wedding logistics

IF YOU THINK PERCY’S BEST MAN WOULD BE ANYONE OTHER THAN GROVER I WILL SHOVE THE LIGHTNING THIEF SO FAR UP YOUR ASS YOU’LL BE SPEAKING IN CHAPTER TITLES FOR A MONTH

upyrica  asked:

Since I am always delighted to see it, and every mention of Olga blesses this godforsaken site, can you please talk about her a little more? Asking purely because so far I am the only person I know doing it.

With infinite pleasure, because St. Olga of Kiev is one of the most magnificent bitches in history and a personal idol of mine. I named a hive of bees after her.

Olga was the daughter of Oleg Veshchy, the founder of the Kievan Rus state. She was married to Prince Igor, the son of Prince Rurik of Novgorod. (A founder of the Rurik dynasty of Tsars.)

From all accounts, they seemed quite happy together. They had a son, and everything seemed good.

When Oleg died, Igor became the ruler of the Kievan Rus. As the ruler, he undertook one of the standard duties of the ruler, namely, going around to the local Slavic tribes and collecting tribute (basically, early taxes) from them.

One tribe, the Drevlyans, did Not Like It when he demanded more tribute than they were accustomed to paying, and summarily killed him on the spot. There was much laughing and carousing over this, not knowing that Olga, at the news of her husband’s death, had entered Ice Queen Ultimate Revenge Mode and would only be appeased by the blood of those who had killed her husband. She had the full support of the Kievan Rus army, who knew a queen of steel and fire when they saw one, and the deep respect of the Kievan Rus people, who also knew that the Drevlyans Done Fucked Up.

The Drevlyan tribe then compounded their mistakes. Assuming that a young widow with a three year old son would be a weak and easy target, they sent envoys to her court to attempt to pressure her into marrying the Drevlyan prince, Mal.

This was a huuuuge fuckin mistake oh my gods.

Olga greeted them graciously, all smiles and good manners. She told the messengers that as a measure of esteem, her people would carry their boats from the river directly to her palace. The messenger bought it, and sure enough Olga’s people showed up, picked up the boats, carried them inland…and then threw them into hugeass pits dug for just this purpose and buried those fuckers alive.

But she was not done.

Olga sent word to the Drevlyans that she accepted their offer, and that she was still hosting their messengers, nope, don’t worry that they haven’t come back, haha, they’re just partying, you should send some more important envoys to help figure out wedding logistics.

They did.

When they arrived, she invited them into a bathhouse to freshen up after her trip. And then, once they were all inside, she bolted the doors from the outside and burned it to the ground.

After that, she sent a message to the Drevlyans saying oh yep I am super about getting married, I’m going to come and let’s have a lavish feast in the memory of my dead husband first. The Drevlyans thought this was a splendid idea.

So she shows up, bringing extra booze, and the Drevlyan court gets absolutely hammered. Olga then stands up, and as cold as steel in a Siberian December orders her men, who’d not been indulging, to kill the lot.

And they did. All five thousand of them.

Olga went home. The Drevlyans, having mostly got the message, meekly paid her tribute as their ruler from then on.

Save for the town of Iskorosten, who were, apparently, still nursing a grudge. “Fuck you,” they said. “You’re getting nothing.”

Olga smiled, which should have been a warning sign right there. “Fine.” She said, sweetly. “Then all I ask is a dove from each home.” (Pigeons and doves, keep in mind, were commonly kept for eggs, meat, and manure, and will always return to their roost.)

Iskorosten thought this was reasonable, and did so.

So Olga had a piece of burning paper tied to each dove and released. They flew back to their dovecotes in the city, which burned to the ground.

Olga ruled as regent for her son until he matured, and then ruled at home for him when he was off on his (frequent) military campaigns. He felt safe in going on these, mind, because he knew his mom had shit at home on lockdown. They were a great team, TBH.

She converted to Christianity and was baptized in Constantinople sometime around 955 to 957. Her efforts to spread it gained her sainthood.

Beneath the Milky Twilight

“Kiss Me” by Sixpence None the Richer was the inspiration for this piece, and put me in mind of Endor. I decided that if I’m doing a Disney canon Endor wedding, I’m setting it in the Epic Love ‘verse (my TFA fix-it). I’m not necessarily wedded (ha) to the idea that this is when the wedding happened, and will probably write other weddings happening at other times and places, but…I couldn’t resist.

Almost nobody had bet on a wedding.

Wedge and Tycho had come the closest; they’d bet on an engagement, although even they didn’t think it would be announced for a while. There had to be some reason Solo and the Princess kept sneaking off together with serious faces, then returning all smiles and hugs and meaningful looks.

The other Rogues were betting on explanations of a much cruder sort: would someone catch Han and Leia en flagrante in the woods somewhere? Would they appear at one of the many post-Endor battle briefings late, bearing telltale love bites on their necks or leaves in their hair? But none of them had bet on an actual wedding. On Endor. In two days.

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