Artturi Focus

Or does it?

While I wept tears of joy for getting to read more cool MMM (oh yeah, that’s so going to be a thing), I asked myself, “Where did this renaissance of MMM come from in the first place?”. The Chronicles of Prydain is a book series that first began in 1964. The Sword in the Stone came out in 1938. Finally, The King’s Damosel was published in 1976. The second book in particular had much influence over how we view Arthurian legend which was only strengthened by the Disney film by the same name which later came out in 1963. Disney would later make a film using Alexander’s series of young adult books that came out a year afterwards in their 25th feature length animated film The Black Cauldron in 1985. Warner Bros. then made Quest for Camelot in 1998 based on Vera Chapman’s book. Dare I say, this smells like a medieval resurgence to me. At least when it comes to animated films and young adult books. Unfortunately, I cannot quite say that I am a connoisseur of live-action MMM. Not yet.

Well, to say the least, finding connections is hard. Lloyd Alexander, for example, was inspired to create his stories after doing military combat training in Wales and becoming inspired by the land and its legends, which cannot be a shared experience among all MMM creators. We can start by looking for something a little earlier than the 1900s however, at a period conveniently titled The Arthurian Revival.

The Arthurian Revival lasted for the majority of the 19th century in Victorian England which brought in a slew of paintings, translations, and reimaginings of the famous tales. Call this a sort of nostalgia or patriotism of the past, it was successful and the people could not get enough. One of the most popular texts of the era was Alfred Tennyson’s Idylls of the King published in 1859 which was responsible for “covering the career of Arthur from birth to death” (Watson). Thomas Malory’s republication of Le Morte d’Arthur that came prior also held much responsibility in this revival. The Arthurian Revival also encouraged castle and local tourism to spots said to be important in the original tales. This discovery of touristic destinations did not stop in the 19th century and later made its appearance through the “discovery” of Camelot in Cadbury in the 1960s (which is suspiciously around the same time as some of the 20th century MMM mentioned in my introduction… fascinating).

One of the greatest effects of The Arthurian Revival was what was viewed as a priority in Arthurian legend. While the history of Arthurian legends remained, what proved to be more appealing to the public were the ideals that King Arthur held of righteousness, justice, and rising from small beginnings to the top. This made King Arthur into more than just a cultural figure, but a character that could be molded to fit an array of storylines and situations.

Finally, it can be said about The Arthurian Revival that “The Victorians regarded the Arthurian legend as the starting point of their history; the revival of interest in Arthur and his court regarded him as a national hero” (Watson). Can’t the same be said for almost any other culture? We look up to our national heroes to give ourselves a cultural identity and show the strength and depth of where we live. I believe it doesn’t just have to be where we live though that we find heroes. From Heracles to Mulan, we find cultural heroes all around us and perhaps it is because of how culturally ingrained and real these characters are that we feel more inspired by their tales.

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This blog was so fascinating to write and only served to increase my reading list! I was not aware of The Arthurian Revival and now I am intrigued to learn even more. The paintings from the era are gorgeous. I definitely recommend giving them a look. Next time, on MMM, I hope to potentially get my hands on the first book of The Chronicles of Prydain. A Welsh-inspired fantasy novel? Sign me up!!

As I shall always say, I never consider myself to be an expert, nor do I plan on telling falsehoods. Please let me know if something I have said is utterly wrong, and I shall edit this blog or bring it up in future blogs. I appreciate your help!

Radulescu, Raluca. “How King Arthur Became One of the Most Pervasive Legends of All Time.” The Conversation, 6 Oct. 2019, https://theconversation.com/how-king-arthur-became-one-of-the-most-pervasive-legends-of-all-time-71126.

Watson, Edward. “The Arthurian Revival.” Clas Merdin: Tales from the Enchanted Island, 1 Jan. 1970, https://clasmerdin.blogspot.com/2015/04/the-arthurian-revival.html.

    While maybe he was not as social as Mari around the travelers and merchants that ventured and spread their stories in Chrossili’s main square, he definitely was not ignorant to what they had to say. If this “Wybren Academy” was as prestigious as this man said it was, how come it was never brought up? You would think that a famous foci school would be spoken of in passing conversation to children still attending their local schools. Wouldn’t it? In Llewellyn’s defense, Artturi had to admit that travelers were wary about subjects involving the lifestyles of children much more privileged than theirs. Such stories could inspire hope, but more often than not left adults with an empty feeling, knowing that this hope would fade away as reality set in.      “Oh! You mean Wyvern Academy, mister?” Mari interjected. She put her hands on her hips with a cheeky smile. “I know all about that place. It’s where all the rich grown-ups go and do rich grown-up stuff. Remember that, Turi?”     “Grown-ups?” Llewellyn laughed. “I suppose that for kids your age, older teenagers must seem like grown-ups. Speaking of which, how old are you?”     “Wyvern Academy!” Arturri clapped his hands together, ignoring the question. “I should have made that connection. It does sound very similar.”      Wyvern Academy was supposedly an amazing school located in the northern city of Flodau. There were many other smaller trade schools surrounding it, but the Academy stood above the rest. With gorgeous gardens and marble buildings, it was described as a wonder to see. Apparently, it also had the most impressive library in all of Afallach as well! All the students there were nobles skilled in magic, and Artturi now realized that this could’ve included foci users too. The merchants who passed by Chrossili stated that only the finest products were imported there in exchange for enchanted weapons and other magical goods.  Artturi had wished at the time to be able, at least once, to see Flodau. Not knowing that he possessed something special, Artturi never thought that being a student there would be within his reach. He had hope however that, one day, he would be able to see Flodau, and that would be enough for him. To have the latter of his wishes come true, and under such peculiar circumstances, was too much for him to comprehend. That’s why it sounded too good to be true. Surely, a professor from such an enchanting school-- a school that fascinated Artturi, wouldn’t conveniently appear before him and he would conveniently be found to have control over some unprecedented ability. He didn’t even know how this man could tell that he had this amazing skill. It couldn’t possibly be--     “Fate?”      Artturi jerked his head up, unaware that he had been caught up in his thoughts to not recognize that Llewellyn had taken out his book again and had begun to scribble one of the stars. “How did you…?”     “You had this look on your face that I’ve seen before. From awe to disbelief, you must have considered that something was not possible.” He smiled. “Disbelief is an emotion I should be showing instead. After all, I am a scholar of foci and, while I was dreaming, a boy possessing something unique that could change my whole life’s work waltzed out from a patch of trees. Take no offense, but my thoughts waver into thinking that I am still within a dream.” The star he had shaded began to bubble and twist out of the page. A small book took shape and Llewellyn caught it in his hands before it could hit the page. “Here,” he said, handing the book to Artturi. “Oh, and also, it’s Wybren Academy. I really do not understand why those students keep saying otherwise. It causes such unnecessary confusion.”     Artturi cautiously took the book from his hands. It was so impressively bound to start with. Definitely a stark difference from the magic notebook it had come out of.  In bold white letters were the words HANDBOOK FOR THE STUDENTS OF WYBREN ACADEMY above a detailed illustration of a dragon with two legs instead of four-- a wyvern. Most likely, it was a mascot. “I can see why they call it that,” Artturi said, flipping the book over that looked just as ornate as the front. “And I think I trust you. Not anyone would have a book as good as this.” He brought the book back toward Llewellyn.     Llewellyn shook his hands in front of him. “I did not give it to you so that you would believe me. It’s yours to read and consider.”     “You’re giving it to me?”     “Y-yes? Every student gets one. Ah, but you can keep it even if you decide that you don’t want to be a student now… Or ever…” Artturi could swear that he saw him pout at the end of his sentence.     He looked back down at the book. “Thank you, Mr. Glines. I still don’t know what to say or what to believe though. I am not even sure if I believe in myself. You say that I have this spirit water focus, but how do you even know for sure that what you see is true?”     “Seeing is believing, this is true. Yet, one cannot see until they know what they are looking for. I knew what I needed to see, and it is my hope that I can help you see it too.”     Artturi stood silent, once again lost in his thoughts, when they were both interrupted by a boisterous voice.     “It’s a magic school, Turi! You need to go! You’d be, like, a wizard,” Mari gasped. “Do you know how cool it would be to be friends with a wizard? You could have a magic book like this mister too!” She ran in front of Artturi and beamed up at Llewellyn. “Would we be able to visit him over there?”     Llewellyn smiled and patted the top of Mari’s head. “He’d definitely be able to meet you while school is not in session.”     Finally, Artturi finally understood why he had been circling around Llewellyn’s proposal with question after question. There was nothing to lose if he accepted, other than the family he had known and loved all these years. They needed him too! His focus allowed them to live more comfortably than the other villages during this drought.      But, this opportunity could also prove to be a way to help them, right? Spirit water had the unique ability to heal wounds and injuries. This by itself was invaluable, and Artturi could only imagine how much more its capabilities would increase if Llewellyn was his guide. Maybe he’d even be able to cure diseases. Additionally, living in the city of Flodau for an extended period of time could give him the time to spread the word about Chrossili’s worth as a trading destination. Maybe, he could even get a job as an apprentice. That seemed like justification enough.     “If I did accept, how would I pay you back?”          “You’re considering it?” Llewellyn could barely hold back the cheer on his face. He coughed to clear his voice, before answering, “Think nothing of how you shall pay me back. No, actually, there is a way you’d be able to pay me back, and that is by becoming the best focus user you possibly can. And letting me occasionally see how you are progressing too, if that’s alright.”  He brushed his fingers through his green beard. “I understand the need for independence. A handful of students exchange enchanted objects made during workshop classes for change and I’m aware of some students taking up faculty roles in exchange for reduced school costs, but we could talk more about that at the school itself.”     That all sounded fair. If anything, it sounded like it’d be more in Artturi’s favor. The boy already started considering if maybe he could make money on the side by working as a gardener or maybe even a chef. He could make a pretty good apple pie.      Why am I acting like I know I’ll go? Artturi looked up at the sky. It was nearing mid-afternoon. “Thank you once again, Mr. Glines, for offering me this. It’s all a bit much. Um… Would it be alright if I ask our matriarch for her opinion?” He sheepishly scratched the back of his head.     “Of course. Your request is very reasonable and I’d be delighted to meet her,” said Llewellyn. “Please, lead the way.”     Artturi hadn’t expected that he would want to come along, but maybe it was better that way. Paderau would certainly have questions and Llewellyn would be able to answer them better than he ever could. Plus, a warm bowl of the leek and potato soup could be the first step toward repaying his kindness. Already, he owed him whatever the equivalent of three candies and one handbook would be. Clutching the aforementioned handbook to his chest, he nodded.      “Can we come too?” Mari asked expectantly.     “Follow me.”

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As the five walked out of the grazing pastures and toward the main dirt path, Llewellyn was met with a new barrage of questions from Mari, Elain, and Grwn to occupy his time. Some of the most interesting questions that came out of their mouths included, “Do you sit in cauldrons instead of chairs?”, “Are there familiars?” followed by “Do you have a frog familiar?” which was quickly followed by “Can your frog turn into a human?!”, “Are there plants made out of candy in Wybren?”, and “Can you turn into a frog?”.  Surprisingly, only one of these questions was not asked by Mari. Artturi turned back to see Llewellyn multitask between looking at the sights and answering the children’s questions. He let out little laughs every so often before answering them with more than just a simple “yes” or “no”. Artturi could see why he was a teacher at this point.      “Hello, Artturi!” Artturi turned his attention to a man, waving him down from behind a short, wooden fence. He waved back before heading his way.     “Hello, Elisud. How are you?” Artturi couldn’t believe that, just earlier that day, he had been watering his crops, ignorant to what would happen less than an hour later.     “Fine, fine. Thank you,” he said. “How are you, boy?” His eyes widened when he saw Llewellyn alongside the three kids before moving down into a smile. “And who is this?”     Llewellyn separated himself from the children and stretched out his hand toward Elisud. “Good afternoon. I am Llewellyn Glines from Wybren Academy. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”     Elisud blinked and paused, before returning Llewellyn’s handshake. He looked from him to Artturi and back again. “I see. That’s a pretty big place, so I’ve heard. Good for those with a focus too.”     “Yes! That’s correct,” Llewellyn beamed.      “That’s really amazing that one of y’all would come out to our small town. Really amazing,” Elisud said, more to himself than anything. “Anyways.” He put a hand on Artturi’s shoulder. “Artturi boy, I just came back from Missus Paderau’s house. Today’s soup is probably the best one yet.” He looked back at Llewellyn, his hand still on Artturi’s shoulder. “You’d never find someone more hardworking than this young man right here, sir. He helps everyone in this village every day. I don’t know what we’d do without him- I mean! We would make it without him though. That’s just an expression, you see?” He nodded his head with eyes closed and a smile on his face. “I’m telling you, he will go places. He could be a great farmer someday too, or even a student.”     “Thank you so much for your kind words, Elisud,” Artturi said, his face reddening. “And thank you for the soup. Mr. Glines here is coming to see Missus Paderau too, so I’ll be sure to share a bowl with him.”     Elisud brought a hand to his mouth, trying to hide his smile. “What an honor. Uh, Artturi helped in making that soup too, sir! All these crops you see? Yes, they were watered by him,” he laughed.     Artturi was dumbstruck with embarrassment. Was Wybren Academy really that amazing? What did Elisud know that he didn’t?     Llewellyn laughed with Elisud, and then started asking the farmer questions about what kind of crops he grew and which plants were the best. Elisud then began telling him about all the dishes popular in Chrossili, which Llewellyn studiously took notes on. Meanwhile, Artturi tried to keep Mari, Elain, and Grwn occupied by talking about magic. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. Artturi remembered that the leeks and potatoes Mari had stolen and left at the forest were still there. Would he have a chance to retrieve them? Thirty minutes passed. For a moment, he considered going back to Tree Colfen to get them, but it felt awkward to leave Llewellyn here. By the end of their hour-long conversation, Llewellyn was invited to dinner at his family’s house and his niece’s birthday party. Plus, he also was now in possession of a fresh jar of goat’s milk.     “I am unfortunately not here for long, but thank you, Mr. Elisud. I am so glad to have met you, and I hope that our paths may cross again.” They waved goodbye to Elisud and continued to make their way down the dirt path. Until they were stopped again. And again. Most had the same response as Elisud had though some were more discrete, offering only to add a vegetable or two to his growing pile of gifts. Fortunately, the conversations were shorter by at least twenty minutes. Unfortunately, they were stopped quite a lot. “I see that you are well-known here, Artturi,” Llewellyn said, struggling with a handful of apples alongside all his other new gifts. Elain tugged at his vest and offered to take a few.  “Oh, no. We all know each other very well. Just ask anyone and I’m sure they’ll have heard all about Mari’s adventures.” “I am famous, aren’t I?” The girl said, puffing out her chest.  “What I mean to say is that you have helped them out so much, and they all love you for it. This strong sense of community and helping each other grow is the kind of attitude that I want to foster at the Academy.” Llewellyn frowned. “I must admit that I will feel some guilt if I take not just their vegetables, but their dear friend too.” Artturi shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Gifting each other is how we keep our friendships strong.” “Yeah, so that basically makes you our friend!” exclaimed Mari. Llewellyn looked away from them. “I really wish all of my students were like the four of you.” “Are you crying?” “My dear friend Mari, surely you don’t think I’m that emotional. Oh, would you look at those beautiful apples!” Around them was Paderau’s orchard and standing in front of the house just beyond that was the woman herself. Artturi noticed that she had changed into her finest embroidered clothing. Word had traveled quickly to her. No doubt, the amount of stops that had all taken had given any messenger enough time to learn about their arrival.  “Welcome home, Arturri,” she said. Her eyes glittered when she spotted the book in Artturi’s hands, its cover hidden to her. “Mari. Elain. Grwn. How would you three like a warm plate of potatoes and bread with gravy?” The kids beamed and nodded with excitement. Paderau clutched her shawl and stepped aside, letting them pass through the door and inside the house. “And you must be the professor I’ve been hearing so much about.”  Llewellyn stepped forward. “I see that word travels quickly here, and it was words as well that told me that you must be the lovely Lady Paderau. A pleasure to meet you.” Paderau brushed back her hair and giggled. “Please, come inside. I feel like we have much to talk about.” After Llewellyn set down his gifts, the six of them sat around a table. Well, actually it was two tables pushed together. Llewellyn was placed at the head while Artturi and Paderau sat at his sides. Elain sat next to Arturri, while Grwn sat next to Paderau. Mari sat next to Grwn and leaned over her plate to listen to the three at the front. Paderau really did not hold back, using her tablecloth and dishes suited for festivals rather than dinners. Llewellyn brought a spoonful of leek and potato soup to his mouth and closed his eyes in delight. The crispiness of the leeks and the soft texture of the potato warmed him up. He eagerly went in for another spoonful.      “I must spread the word about Chrossili’s excellent food to the world. Thank you for this meal, Missus Paderau,” Llewellyn said, patting a napkin over his mouth.     “Of course,” Paderau said. “Elisud is the one you should thank. I do believe you have met him.”      Ah. So he was the messenger. Artturi took another sip of his soup.     “And I’m sure you are aware that Artturi’s focus is of great help to us. Have you seen it?”     Artturi almost choked on a potato at how sudden the matriarch turned to the subject. Speaking of which, many of the villagers were quick to point out his focus once they had heard of Llewellyn’s profession. It was almost like they wanted him to be a student there. But why would they even consider him a potential for Wybren Academy without knowing about his spirit water ability?     “I have and I must be perfectly blunt with you: That is my reason for coming here,” said Llewellyn.      Artturi could not recall a time in which saw Paderau look so excited. Plus, he hadn’t expected this conversation going in this direction. Truth be told, while Llewellyn was answering the children’s questions, he was thinking of ways to broach the subject. First, he would casually talk about how they came across Llewellyn and his profession, and then they would talk about him. This was completely backwards!     “Oh, is that so?” Paderau twirled a strand of her hair with an innocent smile on her face.      “Indeed. You must know that I am a scholar of foci and never in my years have I seen such a unique ability as Artturi has. It is simply unprecedented.”      That caught Paderau off-guard. “Unprecedented?” She stared curiously at Artturi, asking a million questions with her eyes.      Llewellyn ignored her or didn’t see her change in expression and continued on. “Yes! I’ve seen Artturi’s focus first hand. Not considering the fact that he had no professional training and has a seemingly unlimited reservoir of stamina unusual for a novice, he possesses a unique focus called spirit water which has healing properties and possibly a whole slew of other potentialities if given enough training. I’ve only ever come across one other who can use spirit water. Coming across another is certainly something that I would call unprecedented.” He reached out for Paderau’s hands and clasped them in his own. “I would consider myself a blight to scholars everywhere if I did not give Artturi the opportunity to become a student at Wybren Academy at no expense.”     The room fell silent, until the sound of light sobbing was heard. “Missus Paderau? Are you alright?” A thin stream of tears flowed down Paderu’s cheeks. Upon hearing Llewellyn’s question for reassurance, she unclasped her hands from him and covered her face, crying much harder and louder. “I apologize if I said something to offend you. It was not my intention-”     “No. No, Mr. Glines.” She dabbed her eyes with an unused napkin. “I never knew…” With glassy eyes, she gazed at Artturi. “I never knew how special my boy was all this time. It’s my fault as his guardian for never realizing it.”     “Missus Paderau.” Artturi struggled to say more, but he didn’t even know where to start. His heart felt like breaking at seeing the woman he cared for the most cry because of him. “You are the best mother I could ask for. I wouldn’t leave you for anything.”     Paderau sniffed loudly and coughed. “Artturi! No! That is not why I’m crying.” She took a few deep breaths and turned back to Llewellyn. “When I heard that you’d come from Flodau and Wybren Academy, I had thought that you were considering taking Artturi in as a gardener. We’ve all heard about the marvelous gardens at the Academy. Some of the older folk like myself were responsible back in the day for raising some of the flowering trees that now grow there as a temporary project.” Artturi had never heard about that. “And we all know that what Artturi has was something special. No one in our village has ever been able to do what he could, and we never knew his late birth mother well enough to know if it was a talent that was passed down.” Paderau began to weep again. “If he was able to be a gardener in Flodau, the greatest gift we would be able to give to him is our blessing for all he has done for us. If we could get him out there, he’d have a better life than we could ever give him. But a student? Even we could not anticipate such a gift.”     “Is that true?” Artturi almost whispered. He blinked, trying to hold back his own tears. “Paderau, you don’t owe me anything. I cannot believe everyone was thinking about me. What about you? Everyone? The crops? Is it really alright for me to go?”     “Artturi, I can die in peace if you decide to go, but the question is: do you want to go?”     Did he? He didn’t even need a second to think. Of course he did. A whole new part of himself was revealed to him on this day and he wanted to learn more. Even though he felt grateful to Paderau, a part of him also wanted to know if this would be the key to learning more  about his birth parents and his identity. Plus, he could help everyone in Chrossili and others beyond if he worked hard. And work hard he would. He would prove himself the best student possible and exceed all expectations.      “Yes.” Artturi said, his voice slightly cracking. “I really want to go.”     With a face red from tears, Paderau nodded and smiled. “I apologize for my reaction, Mr. Glines. Please, I entrust my boy in your care.”     Llewellyn smiled, looking glassy eyed himself. “Of course, Missus Paderau. I will do my best.”     “Thank you. And Artturi,” She turned back to him. “Stay safe and find joy and friendship wherever you go. Don’t worry about us. We were living a little too comfortably here. Some hard work could be good for us and we’ll send you part of the next apple harvest to prove it,” she exclaimed with a laugh.     Hearing her laugh took away the guilt Artturi had harbored. He stood up and rounded the table to hug the woman who had been his mother all these years as a thanks and a goodbye that was to come. “I’ll go and make you proud.” He backed up, holding her shoulders. “But you’re not allowed to die yet.”     “Oh, you!” Paderau wagged her finger at him. “I said I could die in peace, but I will choose not to. That’s just how strong I am.”     “So, Artturi is going to be a wizard?” Grwn suddenly quipped.     “I’ll tell my Mom!”  Mari exclaimed.     “When are you leaving, big brother Turi?”     The table faced Llewellyn. He scratched the back of his head and laughed. “Well, if it's alright with Artturi, leaving tomorrow morning would be best. That way, we’d arrive just in time for the opening ceremony and he could have time to get familiar with Flodau. I know it is rather soon, but…?”     Tomorrow morning? That didn’t give him much time at all! But wasn’t there only a week or so until the semester started? Flodau could be a five days journey by foot, if his concept of distance was good enough. Still when would he have the time to say goodbye to everyone? If he was to leave tomorrow, he’d have to start saying goodbyes right away and late into the night. No way was he going to go to Flodau for what could possibly be months without meeting everyone one last time.     Paderau bit her lip. “It’s sudden, but it’d be alright with me, Artturi. We will send letters to you often, and expect the same from you. I don’t want you to go in like a blindfolded sheep.”      He was speechless. He looked at her, Llewellyn, the door, the children, and the door again. “Excuse me. I have to- I’ve got to-” Without finishing his sentence, he ran out the door, covering his face.     Llewellyn turned to Paderau. “Will he be alright?”     “Mr. Glines, you are too kind,” said Paderau. “He’s just saying his goodbyes. He’ll be fine. In fact, I think he’s overjoyed.”     Outside the house, Artturi continued running, his forearm covering his eyes as tears slid down. On his face was a slight smile.

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Yet, there exists some juxtaposition when describing this medieval farm life. One is that we view the farm as a pastoral sanctuary of no struggle, and the other is that it is a hard life in which debts must be paid and nature is to be contended with. Can these two lifestyles exist in harmony, and were they present in tandem with one another in Welsh history? Of course, the medieval period of Wales expanded across a great length of time, so farming practices have varied. For this reason, I shall primarily highlight the farm/feudal system most prominent in the 11th century (not just in Wales, but across much of Western Europe).

Already, a glaring difference exists between the shown farm life in Artturi Focus and reality, and that is the hierarchical and feudal system. According to an informative article by the Wrexhim Council of Wales, “There were three main social groups: the uchelwyr - the upper class, the bonheddwyr - the freemen and the taeogion - the unfree peasants” (WCBC). Uchelwyr consisted of people like aristocrats and nobles who controlled units of land, and distributed this land amongst peasants to live on in exchange for monetary gain and/or military strength. The taeogion are probably more recognizable with the feudal term “serf”. These were the tenant farmers who were bound to the land and also made up the biggest population. To clarify, just because they are considered “unfree” does not mean they were slaves; though some taeogion certainly could fall into that category. Many taeogion at the time were unwillingly put into this class due to natural disasters, like droughts, in which land loans would need to be considered. While it was hard to leave the land legally, they benefited from the protection of the uchelwyr.

The bonheddwyr were placed above the taeogion in the sense that they owned their own land and were free to move whenever, and were overall independent while still following the laws of the land and occasionally providing their service in the military. They lived in small communities of kinships. As of now, perhaps it is best to consider Artturi falling into this category. Of course, as I learn and consider more facets of medieval culture, I may find myself adjusting and adding more of a semblance to the feudal system.

But what is the appeal of the freeman peasant protagonist instead of going down to the unfree peasant for more of that “underdog” feel? It could be in the name. By having the peasant protagonist be free in the first place, one removes the need to jump through hoops just to start an adventure and leave their hometown. Perhaps it could seem like a hindrance to the flow of the story to go into the legalities of a serf leaving their land (though I have no doubts that something like this could be extremely fascinating with the right storytelling. It could give the protagonist even more reasons to show hesitation toward leaving their comfort zone. Hmm… I’ll have to write that down, perhaps).

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I’ll be honest: I was never all that interested in the feudal system. Politics bore me and yet here I am-- attempting to write a medieval fantasy inspired by the ascension and exploits of a king. However, just by writing this specific blog, I find myself wondering how I can implement certain aspects of this farm system in an appealing and comprehensible way. I thank you for reading this blog~!

As I shall always say, I never consider myself to be an expert, nor do I plan on telling falsehoods. Please let me know if something I have said is utterly wrong, and I shall edit this blog or bring it up in future blogs. I appreciate your help!

Cartwright, Mark. “Serf.” World History Encyclopedia, World History Encyclopedia, 2 Nov. 2021, https://www.worldhistory.org/Serf/.

“Medieval Peasants.” Medieval Chronicles, 17 Oct. 2019, https://www.medievalchronicles.com/medieval-people/medieval-peasants/.

Avalon is also known as the “Isle of Apples” (meaning that Afallach without Ynys in front means… apple (afall)… Artturi lives in a pretty cool nation named Apple). This alternative name in itself already introduces the location as a place of mysticism. The apple is a mystical fruit symbolizing all sorts of things from rebirth to purity. It may even stand for immortality. Much of what makes an apple associated with this enchanting location is rooted in Celtic belief for these purposes. Celtic mythology also viewed the island of Avalon as an afterlife (relating to a Celtic god of the Underworld called Afallach); “believed to exist outside of normal time”, suggesting an otherworldliness and a separation from the plane of existence we live in (Geller).

Arthur’s tales are played out mostly in England which means that Christianity was a common religion shared amongst most characters; however, before Christianity, there were Celtic folklore and pagan religions. Their influence on the land and surrounding area was present and not to be ignored, which created an interesting fusion of beliefs. Avalon may be a symbol in Arthurian legend to the idea of “origin” and what came before. Arthur is healed in such a magical place under an otherwise Christian backdrop because it is not even a part of this backdrop. While the fusion is present, the otherworldliness of the island moves visitors of Avalon into a state of being in which it could even be considered a dream.

So, was Avalon actually a dream?

Maybe not. Historians have assumed that fabled isle of apples is actually the isle of glass; otherwise known as Glastonbury, located in Somerset. While it was more of a marsh then (and has since become drier, yet fertile land), Glastonbury could have still been considered as an island in the past. The location was famous as a sacred location for the Celts; specifically the hill of Glastonbury Tor which was considered as a location to the Otherworld. Later, the location is claimed to be the final resting place of King Arthur and Guinevere, but there is not much to back this up. To this day, Glastonbury is considered to be Avalon, despite no real confirmation, and receives visitors from around the world who come to see this enchanting place.

And now we shall return to the realm of fantasy~

Several pop culture media take place in the also well-known Arthurian location of Camelot with Avalon as a side-location in which secrets and magic are kept hidden until the hero’s arrival. To simplify Arthurian legends, some media may place characters entirely in Avalon without considering Camelot however, and this is especially apparent when magic is a central focus of the plot. A great example of this is found in the MMORPG game, Wizard101. The game introduces lands inspired by themes and series, like Sherlock Holmes, for the wizard characters to explore. One of the lands, Avalon, features Arthurian NPCs presented as animals. (Arthur being presented as a bear will always be amusing.) This gives players a dash of the legend without overwhelming them.

Stories that do place a focus in Avalon suggest that the protagonists are proficient in magic and a separation from reality. Take the young adult series by Robert Mandell, Avalon: Web of Magic, for example. The story follows three mages on a quest to protect the home of all magic which is… guess what… Avalon! To enter Avalon, they go through a portal into another realm of existence which contrasts with their modern day and magic-free world that they originate from. To them, Avalon is a place of danger, but also wonderous discovery that helps find out who they are. This formula of entering a magical realm separate from reality is by no means exclusive to Avalon nor can its origin be traced to the fable, but it provides a new avenue for retelling the stories.

Yet the line for how separated Avalon is from reality can sometimes be blurred as seen in Last Round Arthurs: Scum Arthur & Heretic Merlin by Taro Hitsuji in which the light novel’s “Avalon” is not actually Avalon, but a homage to it. New Avalon is a man-made island off the coast of Japan that hosts the school that the characters attend. Like Hogwarts, New Avalon is a sanctuary for magic users and is shrouded from reality under a vale of mist. This makes the idea of reaching Avalon more attainable. Yet, in exchange, the creation of a new Avalon takes away the sacred oldness of it, making it a sandbox for the characters to redesign in whatever way they see fit.

And now let’s talk about Artturi Focus. While magic is indeed present, rather than an escapism into a new realm off the map, it is all that our young protagonist, Artturi has ever known. He is less of an explorer of Afallach (Avalon) and just a resident. The inspiration for the story’s setting, Wales, still had a high population of Celts in comparison to England, so my thought process is 'why escape to a land of magic when you are already there'?

Of course… there may still be lands beyond Afallach to be explored. What magic may they hold?

In all of these examples, Avalon becomes a way to engage in escapism and tune in with the magic inside you. Avalon was presented in the Arthurian legends for but a moment in consideration of all the events that would happen before and after it, yet it presented itself as the perfect backdrop for hidden fantasy. Just like its apples symbolize rebirth, pop culture media has reimagined the island as a place of great importance that you will never want to leave.

(Also, did Avalon actually have apples? Probably not the kind of apples we see in supermarkets. The only type of apple native to the UK is the crab apple.)

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Thank you for reading! I am always excited to talk about and revisit pop culture media with allusions to history and literature. I am currently obsessed with Last Round Arthurs and bought the third volume recently. I can’t wait to read it.

As I shall always say, I never consider myself to be an expert, nor do I plan on telling falsehoods. Please let me know if something I have said is utterly wrong, and I shall edit this blog or bring it up in future blogs. I appreciate your help!

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Geller. “Avalon- Legendary Island.” Mythology.net, 14 Jan. 2017, https://mythology.net/others/concepts/avalon/.

“Glastonbury.” EBK: Glastonbury, the Isle of Avalon, Nash Ford Publishing, http://www.earlybritishkingdoms.com/arthur/avalon.html.

    “Goooood morning!” At just the sound of his voice, all who could hear turned their heads. Some smiled in reply while others stared blankly, still registering what those words meant. Some, if they really had a good night, mumbled greetings that were almost undecipherable. All eyes led to a humanoid silhouette leaning his elbows on top of the gate to an apple orchard. The boy’s smile seemed to shine in the darkness. He fumbled with the gate’s lock and entered.  The leaves twinkled ever so slightly with the morning dew. However, it wasn’t enough. It had never been enough. For more than a decade, rain was a rarity in a land where it used to rain almost every day. A drought, so some of the people of Afallach claimed. A curse, said even more. Strange how this drought had yet not reached the neighboring kingdoms. At the end, some bold scientists gave their verdict that a change in the air coming from the Western sea and blockage from seaside cliffs and mountains were responsible for stealing the moisture from them. It didn’t quite make sense, but people will always find solace in a scientific explanation. Plus, it was not like the people were nothing without a regular stream of rain. After all, the apple trees still had lively green leaves. Some farming villages would have more luck than others, if they were fortunate enough to have the right person. The boy made his way to a corner of the orchard. He placed his hand on the trunk of the first tree in line. It was almost apple season. Around him, little white and pink petals blanketed the dirt and grass. He closed his eyes, deep in thought, for a minute. Two minutes. The wind blowing through the leaves, birdsong, and the bleating of sheep being set to graze created a symphony.  He stepped back, now opening his eyes, and rolled his tunic sleeves up. There were around seventy-two trees oriented into a rectangle. A decent number by all means. He liked  going down the rows following the longer side of the rectangle. It was much more effective that way. He leaned forward down the open path lined by trees in front of him and flicked his hand at his side. A small bubble of water levitated over the palm of his hand. It gurgled and grew bigger and less spherical until it was the size of a melon. Shifting and changing, the water caught any light that it could get, creating patterns on his hand and the bark of the tree. Then, he ran. The spheroid of water changed once again, running with him in ribbons of liquid. The water weaved through his fingers and occasionally splashed up to his wrist. This strange rain fell down to the base of the trees, and they sucked it all in. As the sun continued its ascent, the water took on a red-orange hue, as if it were alive and burning. One by one, the apple trees each received a fresh spray of water. The boy focused his attention on the path in front of him. When he reached the end, he twisted his wrist in a circle, forming the water into a spheroid once again. Without losing pace, he made his way into the next row. His right arm reached across his chest toward the trees in order to reach them with the new direction. There were still five more rows to go and he wasted no time in continuing his run with the magical water.  Just five more trees to go. Four more trees. Three. Two. He skidded to a stop, swinging his hand to the sky, and the water bubble burst. Droplets like little crimson jewels descended in front of him. The sun had now peeked its face beyond the horizon for all to see and color was brought back to the world. The boy shook his hand, shaking off any remaining drops. Then he looked up at the last tree he had watered, pulling back his little side braids, and gazing up with warm gray eyes. Almost obscured by small leaves was a small green fruit that was just beginning to show shades of a brilliant red. He smiled at the sight. When he was younger, his neighbors used to claim that he must have come out of an apple since his hair was as red as the fruit. Seeing them grow every year reminded him of the village that cared for him for as long as he could remember, named him, and supported him in everything he did. Plus, it was also where he first found his potential as a user of foci.  “This year’s harvest will be wonderful. And we have you to thank for it.” A voice took the boy from his gazing. A hunched old woman with a knitted shawl draped over her shoulders hobbled over, leaning over a walking stick. Her knuckles protruded from the rest of her frail hand and were red from the force she was gripping the walking stick with. A gentle smile was carved into her wrinkled face. The boy shook his head and waved his arms in front of him. “Nonono. All of Chrossili had a part to play in creating such gorgeous trees.” He then returned the smile to her. “Good morning, Missus Paderau. How are you today?” “Unfortunately not blessed with the youth and energy of a sprightly lad, such as yourself. Alas, nothing can remind me more about the days when I was young and beautiful than seeing the apples on the trees,” she said. She let out a soft yet hearty giggle. “I think you are still as beautiful as ever,” he replied, to which she giggled once again. She had never let go of that “romantic schoolgirl” aesthetic, even as she rose to become the matriarch of Chrossili. Paderau was in fact the one who had named him. She was the closest thing he had to a mother.  A breeze swept past the trees and Paderau clutched the ends of her shawl. “Ooh, a lovely late summer breeze.” She closed her eyes, letting the breeze play with her gray hair. “Come, Artturi. It is time for breakfast.” She hobbled past him toward a little mud and stone shack beyond the orchard. The boy named Artturi followed.

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Wales… wasn’t exactly Wales during the beginnings of the medieval time period, yet could still be separated in some capacity from its neighbor, England (well, whatever England was back then, of course). What made the area so unique from its neighbor was its much more mountainous geography and the fact that the people in this region strongly held onto Celtic culture even as Anglo-Saxon influence spread throughout the isle. Many small kingdoms were dispersed throughout, separated by the uneven terrain. The one of most importance was Gwynedd which was established in the Northern part of what would be Wales and would later spread out to become that one nation that we now know today. ​ But we are not going that far. Not yet. Anglo-Saxon invasion into what was mostly communities of Celtic people solidified around the 5th century and they first targeted the East portion of the isle. Wales was undisturbed… but then the 6th century happened. The Anglo-Saxons turned their attention to Western expansion, but this time, they had to face a more concentrated population of Celts that had been pushed from their homelands in the East. The people put up a front of resistance and dubbed “themselves as Cymry (fellow countrymen), not by the Saxon term used by English-speakers today” (Thomas). The term given by the Saxons was Walha (translating into foreigner or stranger).  How ironic of them.

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Thank you for reading! I am pondering on whether to make future blogs longer or keep them at about this size. We shall see~  As I shall always say, I never consider myself to be an expert, nor do I plan on telling falsehoods. Please let me know if something I have said is utterly wrong, and I shall edit this blog or bring it up in future blogs. I appreciate your help! ​

“History - Themes     - The Creation of Medieval Wales.” BBC Wales, BBC, 2014,     www.bbc.co.uk/wales/history/sites/themes/periods/medieval_01.shtml. 

“By gods, I swear that the telling of time had already passed less than five minutes ago. What do you think-” She covered her mouth when the servant boy tripped over cobblestone, splashing into a muddied puddle from a morning storm. The baker walked outside to the boy and leaned down. “Boy! What are you saying?” he asked. The boy looked up, his pale face now decorated with splotches of brown water. He opened his mouth to speak and the baker leaned in, struggling to hear, but to no avail. “Well? Speak up!” “The queen… she-” “Grigor! The flags! The flags!” The baker, Grigor, looked to the castle at the sound of his wife’s voice. It seemed darker than usual-- its black spires reached up to the sky, but its tips were already obscured by graying clouds. It felt like an ominous warning. The darkness itself almost hid the flags and tapestries being raised and draped all over the castle. From a distance, the red embroidery on them only appeared as a dot, but Grigor knew enough about the kingdom to know that an upturned dragon with a knife piercing its neck decorated them. He took his baker’s hat off his head and hugged it close to his chest. It was only due to the close distance of the bakery did the two bakers see it that day. No words needed to be spoken as the flags spoke silent words louder. Someone in the monarchy had died. If what the servant boy said was true, then both the king and queen were affected. And if the dragon on the flags that day had been only pictured in an eternal rest, they could assume that they had died in their sleep, the dragon white instead of red. But no. The message was clear. The king and queen were murdered. Clang. Clang. Clang. Perched on the tiled roof of the bakery, a silver-blue falcon cocked its head at the scene below. Without a sound, the falcon flapped its wings and took to the sky and toward the castle. The windows that seemed so small from a distance grew to gigantic proportions up close; especially for such a tiny bird. The falcon flitted in midair before one window above the throne room. Not much could be seen over the impressive throne where all the guards, advisors, and general snoops were staring at. Its piercing amber eyes settled on a small stream of dark red and followed it down the red carpet. At a young teenager’s feet did the stream finally end. Their attire was more grandiose than the others in the room and a small silver circlet adorned their head. Like everyone else, their attention was on the horrific scene hidden by the throne. Then, the teen looked up. The falcon’s wings seemed to stop flapping for a lifetime. Their wide yellow eyes focused on the bird instantly, an unnatural fire burning within them. They seemed to know a secret; a secret that could not be deciphered and taunted the falcon as such. What had they witnessed just moments before? Paralyzed in place, the falcon only remembered its duty to fly when a woman in a maid uniform approached the teen and whispered in their ear. The teen drifted their attention elsewhere. The falcon swept far down below to where a hole big enough for a small bird led to the pantry. It hugged the walls and ceiling, finally perching on an uneven stone. A new energy had filled the pantry as cooks and servants huddled together and spoke in low voices. “She killed the king! The new maid of the higher west hall told me so. She died because the king had stabbed her before he could go down!” “No no! They were practicing the dark artes

and summoned a demon that murdered them! A servant boy told me and he’s been here longer than any new maid.” “Who will rule now?” That question hung in the air. A minute passed. “The prince, of course.” “He’s only fourteen years! Traumatized!” “We need a king, fool! Traumatized or not!” “But can he rule without a regent?” A new servant boy opened the door in which the falcon had so stealthily slid over. “They raised the flags already,” he exclaimed. Outside, the bells of the church rang once again. They would not stop until every person living in the castle town had stopped their daily lives and swarmed the street in what should have been a perfectly normal late-summer afternoon. While the staff absorbed this new information, the falcon made its escape through the now open door. Not a soul paid attention to the little bird as it shot up to the sky. The low clouds covered it as it flew past the castle and past the town, but gradually thinned out as its journey continued through fields and pastures. The darkness hadn’t reached as far yet. Greenery and livestock dotted the landscape and rivers snaked through hills and valleys. Finally, its home was in view: a ramshackled house in the middle of nowhere atop a hill. Two great stones stood upright, but how they got there in the first place was a mystery for the only people who lived there was a man whose eyes had not seen the light of the stars since long ago and his son. Descending, the falcon landed on top of a rock and cried out. It then proceeded to tend to its plumage. An old wooden door creaked open. Splintered on top and on bottom, the duo living there resorted to stuffing clothes around the door during the winter and invited small vermin during the summer even while it was closed. A man no older than forty, but appearing much older due to his long, white hair walked out. He turned his head toward the stone where the falcon sat and narrowed his clear eyes. “You bring news, Aderyn… But none of it good. Please.” He slowly walked to the stone and bent down to sit against it in the shade. He sat down with not more than a slight groan due to age. “Come. Please tell me what you have seen, my friend.” The falcon named Aderyn pulled its beak from its feathers and swooped down on top of the man’s whitened head where balding had not yet begun-- a fact that the man was quite proud of. Usually, he would give off a soft laugh when the falcon nestled in his hair, but today was not one of those days. “The king and queen have died? Murder, they say?” The man stroked his beard, his eyes scanning the floor for some answer as his mind began to run circles. “This is very troubling. No. You are right. It’s foolish to think that the dark artes had anything to do with this. But this means that it will soon be time for the stars to set their plan into motion.” “Aderyn!” Aderyn flapped its wings at the sudden sound and the man moved his head toward the door of his home. Hugging the door frame was a boy with ashy honey-brown hair and big, circular glasses. A small open-mouthed smile seemed so awkward amongst the moods that the falcon and the man shared. However, that small smile lowered down to an “o” of concern after seeing his father’s troubled expression. “Father?” The man closed his eyes and smiled softly. “Come here, Myrddin. Aderyn’s news will be no secret in the days to come.” Myrddin walked to his father and sat down, shuffling closer until his head touched his shoulder. He looked up at the falcon and the falcon returned his gaze with a low kew. His father wrapped an arm around his shoulder. The three sat in silence for a while. A breeze played with the grass and lazy clouds passed overhead. Myrddin was soon occupied with a caterpillar traversing over his shoe. “Myrddin, you may soon have to play a role that I had prayed you’d never have to.” The man finally said. “I knew that this was your fate ever since you were born, but I didn’t want to accept it.”