Brother Christopher, the porter, sat in the gatehouse carving  loaded dice for Brother Hrodberht.  Brother Hrodberht was his dearest (and only) friend at the monastery. He also had a crippling gambling addiction. Usually he had it under control, but when he didn’t, Brother Christopher figured the loaded dice would ensure Brother Hrodberht wouldn’t  gamble away his clothes again. It was embarrassing having to watch his friend walk home from the tavern naked from the gatehouse. It was even more embarrassing to watch Abbot Gunter have to buy back the habit. 

Brother Christopher did not like the abbot, but he left him alone in the gatehouse. Perhaps the loaded dice would keep the abbot away from him. (As long as Brother Christopher wasn’t caught.) Whenever Brother Hrodberht came back with no possessions, Brother Christopher always got in trouble for letting him out. (The abbot didn’t seem to care when Brother Hrodberht won. That being said, Hrodberht made sure to keep his winnings a secret when he did win.) Brother Christopher considered what may happen to Hrodberht if he was caught with loaded dice, but ultimately decided that that was a risk he was willing to take. Besides, maybe if Hrodberht was caught with loaded dice, he’d get his gambling under control…in a way that didn’t involve Abbot Gunter locking him in the monastery’s prison cell. 

Brother Christopher stopped carving as he tried to remember if gambling with loaded dice was a crime punishable by hand chopping off or just a fine. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of fae music. He sighed and peeked his head out of the window. His eyes widened. Approaching the monastery were at least twenty different elves on majestic horses and about a dozen human slaves walking dejectedly on foot. Brother Christopher did not feel particularly bad for them because everyone knew that was what happened to humans when you ate fae food. 

At the beginning of the procession were four guards, all female on white horses with coats that shimmered in the sun. They were ethereally beautiful and armed to the teeth with swords, bows, quivers filled with arrows, and shields. Four similar female guards were positioned at the back of the procession. Elves in pristine woollen and linen clothes rode between the guards. In the middle of the party was the most beautiful elf Christopher had ever seen in his entire life. And he was fifty, so he had seen quite a few elves. 

This elf rode a large black horse. She was tall, slender, and sharp. Her beauty was otherworldly. It wasn’t a chaste beauty like angels or a temptatious beauty demons were known to have. This one emitted beauty like a flowery aroma. Her redolence was of a long ago but not forgotten pagan past. Oh, her demeanour declared power. Her grey eyes shone like the moon. Her fingers held the reins almost carelessly. Even Christopher could tell that it was a ruse. The careless grasp would quickly and easily strangle anyone it wanted.  Her clothes were made of ethereal furs. Her long, brown hair flowed behind her like a waterfall, crowned with ivy, flowers, antlers and leaves.  Christopher had never seen the types of plants in her hair. He wondered if they were special elf plants, or plants that grew long ago and were now long dead. 

He watched them approach, completely bewitched, until one of the human slaves pulled the door bell’s rope. Brother Christopher scrambled down from the gate house’s tower and ran as fast as he could towards Abbot Gunter’s chambers. There was no way in Hell that he was just going to open up the monastery to that woman. Not without permission at least. 

Abbot Gunter sat in his bed in his nightclothes. He was worried about contacting the Queen of the Forest, but he wouldn’t dwell on it this night. He wanted to try to relax a little before going to sleep early. He had spent the majority of the day distressed. It wasn’t good for him to go to bed angry. He picked up his book of secular poetry. It was a simple text with only one illustration on one of the front folios. The only reason it even had an illustration was due to the fact Brother Theobald had asked him for a book young Benet could illustrate when he wanted to focus on teaching another oblate, Hamon, Latin. Brother Benet had never been good at Latin, so after it became apparent he probably was not going to learn it besides memorising the psalms and some prayers, Brother Theobald had decided to let little Benet focus on his illuminations instead. The drawing was of a monk teaching a boy. The monk and the boy resembled Brother Theobald and Hamon respectively. Compared to Brother Benet’s current work, the drawing was not very good. However, compared to the average eleven year old’s work (eleven being the age Brother Benet had been when he drew it), it was beyond compare. 

Gunter wanted that ultramarine. His illuminators would do tremendous work with it. Work worthy of glorifying God. 

But now, he would read. Sometimes living in Northumbria was irritating when the summer sun wouldn’t set until very late, but at the very least he had plenty of light. He wanted to see whether or not Hnæf would win the battle of Finnsburuh. It was not looking good for Hnæf. The damn Danes had spent five days attacking the hall while Hnæf and his men tried to hold them off. Gunter was reading a dying warrior’s last words when there was a frantic knocking on his outer chamber  door. Gunter groaned, put his book down and wrapped himself in his cloak to hide his unbinded breasts.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” 

“She’s here! She’s here!” Brother Christopher shouted. Gunter’s heart dropped. Was his mother here now? At the worst possible time? Brother Gunter only spoke like this when Gunter’s mother, Lady Werburga, came to the monastery to cause chaos. He rushed out of his bedroom, through his study and opened the door.

“Where is she?” he asked.

“Outside the gates!” 

“You left her waiting?!”

“I didn’t know what else to do! I’m not letting her and her entire entourage in!”

“How many people did she bring this time?” Gunter sighed. Usually his mother brought a few members of her household, but let them stay in the village. 

“I dunno. Maybe about thirty people?”

“Thirty?! God have mercy on us!” Gunter began to run down the hall. Brother Christopher grabbed his cloak.

“Sir! You can’t greet her in your night clothes!”

Abbot Gunter pulled his cloak out of his monk’s grasp. “What in God’s name are you talking about? The woman changed my nappies!”

Brother Christopher blinked. “The elf queen changed your nappies?”

“Is the Queen of the Forest at our gates?” Abbot Gunter asked.

“Yes, who did you think I was talking about?”

“My mother!”

“Oh. She’s not here, thank God.”

Gunter walked back to his chambers. “I need to dress. Summon all the monks and oblates and then let her in. Brother Æthelwine must greet her. Put him in a cart if he can’t walk. We must give the Queen a proper welcome if we are going to get this donation and convince her we deserve her favour.” 

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Like Gunter, you will not know what happens to the warrior because Gunter is reading the Battle of Finnsburg and where he’s stopped reading is where the fragment ends!