The scriptorium monks and nuns all looked up from their work when the door burst open. Abbot Gunter strode in, his face firm and a vein in his temple throbbing. Brother Æthelwine and Brother Wulfric looked nervously at each other before immediately going back to their work. Brother Wulfric frantically transcribed as sweat poured down his face. Brother Æthelwine’s hands shook as he painted and ultimately ruined some details in his own manuscript. Abbot Gunter stood at the front of the desks.

“Brother Æthelwine. Brother Wulfric. Stop what you are doing and come outside with me.”

The two monks slowly rose from their desks and followed the abbot outside. The door shut behind them. The rest of the monastics watched the door nervously. Sister Friða fiddled with her veil. Brother Benet flicked his fingers. Sister Willa breathed deep and slow. Brother Dunstan chewed the top of his quill pen with raw anxiety. Sister Bertha stared straight ahead.  Brother Hrodberht bit his fingernails. Sister Ediva ran her finger over the rim of her inkwell over and over again. Brother Forthred stared at his parchment with unseeing eyes. 

For a moment all was silent. 

Then Hell broke lose. 

For a few long moments no one could quite understand what exactly their abbot was saying. Brother Benet covered his ears with ink stained hands. Everyone else moved closer to the door to be able to hear once Abbot Gunter had become comprehensible. Luckily for them it didn’t take too long. 

“AND WHY DID YOU OFFER TO LET HIM FUCK YOU?!”

No reply.

“ANSWER ME!”

Brother Wulfric and Brother Æthelwine stuttered and explained that had they said they would fuck the merchant it would seem like a threat. 

“WHY CAN’T YOU TWO BE NORMAL?! WHY CAN’T YOU GO TO THE MARKET AND BEHAVE YOURSELVES AND INTERACT WITH PEOPLE NORMALLY?!”

“We—we wanted the ultramarine!” Brother Wulfric stammered. 

“SO YOU THREATENED TO EAT HIM?!”

Silence. 

“No! You don’t get to just stand there and not answer me when I am talking to you! I want to know why on God’s good earth you thought threatening someone to get what you want would work?”

“It usually does,” Brother Æthelwine said. 

“HOW MANY PEOPLE ARE YOU THREATENING?!” 

“None! Not any more…”

“ANY MORE?!”

“Before I became a monk, a threat of elf shot was enough to make anyone pay me for my services when they didn’t want to pay an elf. It always worked.”

“You aren’t a gleeman anymore, Brother Æthelwine! You are a monk and need to act like it.  I’ve been far too lenient for far too long. I will give you both two hours to think of a way to come up with that money that does not involve threats of violence. And if you don’t, there will be no ultramarine and you will be both whipped and thrown out of my monastery for trying to break your vows of chastity, stability, and obedience!”

“When did we break our vow of obedience?” Brother Wulfric asked indignantly. 

“When you took Brother Benet to the market without my permission or knowledge!” 

“You wouldn’t throw us out!” Brother Æthelwine said. “I am your best illuminator and as much as I loathe to say it, Brother Wulfric is your best scribe.”

“Sister Willa and Brother Benet show promise to replace you both in those regards,” Abbot Gunter said coolly. “And whatever money we earn from your work is not worth the stress I gain from your actions.” 

“I still don’t believe you’d kick us out.” Brother Wulfric said. 

“Leave,” Abbot Gunter said. “Leave right now and do not come back.”

A few monastics gasped. There was silence for a moment. 

“You don’t really mean that, sir,” Brother Wulfric said. 

“Do not make me repeat myself.” 

“Wait, no!” Brother Wulfric exclaimed. “I believe you, I believe you!”

“Why are you still here? Get your things and leave.”

The monks could hear Abbot Gunter squeak as Brother Wulfric blubbered on. Sister Willa opened the door ever so slightly. Brother Wulfric had thrown himself at Abbot Gunter’s feet, clutching them, begging to be able to stay. It perhaps wasn’t the wisest move seeing as it was an open secret that Abbot Gunter did not like anyone touching his feet or touching others’ feet for the lustful feelings it sparked in him. (Hence why their monastery skipped the foot washing ceremony on Maundy Thursday.) Abbot Gunter sprang back from Brother Wulfric, who quickly seemed to realise his mistake and climbed to his knees instead. He folded his hands in supplication. 

“Please, please don’t excommunicate me! I will have nowhere to go! If I have to move back in with my parents, they are going to make me work in the fields again! These hands are meant for the delicate work of transcribing letters, not ploughing fields!” Brother Wulfric held out his hairy hands. 

None of the other monastics had ever seen so much disdain on their abbot’s face. Well, at least not as much when he looked at one of them.

“Get up,” Abbot Gunter said. “And never touch my feet again.” 

Brother Wulfric obeyed.

“Put that pathetic display of effort towards finding funds. Otherwise this afternoon, field work with ceorls will be your fate. I will drive you back to your village personally and I will tell your parents what you have done.” Abbot Gunter glanced towards the open door. The other monastics crowded around the door yelped or grinned nervously or hid behind the door or some combination of the three. Abbot Gunter rolled his eyes, sighed and said, “None of you are to help them. Perhaps they can work together for once.” 

Abbot Gunter spun on his heel and glided back to the main monastery buildings. 

“We’re fucked,” Brother Wulfric moaned. “Absolutely fucked.”

“Speak for yourself,” Brother Æthelwine said, “My mother loves me.”

“I would not classify her feelings as love,” Sister Friða said, “I think she just tolerates you.”

“My mother loves me as a person,” Brother Æthelwine admitted, “It’s my vocation she finds somewhat bewildering. I just told her I did it for the art as it was easier than explaining why I don’t believe in Woden anymore.”

Suddenly Brother Wulfric’s amber eyes lit up. “Hey! What if we ask her for the money?”

“My mother?”

“Yeah!”

 Brother Æthelwine frowned. “Why would we ask her?”

“Is she not the Queen of the Fae?”

“No. She’s the Queen of the Forest. Not the Fae. That’s a different woman entirely,” Brother Æthelwine scoffed. 

“Same difference.”

“No it is not!” Brother Æthelwine glanced around nervously as if the Queen of the Fae could somehow hear Brother Wulfric’s disrespectful words. (Not that Brother Æthelwine would care of course! He very much wished the werewolf would jump off a cliff or something and he barely restrained himself from killing him with his bare hands on various occasions. That all being said, Brother Æthelwine did enjoy the times they hate fucked each other when they were both drunk at Christmas. The yearly release of pent up passion was probably the only reason neither of them had actually killed each other yet.) 

“My point is your mother has money and can afford to donate some to the scriptorium to fund her precious baby boy’s artistic career.”

“Don’t infantilize me!” 

“Do you have any other ideas?” Brother Wulfric sneered. 

Brother Æthelwine opened his mouth. He shut it. He opened it again. “I will go to Jorvik and perform. I made good money as a gleeman, doing backflips and singing my songs.”

“Don’t you have a bad back?” Brother Benet asked.

“I do not! And I am insulted that you would dare say such a thing to me!”

“Last month you had to spend three days in the infirmary because you lifted a box wrong,” Brother Hrodberht said.

“That was one time.”

“Three St John Days ago you tried to prove to us you could still do a backflip, and then you had to stay in bed for a week,” Sister Willa said. 

“And then there was that time you threw out your back when we were digging Brother Theobald’s grave and we had to carry you to the infirmary,” Sister Ediva added in helpfully.

“Okay, fine! I may have some back issues that flare up on occasion, but I could still do a backflip if need be to perform in Jorvik.”

“Then do a backflip,” Brother Wulfric said. “Do it and prove to us that we don’t need to ask your mother for help.”

“I can and I shall!” 

The other monastics protested. Brother Æthelwine threw up his arms. He gasped and froze.

“Did you hurt yourself?” Brother Hrodberht asked. 

“Shut up!” Brother Æthelwine winced and slowly lowered his arms. 

“I’ll go get the abbot and tell him we’ve found a solution,” Brother Wulfric said. “I’ll be back shortly.”

“Great,” Brother Æthelwine squeaked.