Church, the oldest Free Reformed church in town, dominates the far corner of the square; the rest of the structure was partly masked by houses from where I was standing.
The Yule Peace is proclaimed in Adversane every year by a member of the Cabinet, but this year a particular air of excitement hung in the air. Margaret Smith had been elected King as Margaret V the previous year: she was a Free Churcher, but was known to be into both High Church ritual and pagan borrowings, and so this, her first Yule Proclamation, was expected to be a bigger event than the usual bundled-up official with a staff. We were not disappointed.
Somewhere behind the buildings, the sun must have shed its first rays over the horizon. Here in the square, a single trumpet pealed as the King’s messenger appeared on the edge of the crowd. Waving the butt of his staff from side to side, he cleared a path through the crowd until he stood on the steps of the Hall. We could now see that he was dressed in a red, fur-lined robe, like a bishop gone decadent or a pagan go∂i. His hat was of the standard, three-flapped furry kind, augmented with a truly ridiculous tuft of pheasant, eagle and woodpecker feathers; more hung down the back on strings. The whole effect was eye-catching, and obviously meant to be. The same could be said of his ceremonial staff, which looked as though it had been selected specifically for its odd shape, and was hung with bells. And rattles. And mussel shells, and copper amulets, and more feathers, and wood carvings, and other things that I couldn’t even identify. It was amazing, really, that you could here the BANG when it hit the courthouse steps over the jingling of its ornaments, but it practically echoed off the houses.
“In the name of the King! Today begins the joyous season of Yule, and this day, the shortest of the year, is sacred to two faiths, as the feast of the holy Apostle Thomas, and the most solemn Solstice. Therefore it is the more fitting that on this day a general Yule Peace should be declared in the name of the King, to last over the joyful day of Christmas and the season that follows, until the end of Kingsday. All persons are directed to observe this holy season, and in particular the holy days just mentioned, with due reverence, and otherwise quietly and peacefully to conduct themselves, refraining from and avoiding occasions of strife and evil behavior: For whoever breaks the Peace and disturbs these holidays by any unlawful or improper behavior shall face our extreme displeasure, and suffer double the penalty prescribed by law for any such action. But to all our fellow citizens who shall preserve the peace for this year, we wish much joy in this season, and in the year to come.”
I wasn’t sure whether to clap, and was forestalled in any case by a nudge in the ribs from Jon. A woman, bare-headed despite the freezing temperature, had emerged from the Hall and now stepped forward. Apparently from memory, she recited a poem called “The Shortest Day”: I later learned that was said every solstice, a tradition said to have been brought from Earth, although the poet (Susan Cooper) was one I’d never heard of. [Possibly her works disappeared during the Purge? Have Archives check.] In any case, it concludes with “Welcome Yule!” And the crowd replied, in a voice that rattled the windows, “Welcome, Yule!”
A brass band that I had only vaguely noticed before struck up something jaunty; the Herald bowed to the Reciter; the Reciter bowed to the Herald; and the crowd, now joyful and chattering loudly enough to drown out the music, began to disperse. For many in Adversane (and indeed around New Myrca), it isn’t really Yule until that shout. Meantime, everyone headed off toward home or, as in our case, toward the nearest bar.
