5 Reasons you would never ask your friends for advice.
1. They are not Fae or Sidhe and would not understand the perspective.
2. They are Immortal in the same way that I am.
3. I trust myself.
4. I handle things my own way.
5. They usually seek me out for advice.
4 Things you do with your money.
3 Reasons you should possibly see a shrink.
2 Places you will never forget.
1. The Fortunate Island – my homeland.
2. France – my husband’s homeland, and my ‘other’ homeland.
1 Language you can speak
1. One? I speak at least nine proficiently. Oh, alright……Sidhe.
Tag Archives: fannyfae
5 Reasons you would never ask your friends for advice.
For more than four hundred years I had been obsessed with getting Sebastien back from the Realm of the Dead. For that entire time, I sought, searched, experimented and continuously failed.
Then came the day when all was in alignment and I had all but given up. Azazeal had offered a suggestion, just a mere suggestion, moved my elbow in the Rite and even in a somewhat delayed reaction, all that I had aimed for in those centuries came to fruition at last. And as if to affirm that what we had done was right, and just and necessary, Jocelyn Ysabetta was conceived. Sebastien could not have been happier. Continue reading
I was born in a small village called Dunnlauden, located near Cape Wrath on the Northwest tip of Scotland. All that you can see of the place now is a heap of rubble in the distance. That was the tower of the house of my Great Uncle, Angus McCleod.
All else are the small lines of stone foundations. Not until you’re standing directly in it, can you make out the jagged thoroughfare that cut through the centre of the village.
The last time I was there was with Sebastien on business for Cardinal Richelieu. My husband relied upon me for introductions to the Crimson Cardinal’s allies, some of whom were my own kinsmen. To say that it was awkward because I had barely seen any of my relations since my mother had died when I was very young is a supreme understatement. The mention of my mother and uncles and because my husband was French rather than English or even another Scot from a rival Clan, seemed to be enough, however. The fact that he was a Catholic and representative of France’s chief minister and could handle himself with a sword also seemed to win a few more of my recalcitrant relatives to the cause.
To be honest, I do not go there often. I really have no reason to. All of my people, my family are gone from that place after the massacre that occurred there. Those that survived were scattered to the four winds; some still living in Scotland, others shipped off to to England to work in the very halls of their conquerors. Some, like me, ended up in France and still others went to the New World.
My ties to that place other than it being the place of my birth and where my mother is buried, were broken long ago. I grew up on the Fortunate Island and spend most of my time then as now either there or in France on my husband’s ancestral lands. Part of the reason I dislike going to Scotland is that the weather in that place is probably the most miserable of any found on the Earth. The other reason I dislike it is perhaps more obvious. It’s the ghosts that now reside in that place, that keep me away. That more than anything else gives me little in the way of desire to return.
Names? I have quite a number of them. and if you were to put them all in a line you would get Frances Moira McKay Faelyn Nic Gan Ceanach de Rochefort.
I was named Frances for it’s Gaelic meaning of ‘freedom’. In Scotland where I was born, the sentiment of freedom was something that beat strong in the heart of every decent son or daughter born of that land. My mother’s first name for me was a wish, a prayer and a hope that we could all remain free. Moira, I was named for my Grandmother – her name having two meanings, one meaning of the name is ‘bitter’ – the other being ‘great’. No matter that Christianity’s own Goddess, the Blessed Virgin Mary is the derivative of that name, together or separate, it has held true for me. I am not embittered, but I have tasted life’s bitter fruits as well as great Power.
The Clan McKay, called Mac Aoidh in Gaelic, meaning the ‘Son of Aodh.’ or ‘Son of Fire’ , were originally descended of the Picts – with clear and direct ties to the Sidhe, who are my Ancestors and whose blood I carry in my veins. Our motto is ‘Manu forti’ , ‘With a strong hand,’ and by the fourteenth century,the McKay’s were most numerous in the Nothermost regions of Scotland, our family lands stretched from Cape Wrath along the north coast to Caithness. Over time we lost the whole of those lands to Clan Sutherland. This was long after I myself had left the shores of Scotland for the Fortunate Island and my husband’s lands in France. The ties to my family there long since having dissipated into the mists of time.
The name Faelyn, however, was given to me when I was but a wee lass. It was a name that my foster mother, Morgienne had to claim for me from the Unseelie, for my father, Gan Ceanach, was none to keen to acknowledge the liaison between himself and my mother. With the threat of being forsworn in front of all the Unseelie Court, he relented at last, and the name was mine. The name Faelyn itself means, “Beautiful Fae”. Only those closest to me ever use that name, though some, such as Hsu, never have used it. Sebastien will only use that name when speaking to me, and I suppose that this is appropriate, all things considered. Gan Ceanach means ‘Love Talker’, which is the name of my Sidhe father. Nic Gan Ceanach, simply means ‘Daughter of Gan Ceanach’, and tells those among the Sidhe whose daughter I am; not that my father and I have ever had much to say to each other.
The Noble House of my husband’s ancestors was founded before the year 876 when the Merovingian Kings were supplanted by those of the Carolingians by the Pope. The Houses of Rochefort and of Rochechouart are the oldest families of French nobility. The name originally from the Old French, roche, meaning ‘rocky outcrop’, and indeed, the de Rochefort lands are surrounded by beautiful mountains on nearly all sides. Suffice it to say that within my husband’s veins runs blood that is more pure than that of the Kings of France. His line is from the Noblesse Ancienne – the Ancient Nobles, and the Noblesse d’Epee – the Nobles of the Sword and back even further, some have speculated to even before Vercingetorix, who was defeated by Julius Caesar. The members of his family, from the earliest times, have been an integral part of the history of France and have served as soldiers, politicians, officials and artists. The family mottoes are “Ante mare undae” or “L’esprit surpasse la matière”.(“Spirit surpasses Matter”.) and my personal favourite, “Avant que la mer fût au monde, Rochechouart portait les ondes” (“Before the sea was in the world, the Rochechouart carried the waves”). If anything could be said to sum up the sense of self-importance that every de Rochefort and Rochechouart I have ever met has in full measure, it would be these words. I would say that I have also embraced this as well.
Muse: Fanny Fae / Faelyn
Fandom: Original Character / Folklore / Mythology
Word Count: 659
1) Do you ever ‘talk’ to your characters?
Absolutely. Fanny especially. I do because to me, she isn’t just a character, she is based on an actual ancestor of mine and part of my own spiritual belief system is that our akhu, or ancestors are not gone, they just moved to another address. As such, we do interact with them whether we realise it or not.
2) Do they talk back? Yes. Fanny is the strongest, but her voice is always quiet and dignified, she is never shrill. She is very precise in her speech, she does not use contractions in a sentence. Elizabeth ( nomanselizabth) is a typical loud Tudor monarch, and she can be extremely loud and obnoxious! Having two queens in my head can be a real pain in the backside. Fanny’s daughter Caroline is very polite and she is of all my muses the “sweetest” and most gentle. When she does feel strongly about something – like she does about her music or about her beau, Stelios Lakiotis (immortalsparta), she can get a bit more chatty. Caroline’s sister, Jocelyn (faedefrance), is very precocious as children go. I hear her mostly of a child of about six or seven at present, even though technically we never got around to telling the story of her being born. We knew she was coming, and then about a year or so later, she just started talking. Right now she is talking the most to Azazeal (1st_of_the200), and she thinks he is neater than cake! What is worse is that he isn’t even my muse and I can hear the two of them having conversations and planning all sorts of mayhem *facepalm* . I have the same problem with Fanny’s husband, Sebastien de Rochefort (all_forme) deciding to visit. He was most obnoxious when we got a chance to see a bottle of Remy Martin Louis XIII cognac in a store once. I told him if he wanted it, he could cough up the $1800 dosh to buy it! Thankfully in checking with either Azazeal’s or Rochefort’s writers, they get the same sort of thing with my muses visiting them, so it works out. Perhaps we are all just collectively insane?
3) Is there a particular ritual you have that lets you get in touch with your inner voices?
No. They just sort of pop up. It happens mainly when I am driving or shopping or just minding my own business. A lot of times I will be reading a bit of history or literature and one or two will expound on the event – or in Fanny’s case she will talk about why something isn’t quite what was depicted in history, but rather give a slightly different viewpoint. When I am doing my work as an herbalist, I sometimes will get input from her to check something and lo and behold find out that the Muse is right about something I had not thought about. Where the ancestor that I have based Fanny on stops and Fanny who is the character begins, sometimes that is not always very clear. She has very specific tastes in music, food and wine and things she enjoys. Some of those tastes, interestingly enough are definitely not mine. She likes chess, it bores me to tears, she hates embroidery, and I don’t mind it – as long as I can find my glasses and see what I am doing. She definitely is of Celts ancestry and this is something that I have a little of, but it really is not a culture that for me is of any deep interest.
I have bought her things that she likes. There was a statue of the Goddess Danu that she really connected with, and so I bought it. In my spiritual path we also have an ancestor shrine which is a small cabinet that is shared collectively and holds pictures and mementos from those people who are very much a part of who we are. Fanny ended up getting her own akhu shrine. In it is the statue of Danu, and a book that was written by the real life Comte de Rochefort printed in the early 1700’s because she definitely wanted that as well amongst other things.
In short, I don’t know really what Fanny is. She isn’t like the other muses that I have in there, too. I’ve been approached about it by others who share the same spiritual beliefs and they have said , “she really isn’t just a character is she?”. I have to say, I don’t think so and plead ignorance about just what I am dealing with. I just roll with it and continue to take dictation for her. Does all this make me nuts? Maybe. But aren’t all we writers and artists just a little bit crazy anyway? 😉
“Real friendship or love is not manufactured or achieved by an act of Will or intention. Friendship is always an act of recognition.” – John O’Donohue, ‘Anam Cara: a Book of Celtic Wisdom’
Hsu Danmei was never a man to outwardly show any sort of discomfort in even the deepest and coldest snow. Indeed, my friend, my Anam Cara*, was one of the Hsiung-nu, and he would tease me of my intense dislike of cold and inclement weather. I kept my eyes on him as we rode through the mountain pass, I could see my breath and the breath of both of our mounts and the two pack animals cut through the bitter cold air and the snow that now flew almost completely horizontally. He turned in his saddle and glanced back at me as I struggled with my wraps and my tack uncomfortably, trying to keep myself warm. He dismounted and trudged through the drifts toward me. His expression was stern but there was no irritation on his face when he reached my side. Only his words were mildly chastising.
“By the Gods, Frances,” he scoffed, glancing up at me. He refastened the ice-caked stirrup that I had knocked askew, and then pulled free the end of my all-too thin woollen cloak and tucked it beneath the front of the saddle to secure it and to preserve my body’s warmth, “You were born in Scotland, and the weather there is miserable all of the time. I can’t remember when I was there and the sun ever shone at all. You should be used to the cold by now.”
“Even we Scots have the good enough sense not to sleep in the cold in the heather, wrapped in nothing but our plaids and our skins,” I snorted derisively at him, “besides, it never snows on the Fortunate Island!” My skirts were heavy with the snow that had melted against my body heat, and I was beginning to shiver. I hated snow with a passion and I felt like a wet animal weighted down by yards of cloth that were refreezing and becoming stiff and heavier by the moment from the snow and freezing air. There was no respite from it and that made me even more irritable.
Hsu shook his head and gave my calf a slight squeeze through the folds of fabric before turning to go remount his own horse. “Well, we aren’t on the Fortunate Island now, are we?” he said as he swung back into his saddle, and then shot back over his shoulder, “with any luck we won’t be sleeping in the cold tonight either. There’s a village just beyond this pass.” cut for length & sexual content (NSFW)
The fire had left in its wake not only the devastation of property but so many who had been injured. I stayed as close as I could to those who needed my help. At one point, once the fire was out, the men sat, soot covered faces and limbs, waiting patiently for a cool sip of water. There staggering and exhausted I found Wyatt Earp, whom I had observed earlier.
Without thinking I handed him the cup of water in my hands. I must have looked as much a fright as he did having fought the great beast of a fire. He took it gratefully but as he did so he looked as if he could have keeled over. Letting the bucket in my hands drop with a slosh, I held his arm and guided him to the boardwalk. He said something softly that sounded like thanks but I didnae respond. I was myself aching and threadbare from the efforts of helping those who were burned, directing those who didnae know much of nursing to tie bandages and asking after herbes that we might commandeer for the cause. Continue reading
“I say that if a woman can only have power through a man, then let it be with the most powerful man she can find.” –Attila
Any power I have gained I got by wits and my Will or because I took it as I saw fit. Certainly not merely because I allied myself with a powerful man. As a woman and a sovereign, I resent the idea that my sex is of no use except as a consort to a male authority figure Let a man find his power on his own. And if I find him worthy I may be inclined to take him as an ally. Where I come from, no man may rule but through the High Lady, and only then as her Consort. I have, in my very long and immortal life, known many a powerful men. And interestingly enough, one or two of them are still around in my life. The man that I chose as my husband and consort was not the most powerful man. However, he certainly was one of the most feared in all of France. The fact that I love him is a given. I hope that he shall forgive me for saying that the fear he caused, became as the fear of me. His power was in a different form, and it has proven to be most useful. Continue reading