When Cartimandua  received a letter from her son, she frowned. Her only boy child deeply confused her. The day Æthelwine had told her he wanted to be Christian and join a monastery to pursue his artistic abilities, Cartimandua was more than happy to agree. Arranging a marriage for her free spirited, failure of a son had not been easy. He was talented, but elf women did not want to marry talented males like Æthelwine. They wanted someone chaste, demure, elegant, obedient, submissive, and in good health. Æthelwine was none of those things. 

When he hadn’t been sleeping with women, he was sleeping with men. And he never went for his fellow elves. He seemed to almost exclusively sleep with hairy beings like fauns, werewolves, and large humans. Cartimandua loathed thinking about her child sleeping around, but Æthelwine had been anything but subtle.  Æthelwine let his opinions on matters be known like a human male. It was off putting. He had hopes and dreams that did not involve being a good father. And furthermore, Æthelwine’s chronic health problems were a bit embarrassing for the elves. They maintained power over humans by seeming otherworldly, immortal, and invincible. (Of course, they were neither immortal or invincible, but the humans didn’t need to know that. Elves lived much longer than humans but they were certainly not immortal. It was also extremely difficult to kill an elf, but beheading one or some other act of extreme violence could do the job.)

When Æthelwine had announced his intention of being a wondering gleeman in his youth, Cartimandua gave him some money and a lute, told him not to get anyone pregnant out of wedlock, kissed him goodbye and once he was out of sight, she had sat back and wondered how long it would be until the world cruelly chewed him up and spat him out. 

He returned ten years later, tonsured and in a habit. 

“What in Woden’s name are you wearing?” Cartimandua had asked him. “And what have you done to your hair?”

“I have become a monk, Mother,” Æthelwine had said. “The abbot said I could paint some murals in their church and I have decided to stay as he is willing to provide me with as many pigments and parchments as I wish. I still believe in Woden of course! But if I pretend to be a Christian, the abbot will let me paint as much as I please. I’ve already began the most tremendous mural in their new church! It’s gorgeous. Please respect my wishes to live a chaste, monastic life as I can no longer get married.”

Thank the gods! Cartimandua had thought. 

“You have my blessing,” she had said out loud. Cartimandua had happily sent him off to the little monastery on the edge of her domain with a kiss, commands he wrote to her at least once a year, more art supplies, and a sigh of relief. She had never actually visited him in his monastery, but he wrote somewhat regularly and occasionally met her outside the monastery for supper, cake, and to pick up medicines for the more fragile members of his community. He was happy and stayed out of trouble and that was all she really cared about. 

And that he believed in Woden. It was extremely important that her only son not give up the ancient gods for some newfangled cult. 

Cartimandua stood from her throne. If Æthelwine wanted money for ultramarine, she would buy it for him, of course. But the amount was significant. She would need to see the work he was doing and if it would justify the cost. He would have to be painting something truly tremendous. 

She snapped her fingers at her slaves. Both perked up. 

“Ready my horse,” she said. “I am going to visit my son.”