Journey Forward - War Redux (closed)

[Queen Beathag Aberdeen]

"When you go. Take the men o' Maubrey, England, n' any other country or folk fool enough tae serve him. Fer killin' the families, those who were the leaders will be taken. They along with their men, will be executed on sight. There men will watch their leaders beh beheaded, cut n' quarters, their hands cut down, n' the contents stuffed boxes. The bodies o' their contingents are tae be burned. The leaders? Ah want them sent tae Glasgow, tae the heart o' his supposed empire. Ah want him tae see wot fate waits for him the moment he is found. Tha' will be the message. Any agent o' the griffin tha' bares arms has the right tae enact this death. If ye catch any alive tha' will have enough merits tae be kept alive fer information? Ye are gaein tae give them to the Black Order n' the information will be extracted before their vile tongues are torn out n' sent tae also tae Maubrey. i will send his rats back tae him in pieces. N' ye tell him, when ye send those boxes..tha' the day he comes tae Skye is the day m'axe comes off tha' wall n' it is given tae m'brothers n' m'husband because he will die. All of them will die. Ah have nay mercy n' will give no enemy quarter, n' if ye find traitors in our midst? Dispatch with them because they will rue the day they see me. "

[Queen Beathag Aberdeen]

Prologue: The Speaking Stone - Caldean

"What is lost is [glow=gold,2,300]found[/glow], what is found we may not understand, but rest assured we shall strive never to find out what [glow=gold,2,300]life[/glow] may be without it."

Maubrey is on a conquest. It is not the thone of England, though this he wishes. It is not the subjucation, though this he wishes.

It is to hold all of the Celts firm to the rod of one master, and one master alone. Robert Bruce is the King of Scotland. For all of our troubles, his abandonment of his great cause to unify the kingdom and his scorn towards those of Skye, he lays dying now. His sins now lay out before him to be accounted for. Some may rise to forgive him while he must seek forgiveness. He holds the future of many in the palm of his fast feeble hands.

Skye is at war with him, yet not. We are at war with England, with Maubrey, but more. One may venture to say that Skye's greatest battle lays within the heart of itself. How will she make justified all that the generations would sacrifice? How will she protect her people and ascertain the power to do so.

Everything lays on a crown that will sit on a head. It has not yet been lifted, created, nor is it known to any save but a few. But we have come to our crossroads.

Allies and enemies have come to Turas Lan like they come to the crossroads of heaven and earth. Foreigners decide the future of native sons while they surrender everything to lay aside old debt, old vengence, or cast it anew so that it no more rings in the halls of man. You will see that now. A war as no other has been fought in Celtic world nor shall be again.

This will be the Chronicle of the War of Conquest, a war revisited. The Redux.

Caldean

For the House of Aberdeen and those she is close with, there has been no greater wonder and pain as to find the remnants of previous generations, their secrets, or that the lost of the generations remain to tell their tales. Caldean is one, and along with his nephew Adair they are of Aberdeen in this way.

Half Brother of Beathag
Bonded to Eamonn by the nephew, Adair, which Caldean, Beathag, and Eamonn now hold blood with
Cousin in marriage and in tribal link to Adam

Adair is the son of Brycean, the half-brother of Beathag and Eamonn, by their father, Einar, who is the heir of a fantastic tale of lands, lost memories, and two families.

Son of Amhlaidh, his father, the man who raised Beathag when her father could not.

His place among the court is not recognized by many for to reveal it is to perhaps insight the eye of agents to seal the fate they were given to enact upon him. Many years ago, in a battle, Beathag had not seen him return. Convinced that he had fallen, she lived with the knowledge of his absence among those of other kin for many years. It is a time now were the sins of the old order are given a tongue to speak, and this is Caldean.





Beathag: The woods swallowed up the battle at the forests on the edge of Fieldren Fields. By now, what people had heard was the aftermath as told by those in the thick of it, the only eye witnesses who could tell of the most radical things. Earth that shook as stone slabs lifted up to spew out ragged men. By now the talk of what lay underneath the ground of Turas Lan was all the rage; a distraction of sorts from the imminent war that settled as thick as a new blanket of white snow. Torches were passed off to small areas to light contained fires to inspire the castle grounds to warm against the ice. Inside of it, an angry Duke was going to rail against the Lord Guardian, the servants speculated. Strange as it was, the man didn't let his ire stay over-long because Beathag had a strange ability to destroy it. "Och. Caldonhan. Apple fer ye troubles lad? Ah know wot ails ye. Aodhan n' the others are goin tae take ye fer a niceride. Now, ole friend, this gae round there's nay a reason fer me tae be perched on ye. Ah know." The beast gave a snort, a seeming undertone of sigh to go along with it. Yes, it was strange! But he had gone from the horse of an inkeep, to the horse of a shipping merchant, and at least as the mount of a Duchess the world didn't sway and the attention was plentiful. In the Griffin's Stables, the people who worked there found a reason to laugh. Guards beyond them were still kept in better spirits because there was a strange light in the middle of this winter that spring would come, and the birth of a child, the beliefs of the sovereigns, were everything. Now her own mind housed a great many things, but understanding grows with time. Somehow, she understood what it was Kendrew sought to do because there had been no set path she had taken t oher own place in life. He did as he had to do. Still, the sense her walls held more than she could see nabbed at her mind. (d)

Eamonn: It never took rumours long to circulate the cities, and sure enough, as he rode in with a handful of his own horsemen, Eamonn heard the faint whispers of those discussing the battle or the secret passage ways. Perhaps now the the men of Maubrey would hear these rumours and they would begin to work on their fickle and feeble minds to scare them straight. It happened before, it could very well happen again. Finbar raced down the streets, steering around buildings and those in the pathways as he made his way to the castle, two of his own horsemen flanking him as they moved to the gates. Reining Finbar to a halt, Eamonn whipped around, the spear held tightly in his gloved hand as he faced his men. ``I relieve you of service for the now. Take what rest you can in the taverns and city. I will call upon you when we depart.`` He commanded, and when the two nodded and turned their horses to leave, Eamonn turned his head back to the gates ahead. Ushering Finbar on, the dapple grey stallion snorted and cantered down the causeway and the gates were opened immediately for who could not recognize the horse helm with pale horse hair of the Lord Marshal? By now, it became a well known icon for the Horse Lord, the Lord of Eohmark. To the stables he rode, a boy standing outside heard the clattering hooves and rushed to open the door for the Lord Marshal. Finbar trotted inside and then was halted by his rider. Handing his spear to a stable hand, Eamonn dismounted quickly with a light hop and took his spear from the boy, patting his shoulder once before leading Finbar to an empty stall. From under the helmhazel eyes spotted his sibling with the horses, which was not a place he first would have suspected her to be. Eamonn, to be frank, partly expected her to have a nose in a book because she could not drown herself in ale or whiskey. Good. He enjoyed a sober half-sister. Once Finbar was in the stall, Eamonn set the spear aside and proceeded to unsaddle and de-rein his horse. ``I hope you don't intend to ride anywhere, sister.`` He commented, even though he knew his sister much more sense than that. The same could no be said for some, however. Once Finbar was relaxed, Eamonn stepped out as a stable hand poured fresh water and hay for the horse. Gloved fingers unbuckled the helm and he pulled it from his head, golden hair akin to the Duchess' was tousled and revealed as the helm was tucked under his arm.

Beathag: The pins and weight of the castle doors groaned a warning on the wind. The sounds of hooves and the way the people scrambled about were enough to denote a figure of importance, so Beathag had only to stay where she was outside of Caldonhan's stall with a hand stroking his muzzle in fond affection. Eamonn was an icon in his own right. A helm of with horse hair braid, the leather amour, and presence was the stuff to capture imaginations. It was what was being recorded in the annuals of history by folk of scholarly pursuit, preserved by artists, and treasured in the hands of one restored Bard, an unlikely candidate when you considered she was comfortable in places with spirits, the ocean, or even the sounds of war. "Nay. M'feet stay on the ground, brother but one can visit a friend." Caldonhan lifted his head higher to look over at Eamonn, before laying his chin over the Duchess' neck to be distracted with playing in a few undone strands of flaxen wheat. If one could not tell by presence or import alone, she had but to stand near Eamonn a moment for the resemblance to be obvious. When the beast nipped gently on the ends, she chortled, tugging them back. (d)

Eamonn: An icon as the Marshal that was wanted dead by the assassin and lived. But Eamonn hardly concerned himself with stories and tales of his own person, it was about duty and fulfilling that oathe and duty with every ounce of strength he had. Personal feelings and conflicts had to be set aside and pushed back for now was not the time. They had a war upon their hands and the national defense of Skye took the forfront of his duties at the moment. With the helm tucked under his armoured arm, Eamonn stepped with pride in his stride toward his sister, his leg ceasing to ache from the ambush in the past, though his arrow wounds under armour were still healing. Nevertheless, they had to be ignored as well. He was still able bodied, just more scars on an already scar-littered form. ``As it should be, Beathag. Soon enough you will be able to ride, but not yet.`` Eamonn replied before his eyes drifted down to her rounding stomach where under fabric and flesh rested the most precious of treasures. For a while Eamonn stared wordlessly, his own thoughts consuming him for a moment. He missed precious months of his daughter's development because of war, and weeks of his son's due to Aislin's little boat adventures. Silently he hoped that Adam was taking time he was robbed. Pressing lips together firmly, his eyes lifted, the spell broken, and turned them toward his sibling. ``How long have you been out here?`` He asked simply

Beathag: The one wanted dead yet who seemed not to die? If story spread fast in any measure surely someone talked about how Eamonn seemed to have a body made out of steel and thick, binding hides from mythical beasts to endure as he had. Was it from seasoned experience or the wealth of hearty blood that made quick courses in the veins with the heartbeat? Duty was a duty so to stand a'may in one's own personal story was frivolous. Turning her head to regard him, keen eyes made a study of her brother in quiet. For once, there was something that she did that did not have him at six's and seven's with her. It took the impossible to make it possible for them to stand in enraptured awe. A hand passed over the round globe of expanded belly flesh underneath the the black and gold wool dress. Pieces of split fabrics revealed white undersleeves and skirts, embroidered with the wing and head of a griffin. So it was the Lady Griffin had the Lord's first heir inside. Adam held her each night, spoke to her and the child during the days of what life would be like beneath the name of Aberdeen. He speculated over what it would be, with what eyes or hair, and was so in love that when his arms went about his wife his eyes looked out to turn away anything that would displease her. Because of that, and more, his men did things with the insistance he remain from the fields of battle to do war in politics on their behalf. "Two hours," she spoke at last when the moment ended and eyes met. "an hour here n' then an hour seein' to the wounded tha' have come up from Fieldren, back tae these walls tae mend." Beathag had been lodged with steel and arrow many times herself, but refused to be eradicated. (d)

Eamonn: Yet despite the stories, it was the magical and gifted hands of his wife that kept him alive so many times since he came to the Scottish provinces. It was Aislin that rescued him, saved his heart along with his body. Years spent in the thick of battle hardened him and gave him the ability to withstand pain well, but even he could not escape death, and Eamonn did not pretend to be invincible. Eamonn did not pretend to know Beathag and Adam's personal moments when he was not there, but he prayed silently that the two were taking the time and moments that he did not. This was far to special a moment to pass in his opinion, but these days Eamonn kept personal opinions to himself for some deemed them 'rude' and 'cruel'. When Bess spoke of two hours, Eamonn arched a brow, even moreso when she detailed what those 'two hours' had consisted of. Eamonn frowned lightly and stepped closer to his sister. ``Then I must insist that now you take a moment to sit and rest. There are others to see to the wounds of those who have done battle, Beathag.`` Eamonn said plainly as he offered her his arm to walk with her back to the castle walls--the walls she was so insistant on staying in despite the kidnapping of her son because of secret passages. ``Come.`` And that,surprisingly, was said with uncharacteristic gentility.

Beathag: When all four of them came together: Eamonn and Ailsin, Adam and Beathag? A family of unlikely origins and unshakable bonds were formed. Adam gave her a love that endured and the want to continue legacy, to no longer be the last. Aislin became a heart-sister and in loving Eamonn, Eamonn thus came near to where Beathag was. Each member held a piece of her in their hands that was never to be let go of. In her hands, Beathag kept them all. A familiar look of concern, a hint of disproval. Eamonn expressed insistance that she come and rest. .HI soffered arm found her hand come to rest there. A gentleness no one thought him capable of. Some never strive to see beyond the surface. Like any mirror, one gets what they put in or strive to see. "Aye." The looseness of hair waved. It wore pieces of snow, cavorted with the wind only to rest against her waist. The Lady of a Castle. A privlege, somehow, her ordained place. It could not have hoped for a more beloved and determined mistress, who for all of her known fierceness had softened so much that the woman she might have always been could at last be seen by those that knew her best, but then again, Eamonn had seen it one winter's night long ago when she let her eyes shed tears before him. "How fare you, from the battle?" The opposite hand reached up to gently touch the same arm he'd offered. (d)

Eamon: There were many things that people thought him uncapable of, emotions that would make him more than the stoic and cruel warmonger. That only went to show how little they knew about him, and Eamonn did not ultimately care. The thoughts and opinions of those that mattered were all he cared about. Those who did not wish to see beyond the surface were doomed to see only that. But Eamonn had a heart, he cared for his stubborn sister. He cared about Adam's safety even, though there were other thoughts hinged to that as well but in the weight of things he did care for Adam's well-being. As Bess took his arm, Eamonn placed his other hand over it, the leather-clad hand of his shielding hers. With his sister beside him Eamonn left the stables, stepping outside into the pathways of the castle grounds that led toward the castle. ``I am living, which I am grateful for. A few bruises, but that is all.`` Which was remarkable in itself. Aislin would be happy she did not have to sow another wound shut. Once they reached the castle, Eamonn helped her up the steps, being her anchour, and when they were past the doors and inside the warmth of the castle, hazel eyes turned down to Bess. ``You should not be outside the castle for so long, Beathag. Given these times, I request that Aislin and I stay here in the castle as well, unannounced.`` He said, for he had a separate reason for wanting to stay at the castle while the war took presidence over the lands. If anyone in desparation wanted to use the secret passages again to attack his family again, Eamonn would be there to contend with them personally. The guards would give his wife protection while he was gone, though she still had the escort of his men. ``I also must insist that you do not walk about alone.`` Eamonn added, casting his eyes down to her. His voice was not harsh or hardened as the Marshal was known too well for.

Beathag: To pass judgement without seeing how time could change one was foolish. To see the Horse Lord deal with Beathag in a manner reserved for kid-gloves did make some eyes look twice. Others, letting the image pass, returned to chores saying that nothing could go without being touched. Just as it was when Aislin held Beathag's niece and nephew, now it was she that held a child for them to cherish as members of the family. Once beyond the great doors, warmth flooded the old Norman castle. Be it in hearths or in braziers, the thick tapestries over the stones or sealed windows, it seemed no cold was allowed to graze them here. It was far brighter than it had been in many of the times agone and felt more like a home now than anything ever had. Maybe that is why she as loathed to surrender any aspect of it. The stubborn White Hound learned to bend in the breeze but it didn't mean she would ever forsake the gates she guarded. Maubrey would die a violent, bloody death before he was allowed to so much as think for an instant the castle or anything surrounding was his. "Tis done. Brom?" A turn of head over shoulder and to the side slight produced the man of mixed heritage. "Brother, this is Brom. He is Kendrew's second, n' stands inplace of him while he gathers his rest." Brom was silent, but then again his silence had been put there by Kendrew. To be seen if necessary, and to be as stark as the stones if not. "My lord. An honor." The knight had the foresight to condition a man to do as he did, to be as he did, for it was a job for more than one. "Ye n' Aislin are welcome tae come n' gae as ye would like, n bring whom ye must with ye as well." In their travels, they passed by one of the maidens who often folllowed after the footsteps of Rosalind or Liliana. She was given instruction to be extra vigiliant and attentive. Whatever Liliana wished, it was to be done quickly and cleverly. "There are many lives tae hold up 'ere," she gently squeezed his hand. Unspoken went the thought They are made of strong stuff, but it need not be so sorely tested. Still, she was determined her castle, her lands, would go on for generations after her own reign had ended. Pausing at a window, she idily traced one of the frozen panes (d)

Eamonn: Eamonn loved his sister, now fully and finally coming to terms with it himself and make that transition that he had a sibling. He wanted the best for her and her safety was among his top priorites. He tried to express that to her in many ways, perhaps not the best of ways. A castle could go on, a castle could survive, but a human was far more fragile than the stone walls of a castle. Brom? Eamonn quirked a brow and glanced over his shoulder and his sister to see the armedman. Well, if Kendrew trusted him, Eamonn was more lienant to do the same, though it took time building trust with Eamonn. But, he would put more stock in Brom than another guard. Eamonn dipped his bearded chin to the man respectfully. Eamonn expected his sister's hospitality, but he would always ask, it was a habit to do such. Eamonn turned his eyes to the women they passed briefly and pressed his lips together, the tall Lord Marshal silent and seemingly made of stone in his commanding presence. ``Indeed. Which is why I would prefer someone armed with sword rather than needle to follow you about in these times of war.`` Eamonn replied bluntly, before pausing with her by the window. ``This is unlike most wars, Beathag. Maubrey is a far more clever man the those that fight his wars. Under his direction, they are dangerous. Already once they tried to take Aodhan. Once Maubrey sees he is losing this war, I do not doubt he will try again...though his target will be larger and it will not be to simply take them captive.`` Eamonn said seriously, hazel eyes turning down to his sister. ``Do not give him the chance to do such, Bess. I ask these things not to control your livelihood or restrain you. It times of war, things are different. Now with a child in your womb I hope you understand that. I offered to shelter you and your child in Eohmark, which has no passages that Maubrey knows of because I built it myslf. But, you refused me. So now you place yourself in knowing danger. Now, all that I can do is do my best to prevent such from happening again by any means necessary. But, I need you to listen to me, Beathag.`` She was stubborn, he knew that, which made it hard to get Beathag to see his point or do as he asked. Exteremely hard

Beathag: "Do nay doubt the power o' a needle Eamonn, can take out an eye." She retorted with a small joke, but still remained appreciative of what he said. No, it was more than mere appreciation for the words. He was speaking a truth that was proven very real and a truth that by any means necessary was wearing down on the backs of good men. What ought be done? To be sheltered in the North at Eohmark was not bad logic but strong, and sensible. Even now she considered the attempt at making such a move as to put the household to the roads in winter? Was there more than one way? Her mind worked, it was clear, because she leaned against the stone wall with fingertips together. "He is a frightenin' man in how brilliant he is. He has all o' England n' half o' Scotland under his damned sway and it is evident wot he does nay remember someone else may find." She sighed. Leaving was not giving in - but maybe the castle could explain it better for itself. Walking in thought, she ceased at the next window. In the curvature of it, she sat beneath, surrounded by,beside the images of kin. Those who percieved Eamonn as stupid for all but steel didn't know that he thought with more than a warrior's head. Bringing her foot on a low cut in at the stone, it was evident she was considering things. "We should 'ave moved the Household months agae. They won't leave if Ah don't." Knowing that, it made it obvious, didn't it? But as the sun coursed through the stain glassed colors to warm the painted faces of people she or even he might have resembled it became clear that what was at stake was more than mere stone walls. It was the loss of a way back to what had been and a path to the future. It would be to dislodge, again, to destroy, again,the heart of something and hope for it to repair. It was the same strange love she had born for Aberdeen, if not even for the ground at Iverness because it was Highland soil. Only now the stakes were far greater than a personal love. (d)

Eamonn: Beathag's joke made his eyes roll. A needle could put out an eye but a sword could lope off a head. Which was the more effective tool for the job of defending? ``Leave the needles to stitching.`` Was his only reply to that joke of his sister. It was not so frightening to Eamonn, what was more disturbing to him was the fact that Bess and Aodhan were in clear danger and Eamonn was racking his mind with ways to best protect them. Still, he could not think of
a better way than to steal them away to Eohmark until Maubery was slain and the threat was over. Then she could come back to the castle and roam as she wished. But Maubrey obviously knew the passages and Eamonn feared the man would try to kill Beathag, Adam, even Aodhan in the night to cripple the morale of Skye. Eamonn knew a piece of these games leaders play, this was not the first time an enemy tried to kill those in power as a plot to crush their enemies. Eamonn was not stupid in the matters of war, husbandry of horse, and many other things that involved security. However, he had weaknesses just like anyone else, for he could neither read or write as his sister could. Still, Eamonn was functionally illiterate, and few knew it. That was the way it would continue to be. Hazel eyes shifted to his sister. ``In my opinion, you should. It is not too late, Bess. But as long as Maubrey is alive he is a threat to you. His mindless drones know nothing of these tunnels and passages. That is how he keeps control. His men are ignorant or else they would question him. I fear he will come after you next, Beathag...you and your unborn child..`` His voice faded and eyes turned down to her stomach. He wanted to see his nephew or niece live..he wanted Aodhan to have a sibling, Adam to have a child..Bess to be a mother again as she so longed for. Eamonn paused in his walking with Beathag, and turned to face her. His hands released hers and he gripped her shoulders gently. ``You are the beacon of hope for Skye, Beathag. Don't you see? Your survival gives men something to fight for. You and Adam are the light of hope for these people. Your survival on an objective level matters far more than mine. I do not want to bury my only sister and brother-in-law. You are as damned stubborn as me, and while I love you for it, it angers me to no end. These stone walls will live on long after our time. Think of how much more it would spite Maubrey to know that he tried to kill the Duchess and her children but failed because of the love of her people and family? It is not too late, Bess. I can take you and Aodhan and Adam should he wish to Heahburg, there you will stay until Maubrey is long and gone. These men are trying to cut Turas Lan off from aid...to surround you and trap you here within your own damn castle. Aislin has told me much of what has happened here in the city..`` He whispered, staring at her in all seriousness. Eamonn had half a mind to drag Bess to Eohmark, knowing Aodhan would understand far better than his mother would

Beathag: "The Immram.." she said the name of the sunken vessel and slapped her hand against the wall. What a stubborn, stubborn woman she was! Too stubborn to see what was truly before her face. "They've already begun tae try n' cripple thedocks. Wot a fool Ah be at times. Tae have such faith in things, when the signs point tae otherwise. Will nay be much o' a beacon if the royal beacon is dead. Ah'll begin the preperations tae move the household..twill take time as it is already rather strained but it will be done. N' if the court gathers 'round here they all run the risk of death. Balian, Jack Flynn." She shut her ees and the goodnes of his words didn't escape her as he whispered. A hand touched his face as his sister relented, though one would wonder if it was too late. "Tis at once me n' then not me..Gods." She began to muddle over the preperations as the corners of the world converged again. Turning points. The turning road. It was a staple of life in constant flux but they were not the only one subject to the whim of the world. With enough energy to rise from his bed, Caldean had enough of the stories he was told and wanted to see the proof of it for himself. Unable to contain the man to his room anylonger, it would be Kendrew himself, defying his own orders to rest to see he had his questions answered.


Kendrew"Nay, dun tell me how you ended up in so vile a place, m'lord."

If Kendrew ever lived to find a man encased in stone alive again, it would be never be to soon.

Caldean A heavy booted half-step came in conjecture with a full stride, albeit stiff. The dark haired man looked over the tapestries at the far end of the hall, in disbelief that what was revealed was all true. He had seen no face of his family in years save his children and his nephew, but now looked out to the female counterparts. "And you..guard her then? So nothing then has hurt her?"

Beathag:The conversation at the end of the hall had no baring yet to Eamonn nor Bess, who were concerned with other things. "I will gather them tagether n' tell them tha' we make ready to move as soon as we" are able n' a way is clear to dae so." (d)

Eamonn: Eamonn arched a brow. They crippled the docks as well? So it was far worse than he thought. However, Eohmark still had a free port, perhaps other docks about the Isle were still free and unwatched. The problem was getting out of the city. Once they were far enough away, then the roads were clear. But he was glad to hear that Bess would begin the preparations to move. Eamonn was relieved...deeply. He even sighed and his face softened for a moment with just the two of them. Bess' hand touched his face and Eamonn sighed a bit as he stared down at his sister. Lips pressed themselves together tightly, holding back his own emotions that seemed to start to rise up. ``It is not too late, Beathag. I will take you and your household to Eohmark until the threat is passed. The docks there are still free as far as I know. So, should the need come to sail for you, it is still alive.`` And he gave her shoulders a light squeeze. ``The best time to leave is between night and dawn. Maybe yourself ready and we will slip out. The roads are being watched, but we shall not be taking the road. I will find the fastest road for you. I promise, Beathag.`` Hesaid, for he promised Adam and her that he would look after her and protect her at any costs. Another good thing of her and her household being there was that his children would be with their aunt and cousin, for he trusted Bess with his children

Beathag: "Then we may need do tha', if the roads are too much. But somehow we will make leave from 'ere." He spoke on serious things, of preserving not only those he served but his own legacy as well. His family meant as much to him as it did to her. Having to surrender was never easy. Learning to give sway to others was a challenge each of them faced, but the softness of his voice had replaced the militant man and he was but a brother keeping his sister safe. "Ah know you will Eamonn. An know you will." She leaned forward and placed a kiss to his forehead and it would be this moment where the tapestry gave way to the first stained glass window. --

Caldean: And another. To see the faces etched in art's fashion was to see pieces of his life that he did not know extended so fast nor fathomed so much. It was still hard to believe that a piece of that was alive, let alone it was heir to this? "My mother could not tell me as many things as you, nor could m'father. Amhlaidh, I think, wanted nay part in it to keep them safe. Now I see why. But at the same time..it is who they are. We come from two different fathers, but one mother. Ne'er made difference tae Ahmlaidh. Beathag was his daughter and she was m'sister. She cared for me. " He touched what was a rendering of her..as a young girl "It has been years.." He said no more. Part of him thought these images only that. Just images. Surely she would prove to be dead and this would be but a piece he had left to hold fast to. He would even pass Beathag as she was with Eamonn, seeming no more than a statue, stark.

Kendrew: -- Yet as Kendrew passed by that same place, and viewed the profiles of all of them he realized that for all of Adam's anger, and all that it may cost him, he had done something right. "M'lord.." His summons was enough to make Beathag look up and at him, with wonder on her face that he was up and about at all (D)

Eamonn: But they were not surrendering. Eamonn would never surrender. But he knew that his family would be in the best hands if not his own but in his sister. She could live on and raise his children should he and Aislin not return, but Eamonn wuld give his last breath to see that Aislin escaped as well. This went beyond a military mindset. This was a brother trying to protect his sister and his sister's family. He wanted the best for them and see them live on, to see Beathag give birth to the precious child in her womb. Eamonn did not expect the kiss to his sirt smeared brow, but she did, and Eamonn tensed, taken aback from it, but he did not fight the affection from his sister. Touch, it was something that only his wife, children, and now sister did..he was still getting use to his sister's affections, but now it was easier than before...before he would have pulled away. How, the sound of Kendrew's voice and foot falls made his head snap in his direction and the Marshal to stiffen and straighten to his full height. ``Kendrew.`` He greeted, before his eyes glanced to the man walking onward and his brow arched. Who the hell was that? Perhaps it was one of Kendrew's cousin or relatives. Eamonn did not get much of a look at the man save the back of his head. ``Who is that? Another relative of yours Kendrew?`` There seemed to be a lot of relatives walking about of Kendrew.

Kendrew: "M'lord Eamonn." He greeted in reply, giving nothing but the salute of hand over heart, the lowering of head. It was not prudent for once to bow nor would he attempt it. Watching the man continue down the hall he called out "Sir, wait awhile if ye would. Come back." He turned up to Eamonn and shook his head, "M'kin grows, this is true. A name will do tha', hence why chose not to wear one. But he is nay of mine.." He gave it careful consideration as Beathag stood up to her own full height to regard the passing man. "More he is of yours, M'lord."

Caldean: "Is there somethin' ye wish me to do or see, Kendrew? Suppose if a man's savior tells him to still his feet, he ought." Though he was of a mind to keep on going. A bit gruff it was said, firm. He was a Norseman's son and came from Scottish womb. The recipe bred for height, strength. So he made his way back to Kendrew so that he could see what was to be seen. "Though what more will you show me tha' will not confuse me or make me rue the day..I.'

Kendrew:Kendrew's lips thinned slightly as he gave a slight bow. What introduction he could make, or story could he tell?

Caldean:"So it is...truth then." He sounded as if all his breath had been taken away you see, no matter how many times he was told of this place, of Beathag, and even of Eamonn to look on Eamonn, he saw as his sister had, Brycean's face. In fact it all but broke him into hard coughs, a product of being beneath the dank and stone."It...you did nay lead me false but..how.." His brow furrowed as he tried to grasp at hit, shaking his head in realization Eamonn probably thought him made.

Beathag: For her part, Bess was rather behind Eamonn to some extent. The man was unfamiliar, naturally..but as the discourse went on she took hold of Eamonn's arm as her eyes peeled to Kendrew for an immediate answer. Finding none, she all but stared ahead of her. Not fainting. Not bawking. The man had dark hair, but he resembled well the face of Beathag's mother. They both had traces of her, and he too had a shade of green eyes, though by no means as dazzling as Eamonn's or Beathag's, for those came from their father. The eyes were almost oceanic..a similar set Adam had in his own face.

Kendrew: "M'lord. M'lady. In the tunnels Ah found survivors." That was all he need say (d)

Eamonn: And the Lord Marshal dipped his bearded chin reverently to the veteran warrior who he trusted a great deal more and more each day. Eyes drifted to the back of the man a ways ahead as Kendrew called him back, before turning his gaze back to Kendrew. Not of Kendrew? Eamonn arched a brow. Then who's?...HIS?! Eamonn's eyes widened and his brows furrowed deeply. Eamonn had kin popping up left and right these days! How many more of his half blood were surfacing?! Eamonn had never seen Brycean, but heard from his sister that he looked like his half brother, features that both men shared with their father. Lips pressed together in a thin line as he stood there, stock still, staring hard at the man who had been walking with Kendrew. He was still so shocked that he had not even realized that Bess had gripped his arm. Finally, after staring wide eyed at the man, they snapped to Kendrew. Survivors? More than one?! ``HOW many more survivors have you stumbled upon in those tunnels?`` Eamonn barked out unintentionally, still stunned by this unexpected surprise

Kendrew: "Two, m'lord. Your nephew is still restin, recoverin' from the conditions o' the tunnels. It effected him harshly." He took hold of Bess' other hand and led her to sit again as he told her very plainly, "Forgive mah decption, but I could not upset either of ye, lest I know they would live first n' wot the stories were. Maubrey took hold of them on the way here tae find ye, once they heard the stories. He tried to murder them, Beathag. There is nay one of ye rkin this man hasn't touched. The tunnels held a room, a catacomb where once the court must 'ave gone to bury the dead. But there were those hidden there ne'er supposed to be there. Lord Adam's grandfather, his aunt, the young girl killed beside her bodies..n' the preserved bodies of yer mother, n' his mother..."

Beathag: At this she shot back up, steadied to still feet only by Kendrew's hands to her.

Kendrew: " Now listen tae me. What e'er Eamonn tells ye, follow it expressly. Yer husband may ne'er understand but now you do. He has taken out e'ery light here, n' I intend to see he pays for tha'.."

Beathag + Caldean: Beathag then turned to look at Caldean, who was still transfixed by Eamonn. When he was touched by Beathag Caldean startled, looking at the hand that touched him, and then the face, and all but careened into her. He took hold of those hands and put his head to them, before looking over to Eamonn. What in creation was he to say..other than. "I. I dun nay mean to , to harm..anything. My name is Caldean, son of Amhlaidh. We have shared a brother..n'..we share a sister, and..nephew. " (d)

Eamonn: Two?! Maubrey was going to pay all the more for all the pain he was causing his half-family, the side of his family that was bound to him by his father's blood. Eyes turned to Beathag once more and Eamonn helped Kendrew escort Bess to sitting down. However, the Horse Lord's attention turned right back to Caldean and his eyes narrowed into thin slits, studying and examining the man's features and face. even as he listened to Kendrew speaking of how he came about the two survivors. Eamonn watched stoicly and stiffly, confused completely and taken aback by the surprise of two more relatives on his father's side of the family. Perhaps if he was a son of both Bess' mother and their father he would have felt a stronger attachment and feeling. However, he did feel the anger at Maubrey for doing such to ANYONE, and what made matters worse was the fact that they were related to Bess and therefore related to him. Eamonn frowned and his hand gripped the hilt of his sword tightly in a means to vent. Under his breath he cursed and grumbled, threats to Maubrey mainly as he turned his head away and shook it, trying not to pace in the hall or draw his sword and hunt for Maubrey's head or slay anyone in league with the man. ``Kendrew, you are worse than a blood hound.`` He sighed out, nostrils flaring.

* Caldean appears first as a mysterious captive to the passages*
Journey Forward - Preperations - King's Way Three and Four

[Lady Rosalind Avalle]

Lady Eithne was a slim, mousy woman who had the patience of a saint, and a distinct talent for weaving both cloth and stories. She was a favorite among the younger squires, boys of six and seven years of age who had come to court to learn music, art, dancing, hunting, and so many other lessons that would serve them well as knights. Though the stories she told were beautifully crafted gems, she had taken the inherently Scottish route of cursing the main character for his good deeds as a lesson to the boys about humility. Rosalind, of a thoroughly more French disposition, was the favored lady when she recited her poetry and taught the young men their courtly matters.

"Who is the Duchess?" Rosalind asked them in French, the three boys sprawled before the fireplace, eyes aglow in the light as Lady Eithne stabbed at her embroidery, listening to the conversation with half an ear. "And who is the Duke?"

"Her Grace, the Duchess of Skye, by God and marriage Lady of the Isles," Angus said cheerfully, smiling brightly at Rosalind.

"You can call her 'Your Grace,' even if she says to call her Bess," Niall said somewhat more somberly.

"Indeed. And the Duke?"

"His Grace, Lord Aberdeen, by God and blood the Lord of the Isles, the Duke of Skye," said Niall, rushing to complete the words before Angus opened his mouth. Angus was always cutting him off! His verbs were always so perfect! His accent even sounded like the Lady Rosalind's! "What are you, my lady?"

"Och, Niall, ye clotheid," Cathal offered in his broad Scots. Rosalind hid her laughter behind a smile while Eithne indulged a guffaw. His two compatriots, somewhat more of Eithne's humor, giggled madly. "Ye right eejit. She's th' Lady Inveryne! Everyone kens tha'!"

"En Fracais!" Rosalind reprimanded, but all severity was lost entirely to laughter that swelled up within her. "Without the curse words, please, young Cathal. Where did you learn such words, hey? Sailors have more manners!"

"Sorry, missus." He bowed his head contritely, but being six years old and some months, his apologetic frown lasted but a few seconds. Niall elbowed him in the ribs. Cathal glared at his rival, lifted his head, and spoke softly in French. "Elle est le Dame Inveryne."

"How would you address her in the Great Hall?" Eithne asked, pausing in her stitches. "En Francais."

"Och, but sure, wouldna she be th' only one en Francais?" Cathal asked, canting his head in confusion. Angus giggled. "Dinna hit me agin, Niall, or I'll wallop ye! Hmph. Dame Rosalind, or, if we are seated together, ma dame."

"Tres bien, Cathal," Rosalind complimented, her eyes twinkling. "We will make a grand knight of you yet. Niall, how progresses your poetry? Have you committed your lines to memory? Her Grace will be so very happy to hear your poem."

"Aye, my lady." Niall, with the red hair and sea gray eyes, straightened in his posture as Rosalind addressed him. He had been hoping Cathal would take the brunt of today's lesson, and suddenly looked a little more nervous than usual. He eyed the Norman woman, as if appraising what sort of foe she might be in battle.

"He lies, Rosalind! He committed them, aye, to the back of his hand!" There was, Rosalind believed, no outrage quite like a seven-year-old's. Angus's mop of dark hair fell over his intense eyes, and a finger jutted at the treacherous squire. "G'wan, Niall, show her what ye did! Oof!"

"Ma dame!" Niall corrected, stretching out the second word as if any dolt should have known as much. Though Rosalind shifted in her seat, ready to stop the war brewing on the rug below, the boys were merely content to glare at one another. Rosalind had held before one or more of the boys as they flung their arms out like windmills, hoping for a chance connection to their compatriots' noses, and knew full well the strength of enraged Scottish children. But somewhere among her twenty-eight years, she had perfected a calm, authoritative stare that children could not but help obey. Angus even folded his arms in his lap as he straightened his spine.

These three boys had been her charges since they arrived at court two months ago. She had watched their struggle for knowledge, had helped them find their way in the busy castle full of lumbering giants and servants walking at high speed, and substituted for a mother who had given her child to the keeping of strangers in the hopes of giving them a future she could never afford on her own. The boys did not express feelings of loneliness and homesickness as an adult might, with tears and pouting, but with wild tempers that often erupted in fistfights, rambunctious behavior that had startled the meek Eithne, and healthy doses of humor that never failed to impress Rosalind. All three had such distinct personalities, Rosalind was constantly reminded of the young men they would some day grow to be, of the knights they would one day become, regardless of their shared penchant for jumping on furniture and learning to dice and curse from the guards. Though they would easily anger any rational adult, it was nearly impossible to stay angry with them. In the highly stressed attitude of the court, she was even more forgiving than usual, and invited them to sit closer while Eithne told her latest fable.

As they moved closer, Rosalind saw indeed than Niall had written the entirety of the simple poem on the palm of his hand, and as they listened to the tale, she used the edge of her skirt to wipe the ink from tender skin. Now was not a time for worrying about moving the court. It was not a time for worrying about the future. Life went on even amidst political turmoil, and in the eyes of these three young boys, just a few years older than her own son, she knew it was not only possible, but necessary to have interludes of fun and happiness, of imparting education, and instilling community.

She picked up Eithne's embroidery while the woman talked, and threaded her needle with pink thread to highlight the roses that would bloom so brightly come the summer.

[hotarokaori]

Kaori found herself battling the wind, constantly flipping her hood back over her hair as the wind did its best to blow it back. Damned blustery days! If Kaori were vainer she'd have been distraught by what the conditions were bound to do to her hair. Most fortunately Kaori was not as concerned with vanity as she was her task, therefore would not be deviated from her course. She wanted the hood over her head more for warmth than aesthetics.

In the castle for the time being, she had more time freed up. There was no travel to and from her cottage. The babes were right across the hall from her quarters. The children she tutored were right in the castle. It was easy for her to have correspondence sent out (such as in the case of the sword she wanted to purchase). Unfortunately, Marcos was out at sea and incapable of providing a much desired distraction. At least a lot of the research she wanted to do was on hand. And as things stood, Kaori had devoted most of her research at present to a very pressing, very personal pursuit. And while drudging up the past would do absolutely nothing to vindicate the charges William Maubrey had brought against her, she at least wanted to make sure she had every last bit of dirt on the bastard she could get her hands on. Kaori, though small in stature, was tenacious. She would find what she was looking for.

In the castle's library there was a lot of history, and William Maubrey's name did appear here and there. But it was not enough. She knew the Scholar's Hall would have more, just as she hoped the desk in her office would be a veritable treasure trove of information. When she had returned home after her name had been cleared of the allegations of treason, she had gone to the Scholar's Hall. Lloyd Conn who had treated her very cruelly when the accusations had spread, was only too eager to assist her in anything she needed. He felt terribly for the things he had said to her, but Kaori didn't blame him for it. Had the accusations been made of him, she'd probably have been just as severe. However, she liked to believe she'd have tried to get his side of the story first…

Once reuniting with her colleague and the air was cleared, she told him of a very important project she wanted him involved in. He was eager to comply. With his help they put together a group of about six people whose sole responsibility was to find any and all documents that concerned William Maubrey. Kaori didn't care how insignificant the information may be. She was to be provided with it all, and she would determine whether the information was relevant.

Finally reaching the Scholar's Hall, she took a few seconds to try and smooth windswept locks before heading for her office. One of the elder scholars spotted her and immediately headed toward her. Kaori was relieved to see it was Machar. Not only was he one of the men on Lloyd's team, he was one of the only scholars she was on a first name basis with, just as he was one of the only scholars who knew how to smile and crack a joke.

Exchanging a smile, he quickly fell in step beside her, a hand moving to the small of her back as they walked. "So ye remembered where we were?" he asked, a sly little glint in his eyes.

"Machar, I'm so madly in love with you, how could I forget?" she teased.

"Ach, ye little temptress! Boastin' affection just tae break me 'eart."

"It's going to be me with the broken heart if there isn't anything for me to research."

Reaching the door to her office, Machar quickly grasped the doorknob so she could not.

She looked up at him trying to appear stern, but the look on his face forced that damnable smile onto her lips.

"Ye know ah'd never let these knaves break ye 'eart." He then opened the door for her.

As soon as Kaori saw her office she gasped. "Machar?" she asked.

"Aye me, wasn't Lloyd in a tizzy getting all yer paperwork organized and put away proper. Then when yer desk was clear, we were able to start piling the information we found."

Atop her desk were open tomes with marked pages, documents and scrolls. There was everything from records of births, deaths and even old correspondence that ended up stored away. The corner of her mouth twitched upward before she said, "You've been busy."

"Ye gave us a job, lass."

"And you will forever be trusted with them from here on."

He bowed and left the room, Kaori quickly removing her cloak and running her fingers through a tangled sheet of black hair. She was a little guilty as she realized part of the reason she meant to work so dilligently was to keep from moping about about Marcos' departure. She worried about him so...

Snapping out of it, she made sure the open page of a large tome was marked, closed it, and then piled on some documents and scrolls before moving it to the small table near the fireplace. She then quickly grabbed a stack of parchment, an inkwell and quill to set on the table near her research. She grabbed a pillow from the couch and set it down before moving to her knees atop it. She was more comfortable working that way anyway.

"Very well, William. The game's not over yet," she murmured before starting with a rolled scroll.

[Peregrine Inveryne-Lamont]

The wind swept lazily through wind strands of sunwashed hair as he stood just over the hillside watching the valley, and with it carried promise of spring by way of storm. The rain could be seen in the distance falling like misty haze over the mountains, and the wings of his companion gave rush in desire to join the heaven--longing to be nested by the time the storm hit. However as crystal hues of the brightest blue met the dark glazed eyes of the bird he shook his head.

"Not yet M'friend, We have much work to do."

His gloved hand closed around the talons of the bird in training, as days would be spent simplifying marks and memorizing motions to carry messages back and forth between men and state.

[Lady Rosalind Avalle]

Kincardine, Scotland

Sir Alexander Fraser's father was a hero from Scotland's not too distant past, and though he never spoke of the man who shared Wallace's death, Fraser of Touch-Cowie was still a title many reserved for the late tanist of the Frasers, not his eldest surviving son, though it was Alexander's name and seal upon the Treaty of Arbroath. He became Lord Chamberlain to the Bruce in later years, and after the Bruce's sister outlived her first husband, became the second man to shelter the strong-willed Lady Mary. Scotland approved of the match, and God had been good in bestowing upon the Frasers two sons in fine health.

Mary's second pregnancy had progressed so smoothly, the birth of her son that November had come as a complete surprise to the Bruce's court, and peripherally, to the fortress standing at Lanark. But Rosalind had mentioned "discreet" did not begin to explain the Lady Mary. "She is a strong woman," she'd remarked. "She could be nothing less." He'd had no reason to disbelieve his childhood friend.

When he went to visit Rosalind in Aberdeen, he'd seen not a sign that the Lady Mary was with child. True, for a woman as advanced in years as Lady Mary, few were looking for such signs. If Rosalind knew of the pregnancy, she hadn't said a word. It was hardly his business, but in his conversations with Touchcowie, the man had never mentioned his wife was with child. It explained, then, why Touchcowie was unwilling to commit himself to settling the dispute between Lamont and Campbell, much less aiding in removing Rosalind from Aberdeen to a safer location in Turas Lan. He owed a debt to Rosalind, but not of the sort that would endanger his clan, family, or holdings. Such a lesson he had learned twofold in the death of his father and his own service to the Bruce. To remove himself from any obligations, and inadvertently lift the right of protection from Lady Inveryne, he moved his court from Aberdeen to the lands the Bruce awarded him nearly ten years ago in Kincardine. Lady Inveryne was on her own.

Colban tried not to think about her. But it was a long journey, with only his thoughts for company.

Colban rode again north to Fraser lands, stopping only briefly to shelter from the wickedly cold winter nights until he arrived at the fortress. Colban Campbell's frame was one easily recognizable as he picked his way up the road and over the drawbridge, for few Scots were as singularly representative of Scotland's mingled bloodlines as the flaxen-haired, broad-shouldered, giantesque castellan of Lanark.

There were formalities that could not be sidestepped as he went to present himself to Lord Touchcowie, bowing deeply before clasping the man as a brother. He had been disappointed to learn Touchcowie would not continue to extend the right of hospitality to Rosalind Lamont, but now he understood the laird's reasons. He would have done the same, had their situations been reversed. "It was a long ride," Alexander remarked without the expected question mark, leading the way from the great hall and immediately turning to a set of fixed wooden stairs that would take them to the second level of the fortress. It was not as well heated, but due to its distance from the fires roaring in the hearths below, it was also nearly deserted.

Colban was far more well-traveled than any of his peers. His youth had brought him to the plains of Jordan and the streets of Jerusalem. He'd returned with an honorific greater to him than knighthood, palm leaf sticking like a badge of honor from his satchel, his boots so worn with constant use, the soles flapped with each step he took. His French was as close to a native of Picardie as a Scot could hope to achieve, yet Alexander was not interested in exchanging anything more than formalities in the tongue, holding severe disdain for the lingua franca. It was an attitude Colban was familiar with. Lanark was many things, but worldly it was not.

It wasn't long before the two old friends resorted to Gaelic, and gave up any pretenses of gentle birth, moving from commentary regarding Colban's journey north to the minor crises that always seemed to plague the lairds of Scotland. "On a good week, I will only have four or five to deal with," Alexander said wryly. They had fought on the same fields together so many years ago. They had slept in the same ditches, scowled at the same muddy conditions, waxed poetic about the same women "back home." Alexander had been as much a mentor as his brother Arthur Campbell and his foster-brother Domhnall Lamont once were. The older men had prevented Colban from doing anything particularly foolish, and for that, he was grateful.

"You didn't ride up this way to congratulate me on the birth of my son, did you?" Alexander asked, arching a brow.

"I did, but no, that was not my only reason." They walked along the corridor until Alexander stuck his head in an open door, found a fire burning in an unattended hearth, and waved his friend in after him. The Fraser tossed peat on the flames, poked the fuel until the pungent aroma began drifting through the room, causing both men to cough violently until their lungs adapted to the smoke. When Colban had recovered, he leaned in toward the flames for warmth. "You heard of Inveryne?"

Fraser regarded the younger man with a neutral stare. Colban was a Campbell, but he had always been a strange man. He was loyal to his clan, assuredly, but he had also been involved in the treaty-making with the Lamonts after his return from the Holy Land. These days, such involvement was a death sentence in the clan, yet Colban had been appointed a castellan of an important Campbell stronghold. "It was captured by the Lamonts," he replied carefully, searching Colban's face for any hint as to the man's political leanings and finding nothing.

"Aye. But you recall our conversation some months ago, when you told me of Lamont's supposed numbers after Inveryne's fall near five years ago?"

"They were slaughtered, Campbell. Decimated. You were there, so what is the point of this line of questioning?" The Fraser's eyes narrowed with suspicion, but he had a point. Colban Campbell had charged into Inveryne nearly five years ago. He had seen the ground wet with Lamont blood. He had seen Rosalind ride out with her men before she had been forced into defending the last stronghold of Lamont. As each vassal of Lamont refused or was unable to heed her call to arms, the increasing sense of isolation had merely spurred the Campbells to make the bold move of capturing the clan seat. They laid siege in one of the bloodiest attacks since Wallace's day. The Bruce's silent approval had been telling.

"I know how they did it. And I am confident that your wife knows as well. She helped orchestrate it."

"Mary?" Alexander asked incredulously, but he had long since learned to value Colban's opinions. Though he had known the man when he had been little more than a boy, much had changed since Bannockburn. "Well. I would not put it past her," he added at last.

Colban smiled lightly, but he was not much amused. "I came to see her."

"Why do you not have something to eat first? Wash yourself? Change your clothes? No?" The Fraser suddenly ceased studying Colban Campbell, and began to worry about himself. What was his wife after by involving herself in this feud between Lamont and Campbell? Had she not learned her lesson when he was unwilling to pledge Fraser men to her pet cause? His brow furrowed suddenly. Colban watched these changes sweep over the man's face, the order of each emotion surprisingly mimicking his own reaction to Rosalind's suspicions. Finally, the laird straightened his posture and leveled a hard stare on the Campbell lad. "No," he said solidly.

"Will you not leave it to the lady's discretion to entertain a visit?" Colban asked, his voice neutral. He was well aware of how easy it was for a gentle tone to be mistaken for pleading, and one too firm as belligerent. Though the Frasers had little complaint of the men of Argyll, that was not to say he might suffer Colban Campbell's lack of manners any longer than he must.

His judgment paid off. Though the Fraser maintained his scowl, he jerked his head in a nod. "But only because I like you, Campbell! And the lady has only good things to say about you. Do not upset her." He relaxed ever so slightly. "Now. I would recommend you eat, bathe, and find a change of clothes. You smell of horse."

"Aye," Colban replied, bowing formally before taking his leave to the kitchens downstairs. He wondered what it would take to upset the Bruce's sister, and doubted anything he might say, particularly about the dramatic resurrection of Clan Lamont, might reduce the woman to hysterics. Still, before he was chased completely out of Touchcowie, he might as well first have a bite to eat. He was a growing boy, after all.

[Queen Beathag Aberdeen]

The Speaking Stone's Mountain - The Lady of Griffin Castle

The sounds of man, woman, and child at their tasks suggested that no life could be haulted by a War. How many times had the nation thus, been in this state? It seemed at each impass they had to fight for something. No one would be content otherwise, but there were still children to raise. Lessons to be taught. Chorese to be done. Things to oversee. Peasent or high borne, everyone had a place to maintain lest it fall away!

The Duchess heard them: Rosalind with the future in lessons of French. Liliana overseeing the acceptance of a younger's task. Kaori, too, was giving Aodhan a broadened world. Men spoke of more than war: They talked of their brethren, of women, of valor and things less than courageous. Bawdy things, heartfelt things. Maidens talked of marriage hopes or what favors they would give to a knight. Guardsmen made eyes at them, or among themselves before returning to sentinal silent stones. Scents rose up from kitchen and the laundering soap was heavy in the courtyard despite the chill in the air. The world went on and no one could stop that.

No one.

It was a world that bid to be recorded. Tales to be told, epics to be recited of old times while the new lent itself to be remembered. It was hard to picture Beathag with ink-stained hands but she wrote in Gaelic, in the way her mother had shown her, in the empty pages of the journals Murieall had not lived to fill. She remembered songs, that were as older than the stone at Glastonbury-Tor and spoke of a time when borders were little or nothing. There was a harp across her back, where some mentioned a woman with child should carry nothing, but to her it weighed far less than an axe once did. The East Wing rang with sounds and it was not uncommon for the Great Hall's fire rings to be lit with drinks and food a'plenty. Those who had no room elsewhere came to reside in the traditional manner if only to hear her stories.

"There once was a stone tha' spoke, n' when it was found it came to be shadowed inside of a great mountain there after. The stone n' the mountain said little at first, but in time grew tae become fast companions.."

The fable entranced children and the adults spoke on it with a bit of a philosophical bent, but the core of it was far simpler: Caldean was the stone wedged free, and she would be the mountain over him again. On the pages of her book she said this in plain, and if the Gods were willing, she would have taken anything to shield Eamonn, Aislin, Adam, and the children. But no one knew this aloud. It was not a time to speak of kin when kin had been the subject for so very long now. It was time to move forward.

The journey's means by speaking were easier than embarking towards the destination. In order to do this, aid would be necessary. Thoughts riddled, she did not turn to the great hall just yet, but toward where people might be found. This great life that went on about. That inspired her. That inspired the mountain to collect the stones of the land under her shadow to keep safe.

For always.

Who would be met here, in these halls, now?

[Lady Rosalind Avalle]

(Part I and Part II of this story)

The ladies in the Great Hall had convened with the young folk of the castle. As part of the day's entertainment, Rosalind had organized for a showing of her young squires' newly learned dance steps. French poetry was just beyond the young ones' grasps, but in the nature of six- and seven-year-olds, they had more than enough energy to devote themselves to learning the basic routines on the dance floor that they would build upon for the rest of their lives.

The three lads, after just a little prodding by the Lady Eithne, walked up to three of the young girls belonging to the handmaidens. The eldest, at eight, towered above Angus, but the lad saw no sense in backing down now, and bowed politely, then extended his hand. There were twitters from the more observant members of the Duchess's court, but Angus took them all in stride, attaching the pretty blond's hand to the crook of his elbow and slowly rounding the dance floor to take his place four paces to the left of Cathal.

The luthier began picking out notes on his instrument, and the young dance couples bowed and curtsied before joining together. Between them, they made a bridge, palm to palm with fingertips serving as the arch, before parting. They formed a circle, and the girls' skirts twirled like bright flowers. The boys' feet were light as they hopped along to the drumbeat. Rosalind and Eithne proudly watched their pupils, even through all the mishaps and lack of coordination. They would improve, and all of the ladies in the room had the experience of dancing with young men who had grown graceful only through practicing with patient partners.

At the end of the performance, Rosalind applauded with all of the ladies, causing the boys to blush and the girls to glow. The young ones seated themselves at the Duchess's feet, enchanted by the woman's natural empathy for the youthful, and perhaps hoping she would spin them another tale. Eithne was good, of course, but Bess was so much better!

Rosalind watched the young ones flock to her lady as if Bess had some magnetic pull. She was so distracted by the shuffling of bodies in the wake of the performance, she did not see the arrival of her husband in the doorway. So, Fearghus Lamont had returned from declaring his intentions to the Duke of Skye. He tilted his head back into the shadowy recess, indicating Rosalind should beg her leave immediately. There were boundaries even within Bess's famously friendly court that prevented anyone from commenting upon the rumors the servants still generated about the row heard from Rosalind's chambers before the door slammed shut. Though she had earned many concerned glances and carefully phrased questions with the addition of the bruise to her cheek, Rosalind had made no excuses for Fearghus Lamont, merely mentioning a "disagreement between man and wife."

"That he believes he is a man, and that I am his wife, is the root of our problems," she mentioned to Bess in private, smiling mirthlessly. "He is loyal to Skye, and is dedicated to yourself and your husband, insofar as it increases the fortune of our clan, but it is a very common motive after all. To destroy him now, as much as I would enjoy doing so, would cause grief as Lamont has never known. And Lamont has known so much grief."

The court was oblivious to the look exchanged between husband and wife, or so Rosalind felt. The world seemed to narrow, and though Bess's voice rang clearly among the gathering, she heard nothing at all save the pounding of her heart. She was terrified. The hands folded in her lap had turned white as bone. Whatever existed at her peripheral vision suddenly dimmed, and Fearghus Lamont standing in the shadows of the great hall would not indicate again that his wife should follow. Rosalind excused herself with a polite nod of her head, and parted from good company with storm clouds forming in her eyes. Lamont offered his arm in assistance, but lacking was any other indication of greeting.

Little did Lamont know the speed at which servants and guards had passed word of Inveryne's arrival to the handmaiden caring for Rosalind's son. Rosalind searched for a flash of either bright head of hair disappearing around the next corner, but saw nothing. Nor did she see her son in her apartments, having been safely smuggled to another part of the castle long before Fearghus threw open the door. She knew her system of hiding her son would not last long, and if one of her guards had been so bold as to betray her secret to Peregrine, she knew her game was almost finished, even if the victor was not yet clear.

She helped her husband undress, casting his soiled clothes into a pile at the foot of their bed. She mopped his face with a cloth dipped in the tepid water kept near a fireplace reduced to embers during the daylight hours. He took over then, moving through his ablutions without a sound, every action so perfectly normal, it made Rosalind's stomach churn with useless fury.

The war would not come soon enough.

[Lady Rosalind Avalle]

Kincardine, Scotland

"Sir Colban," the Lady Mary greeted him, rising from her chair as he crossed the room. He bowed formally, rather aware of the mild dislike the clan had for anyone from Argyll. They were renowned troublemakers, and Fraser had problems enough without any interlopers. "You have met my lord husband? Come, let us walk. Ladies, you are dismissed."

She waved them off as if shaking free of cobwebs, exiting the room and taking off at a brisk pace. He was beginning to understand where Rosalind had acquired the habit of thinking in motion. "My goodness, they are singularly dull women without the Lady Inveryne to chide them into productivity. The lady had a knack for inspiring the most interesting of conversations with but a few pointed words."

"Aye, my lady, and her discretion in retreating after the debate begins is another useful talent with which few are naturally blessed."

Mary Fraser laughed gaily. "She so neatly picks up the pieces at the conclusion. Let us not speak ill of those not present. Now, what say you, Campbell?"

Colban found Lady Mary's forthright attitude a refreshing change from the usual interviews he had conducted over the past few years. But he made no mistake regarding the woman. She was as crafty as her brother, and twice as motivated. She did not look the part of a woman who had spent so much of her life in a cage, but the fear had hardened her eyes. Though she laughed freely, though she lived her life as if it had not paused for years of rebellion and mourning, she had suffered hardships of a sort from which many did not fully recover. "I will never speak ill of the Lady Inveryne, only God's honest truth. I wished to discuss with you what happened that night in Aberdeen."

"I had thought you would ask much sooner. Our plans failed so spectacularly, I wondered what had halted your quest in assigning blame. What fault did you find?" He entertained the notion of Mary learning that look of perfect serenity despite grave accusations from Rosalind. Rosalind's face was not as well practiced as the Lady Fraser, but it was far more authentically composed. Mary's deflections caused her voice to rise ever so slightly, and the arch to her thin brows increased with her mock surprise. She did nothing so obvious as avert her eyes or fidget, but Colban could nearly feel the woman's heartbeat slow in her breast as she was forced to hold on to her calm. She was not obvious, but she over compensated. If Colban had never had his first trial in deciphering body language from the Picardie wife of his foster-brother, Lady Mary's concern would have been impossible to detect.

Colban mulled over her words briefly before forming a response. Though the seconds ticked past, their brisk strides through the castle gave him some leeway. There was no need for hurry in words when steps were meant to distract. "I was very careful in forming the guard of Norman soldiers. The route to the Skye ships was clear when I rode to your hall, and none knew of the escape save yourself. Did you make a comment to any of your ladies about Inveryne's absence?"

"No," Lady Mary said firmly.

"Did you perhaps mention the necessity for filling her position?"

"Of course not," she replied, only faintly indignant at his suggestions.

"Did you inform Fearghus Lamont's men?"

"I did no such thing," she said, her tone taking on a hint of brusqueness that it had not possessed before. "Lamont's men were far from Inveryne. You told me so yourself."

"I remarked Campbell men were far from Inveryne," he corrected mildly. "I had not thought Lamont so bold and so properly recovered from the disaster of four years ago that he would dare make a move."

"He is a conceited, arrogant man. I think, looking back, it was silly not to see what he had planned."

"But the money? To arm his men, to hire mercenary swords? Rosalind said the horses were of quality. And the priest was bought."

"I do not know how madmen come by their money, Campbell. Where there is will, there is certainly a way. Your lady was a way, and I am sorry to say, I do not see her being of further use to Lamont. Perhaps you ought concern yourself with preserving her life, rather than determining how she came into this situation. I do not like being blamed for mistakes, Campbell, but my husband has respect for you, and I have respect for your lady."

It would be petulant to argue whether or not Rosalind was his lady. She was not, and never would be. Lady Mary knew well what existed between the pair, and that it was not merely Rosalind's inherent stubbornness that had ended their relationship. It was something far more basic, and at the same time, something infinitely more complex. Lady Mary knew of the son of both Lamont and Campbell clans. She knew the measures Rosalind had been willing to meet to save his life. She had thwarted them all by alerting Fearghus Lamont's men to Rosalind's escape plans. But why? What had she to gain by encouraging a Lamont restoration?

Colban smiled weakly. The answer was so clear to him, he wondered why no one had seen it before. "Of course, my lady. Forgive my impertinence. You know well who wins in the war between my heart and my head, particularly when it concerns the Lady Inveryne."

"Mmhm," the lady responded, her face relaxing to a more natural expression. They reached the gardens, and though dull with winter, the hope the lady placed in seeing green again among all the gray was apparent in her stride. She slowed, as if to better examine the ground for telling shoots, the shrubs for tiny specks of green. "Will you take to her my love? Tell her that I am saddened by her position, and have ... empathy."

"Aye, my lady," Colban Campbell responded. Her word choice was peculiar. Empathy. He understood a dismissal when he heard one, and bowed once again before retreating.

[Lady Rosalind Avalle]

Supper that evening was a simple affair. In the deep of winter, Fraser had little ability to provide a lavish feast. It was also Lent, and though the belly craved red meat when temperatures plummeted and the snowy winds howled around the castle walls, only fish and birds adorned tables bereft of cheese and milk. He was glad for the bread he'd eaten earlier at Fraser's recommendation. Though the tables were light, they were not empty, and those that came to eat in the Great Hall left satisfied.

Lady Mary entertained the men at the table with a story she'd heard from a traveling merchant. The story was far bawdier than anyone expected, and there was a tremendous amount of laughter from the main table when she was finished. Lent was not an individual experience, but one synonymous with the approaching season of spring. When the chill of winter began to ease, eggs and dairy disappeared from weekday tables, meals were eaten at midday, and Sundays were welcomed relief. There was a good deal of humor regarding feelings of deprivation, and it was a common theme in minstrels' songs and bards' tales. Even Lady Mary's tale represented some of the longing for breaking the fast, as her off-color story was centered around some lewd references to eggs that caused even Colban's color to rise.

When they finished the meal, the Fraser laird indicated Colban to follow him to the fireside for a final chat. Colban had already mentioned he would leave on the morrow, if the weather permitted, and continue his journey westward. He was not sure if he could reach Skye before battle erupted, but he would give it his best effort.

"Who was the young man at our table, with the -- " Colban touched his finger to his upper lip. Whereas his beard was a thick red-gold, the young man in question had barely a fuzz.

"Angus mac Aodh of MacKenzie." He pronounced the name slowly, as if it were foreign to his tongue. "They have come to see the fisheries."

Colban made a general noise of confirmation, though the Fraser had just given every hint he was looking for a reaction. MacKenzie had never been on good terms with Fraser. The two clans had been warring over borders since time immemorable. Perhaps a Fraser had served as foster-brother to the MacKenzies, or a marriage arranged to make temporary peace a possibility, but that was as far as they came to an agreement. Fraser, the more powerful clan, was often a victim of raiding parties from the MacKenzies, and the response to such an annoyance was often ten times more severe than it was for Fraser's other neighborly disputes. To see a MacKenzie in Fraser's hall, and seated at the high table, was truly bizarre. "Are they not frozen by now?"

"Did I say the fisheries?" Fraser asked, smiling enigmatically. "Well. Perhaps you ought pay the MacKenzies a little visit. And every other clan that finds a miraculous and sudden peace with pesky neighbors."

"It is a very good suggestion," Colban replied. He knew not to expect simple answers from the Frasers, but the rising feelings of dread and anticipation were nearly too much to swallow. He wanted nothing more than to make all due haste to Skye and Rosalind, but it seemed this was no longer his mission. His own clan was divided amongst itself. Lamont's resurrection was complete with their restoration as Lords of Inveryne. Fraser was making alliances with former enemies. And the Lowlanders were spurning their Scottish kinsmen for English overlords. What was this world coming to?

"You know," Fraser said quietly, glancing away from the fire so that blue shadows limned his features. "If MacKenzie chooses to fight, we will have no choice but to follow. There would be no greater shame than to allow MacKenzie the glory of being right."

Colban laughed, but then quickly sobered. The Fraser was not kidding.

[Lady Rosalind Avalle]

The first week of Lent was trying for Colban, but without the opportunity for deviating from the diet, he could merely dream of meat and dairy. Alcohol was limited to weak, watered ales in taverns along his way to MacKenzie, and his journey was made all the longer by encountering a MacKenzie patrol headed not in the direction of home, but as an escort toward Chattan territory.

Colban decided to follow.

The Chattan Confederacy consisted of some of the oldest clans in all of Scotland, and most powerful at present was MacKintosh. When MacKintosh's rival, John Comyn, declared for Balliol, MacKintosh was rewarded with stewardship over Comyn lands in Benchar and Badenoch, a transition that not only cemented MacKintosh's influence in the region, but powerful ties in loyalty to nearly sixteen lesser clans. The current leader of Chattan was Angus MacKintosh and his daughter, Eva. They were a pair uniquely suited to the difficulty of appeasing the clans of Chattan, and of course, he could not hope to guarantee an audience with either.

Fortunately, the bonds forged at Bannockburn were many and strong, though some had regrettably thinned over the years. Clan Shaw was represented, and were the Macleans of Dochgarroch, MacIntyre and Badenoch. Both were very receptive to hearing from a Campbell, though the looks of suspicion he earned were more than a little deserved. The Campbells of the past were staunch supporters of the Bruce. Surely, a little more than a decade and the loss of Inveryne had not weakened the Campbells so much that they now turned from the Bruce and looked west?

"Is Chattan for war, Ewan?" he asked the Shaw clansman as he settled into camp with two men he'd once fought beside. He was a truer-looking Celt than Colban, for certain, with his low brow and swarthy complexion. He was short, too, and when he rode, he looked like a sinewy youth racing across the hills, rather than the stout man of fifty who barely came to Colban's shoulder in height.

"Och, that's what we're to determine, no? I dinna ken ye'll be allowed in th' meetin' halls, but mebbe they want ye t' tak' a message hame. 'R westward," he added thoughtfully.

"If Mackintosh joins, so will th' rest. There's no surprise there," Dougal Maclean offered. "Mebbe wi' MacGillivray, but they've always been stubborn wee bastards."

"It never fails to amaze me how th' lot of ye manage t' get any business done," Colban grumbled, though there was mirth in his voice. The two men looked askance at one another, thought about the amount of bickering that went on even during peacetime, and finally shrugged in unison.

"Mebbe we're no' fer war," Angus said at last. "Mebbe we're tryin' to keep the peace. I'm no' sayin' Skye's no' got the right, but I dinna ken if fightin' is required, aye? Mebbe we sit for a while and we think things out."

"But mebbe we fight, too," Maclean added. "I canna see m'self fighting agin' th' Bruce. Were we no' just fightin' for the man? Och, it stinks of treason."

"It stinks o' th' English," Angus corrected. The blunt statement seemed to shock both men into silence. The night grew long around the roadside fire, and Angus leaned into it for warmth. There was nothing to distract the Scots tonight, with the holy days of Lent stretching on into what seemed like eternity.

Colban wished they had a jug of something to share.

"Skye will fight. She has no choice, aye? So what then? Lines will be drawn again on the maps, and tha' canty MacKintosh had better have an answer. Mebbe ye dinna need visit our halls, laddie," Angus said softly. "Mebbe ye have yer answer right here. Chattan's as in th' dark as th' rest o' Scotland."

"I fought a damned war durin' Lent once," Maclean complained, putting to words what all three men seemed to be thinking at that precise moment. "I dinna want t' ever de it agin!"

Colban smiled wryly. "Would ye rather sit on yer thumbs fer six weeks?"

"I personally ken Scots are grand at most things in life, but waitin' is no' one o' them, my Campbell friend." Angus dug through a satchel beside his log and found a small flask. "His Holiness be camped out on that western isle we're meant t' fight for afore long. Does he say nay to an offered cup o' wine tha' is no' the Lord's blood?"

"Ye'll be lightin' up the town square wi' tha' attitude," Dougal Maclean reprimanded mildly. But he held out his hand for the flask. When he offered it to Colban, he thought about refusing for but a few seconds, but ended up wrapping his hand firmly around the bottle and tipping its contents down his throat.

"Pfft, I hope 'tis no' fer a bit o' whiskey I be burnin' for," Angus Shaw remarked, offering a rare grin as the sun finally plummeted over the stand of trees and cast their camp in utter darkness, save the telling fire on the roadside, and specks up and down the nearby hills signalling other travelers destined for MacKintosh lands.

[hotarokaori]

As the days continued, Kaori found herself working more and more. She would guiltily set aside time to play with her children and sit with them for dinner, but right as soon as they were laid down to bed, Kaori would be right back to the Scholar's Hall. Unfortunately, her devotion to her project was not without at least a little criticism.

"Jest where dae ye think yer goin?!"

The question surprised Kaori and froze her before she could clasp her cloak. She and Mary Beth had never had what one might consider a typical mother/nanny relationship. On some occasions, Mary Beth spoke to Kaori as if she were a child herself. "Where do I go every evening?"

"Exactly! Ye go every evenin! Gracious, child, look at ye! When's the last time ye've seen the sun?"

Sighing, Kaori said, "I admire it through the windows daily."

"Me point is that ye run about the streets every night, but ye cain't find time to enjoy yerself since yer always werkin!"

"I have a job to do, Mary Beth," Kaori said, rubbing her temples. It was odd that she felt the need to defend herself to a woman under her employ, but Kaori was never one to pull rank. Mary Beth was not half as educated, but a shrewd old woman. Kaori knew the children's nanny probably had a vast deal more common sense, and Kaori respected her for it.

"What good is yer job doin? Tryin tae find information on a man so far out of yer reach that it does nae even matter!"

"It does matter!" Kaori spat back, reeling on her.

"Make sense of it fer me, child! Go on. And then I'll let ye go right back tae killin yerself, aye?"

"That man made me look like a traitor, Mary Beth! He made my friends doubt me! He made my colleagues scorn me! He made me look honorless! And the worst part of it is, he thinks he won. That pompous old codger can go about his life with a smirk on his face because he thinks he always wins. He thinks he beat me. And while he may be out of my reach, I can do something to him he couldn't do to me: Irrefutably prove which of us is honorless. I am going to unearth things he never wanted anyone to know. And I am going to flaunt them everywhere so he knows just who is responsible for digging up his dirty little secrets."

Mary Beth had been watching Kaori with narrowed eyes, tapping her foot on the carpeted floor. When Kaori stopped speaking her foot stopped tapping and she remained silent for a few seconds. Finally, she said, "Yer a sore loser," quite simply.

"You're damn right, I am." said Kaori, clasping her cloak. She then looked up at Mary Beth who stood a good few inches over her (which was something the old woman was not used to and absolutely loved). "May I take my leave of you now?" she asked rather sarcastically.

Snorting back a laugh, Mary Beth said, "Try tae get in before midnight, child. Ye need sleep jest like everyone else."

"No promises," said Kaori, leaving her room to exit the castle and head back to her work in her office. She was hoping Nathan would have something for her by now, but knew he had alternate responsibilities just like she. At this point she was grateful for whatever support she could find.

[Lady Rosalind Avalle]

"It is for the eventuality that we must leave court," Rosalind said calmly to the few of the handmaids she trusted most with the doings of the court. They had gathered in Rosalind's chambers for the dismal, bitterly cold day, a tray of soft pretzels forgotten in the center table, even as they steamed invitingly, fresh from the castle kitchens. Rosalind stood by the hearth, a hand gently resting upon the mantle to provide some balance as she gave directions.

Strewn across the floor were yards of uncut fabric. The ladies had quickly moved the furniture to the far walls, clearing space in the middle of the Lamont chambers with the exception of the low table bearing the pretty, deep golden knots of bread.

"We will need warmth," Rosalind added, seeing doubts upon one or two faces. But the common sense reassurance did not erase those looks. She tried again. "No brocades. No silks. Undyed wool, to keep in the heat, to expel the cold, to keep us safe from view. Soon, days will come in which you will be glad for the plain wool, for silk will let in the cold, and bleached fabrics will reveal you to an errant beam of light. Now is a time for practicality. I would also like you to sew hidden pockets at the corners. I will show you how. We will take the finished products to Her Grace and I will find crates to put them in, so they may be lifted and carried away with ease."

"Pockets, my lady?" one asked, tilting her head, as if trying to make sense of words that suddenly seemed as impenetrable as the Norman delivering them. Rosalind had a reputation for silence. Among the few she rubbed the wrong way, her silence made her a prickly woman indeed, but for most, they were able to catch the warmth of her spirit, even if her words were dry. Most of the clanswomen knew who the Lady Inveryne was anyway, but were too shy to mention the fireside gossip to the lady's face. They knew she had much to answer for, and suspected she chose to keep her silence, lest she begin confessing and never find a place to rest. As they came to know the lady better, they realized it was merely Rosalind's way. She was diplomatic and pragmatic, and when she set her had to a task, it was finished by the time she found sleep that night. Severe opinions of the lady had lessened somewhat in the weeks since Fearghus Lamont's return. The back halls and lesser stairways still rang with servants' whispers, though these too faded with time, as the urgency faded to the greater feelings of dread creeping at the edges of Griffin life.

"Here. And here." She picked up an edge of the fabric. "But hidden, yes? The seams you will stitch so delicately, the pocket will disappear. Look, you barely pluck at the weft, slide the thread beneath, perhaps twice the span of your hand? We must pad the blankets to compensate for the bulk in the corners."

"Aye, my lady," the women chorused, looking to Rosalind, then to the fabric. After a second's pause, one of the women dropped to the floor and began measuring out the lengths. The other left, returning a few minutes later with a huge basket filled with tufts of carded, unspun wool for stuffing. The blankets would not be comfortable, but they would be warm. And they would have the added benefit of traveling well, while allowing the women of Griffin Castle to hide what valuables they could not wear as they fled to safety with the Royal Family. God forbid they would take advantage of the ingenious and devious design of the blankets, but there was certain comfort each lady took as she put her needle to the wool and began the first of many gray, innocuous blankets.

Rosalind left them to the task, speaking here and there with servants and upper staff, attentive to their slightest change of mood while maintaining a serene expression, somewhere in the gray area between concern and care. She was stoic, and proud, a strong mix of lesser sins and greater graces, and utterly human as she sank exhausted into bed each night beside an utterly indifferent husband. She helped the ladies fight off the grims, and while the days were filled with the pleasant pursuits of a courtly life, they were not without the quiet workings of preparing a household's potential flight to safety.

"I dinna ken where they go," one of the clan ladies commented as Rosalind poured an herbal brew into the woman's cup before pouring one for herself. "But they are so busy!"

"Are you in need of a servant, my lady?" Rosalind asked, hoping the lady had no need to resort to wandering the halls, looking for one of the elusive maids.

"Heavens, no! No, child, gracious. They are very attentive. I have th' feelin', a strange one, tha' they are as ready ta fight as our menfolk. Bless you," she added, accepting the cup of tea and puffing air across the surface before taking a sip. "Have ye honey?"

"I was just about to offer," she replied, picking up the small pot and lifting the long spoon, ready to drizzle a small amount into the lady's cup. The lady, in her forties and missing several teeth already due to her love of sweets, gave no indication of telling Rosalind to stop, but let the honey drizzle down into the cup for a very long minute. "There is entertainment during the day, if you are of a mind to join us? He Grace has a knack for telling a story, and several squires I have taken into my tutelage are learning new dances and French verse. Perhaps my lady has talent within her own keeping to share with Her Grace?"

The lady grinned, held out her hand to tell Rosalind to put the honey away, and then nodded. "I do, indeed. Several of our younger ones are learning dances, and we have a few older boys, not quite ready for a fight, talented in the drum and lute. Isna tha' the wonder of gatherin' folk together, but seein' all th' talent they bring inadvertently?"

"It is," Rosalind agreed. Though her mind was much occupied by other preparations, it was nice to begin making a list for preparations of another sort. She must talk it out with someone else of a like mind, for her head was growing too small for the ideas forming within. "Though I wish it was for a more joyful reason we gathered."

"Pish," the woman said, sitting upright in her chair and giving her tea another puff of air. "If we waited for reasons to celebrate, the world would be a verra grim place. Make a reason to celebrate. And remember He does not give us more than we can handle." She gave Rosalind a rather shrewd look. "You are the Lady Inveryne, are you not?"

Rosalind's expression did not change by long practice, but she did incline her head slightly in acknowledgment, causing the older woman to suddenly burst into laughter. Perplexed, Rosalind kept her silence until the woman offered an explanation for the outburst.

"Tak' off your wimple, my dear. My grandmother wore such things all her life. And my mother, but only after my father passed. God bless his soul." She crossed herself swiftly. "My mother said on her deathbed, you know, she had but one regret. It was keeping her hair bound up on top of her head, when she spent most of her life growin' it long for my father. I suspect you have lovely hair, my dear. And you are young!" The shrewd look returned momentarily. "An' I have it from my husband you are no longer a widow."

Rosalind's expression softened ever so slightly in the face of the lady's blunt honesty. "I am not, but I find I am accustomed to mourning. Domhnall Lamont was a good man. I do hope you enjoy your visit to Skye, my lady."

"Are you going too?" she asked, a puzzled cant to her head. "Ach, will no one here indulge an old woman and sit still a while?" It was an utterly rhetorical question, for the lady merely bobbed her head and allowed Rosalind to depart, the tea she poured for herself still steaming hot.

War preparations, distractions, a lifetime of tasks to do in only a few weeks! She took deep breaths as she made her way down the corridors in her unique stride, finding it far easier to think about the tasks at hand rather than how the lady's comments rang in her head. She offered explanations to those she loved to dearly to continue making excuses, and was glad she had reached such an age in which she knew the difference. She told herself she would dismiss the woman's comments as the nosy ponderings of the near-elderly, to be placed in a box with questions regarding religion and childrearing. But she was clearly distracted when she stopped one of the ladies now overseeing the blanket project, and not quite focused when she met the Duchess to discuss an idea she had for entertainment.

[Lady Rosalind Avalle]

Rosalind had never quite adapted to the dreary days of a Scottish winter. She kept her hands busy to distract the mind from the inherently heavy mood of those slow, low gray clouds spinning slowly out toward the sea. Somewhere, just out of view, was the Firth of Lorn. A day's ride across the rocky, difficult hillsides was a home her mind returned to again and again, never quite forgetting the terrors of that spring nearly five years ago, but often coming to rest in the halls and rooms she had built her life within, to the wild places on property never quite tamed, to conversations with men who were now ghosts. In memory, the skies were always blue, and there were tiny tufts of white clouds on the horizon. It never rained. The ground was never swampy. The air never grew too hot. She never once prayed for the relief of autumn's cool breezes in the humid height of August. She caught herself imagining Inveryne again and blinked at her reflection in the water. She was many things, but haunted she was not, and reflecting on the past did not help with the present. She flicked the still water in the bowl, wiped her hands on a soft towel at the bedside, and left her chambers. She was not usually distracted, but she could not, for the life of her, remember where she left her basket of embroidery things. The first place to check was with Liliana, which required crossing the entirety of Griffin Castle, giving her time to reflect on more pleasant things -- like her young squires, and their progress with the poems she assigned them.

Smoke and mirrors would help none, but an illusionist who tread far too deep inside the light of his own good. It was here, inside the hearth a fire burned that would turn magic into illusion as he envisioned the man's death. Alen would someday learn to be careful with what deeper insight he played. The magician would dig too deeply on the matter of dark arts, and soon find the fury of a thousand boiling suns upon his back. It was not like the pirate to be so filled with hatred and anger, but for the first time in his life he lost a battle of hearts. His wit and charm could not work, and for this his anger only mirrored the fire he sat before. A king upon his throne he felt just as dangerous as those dancing flames. He felt his heart beat with a hundred desert drums, and visions of bodies moving in rhythm kept his sanity. This was the heart of a true Gypsy, be him of blood and birth, or right of passage; This man knew he had played to fool far too long. He played the restless careless rake well, and fooled an entire fleet..nation, but no more. With his rise even the burning embers hissed, across the heated stone in fear. The darkened sky played well into the facade, but it was the light of the fire that could only fuel the image. Like a panther through the jungle the darkened halls would fall victim to his prey. How long had it been? A year? A month? Three days? Since he felt the darkened shadow of hatred, greed..revenge purge his thoughts of trying to make it right? You could cage an animal, but could ever tame a beast? There was a storm on the rise, the sea promised it but as he stalked in behind the woman, there was an even deeper brew of passionate power inside the deepest of blue eyes, "Have you lost something?" His voice could rival rolling thunder in the distance as it rose from his chest, but when the shadow pulled away from him like a veil of black silk his Cheshire smile could not be mistaken. "Looking for me?" That grin would cease to a careful smile as he kept in time with her steps, should she still he would turn, should she continue he would not be far behind.

"Only my sanity." The comment wasn't as acerbic as it deserved, owing to the fact that she liked Peregrine, despite her better judgment. When he fell into step beside her, she studied his face momentarily, offering a welcoming smile and only slightly slowing her pace. Her awkward gait was more than cosmetic; it was quite painful, particularly when the weather changed, but like other immovable objects in her life, she merely worked around it. She had spent so many useless hours charging headfirst into danger, when gracefully abandoning the obstacle would have been the healthier choice. "Good day, Peregrine. You wouldn't have seen my sewing basket around?" She enjoyed spending her time in the background, working to ensure the necessary chores of keeping a smoothly running court were overseen, without stepping too far out into center stage. It was odd for a courtier. She might have made fame and fortune far more easily if that was a route she had ever considered. After she checked one more room, she finally came to a halt. "I did not have the chance the other night to properly thank you for escorting the Lady Scholar and myself back to the castle. It was a foolish thing to do, but it felt right, hm? Thank you."

The concentration in his eyes bore heavily on the path before him, as it seemed even his shoulders shook with the lust for blood. Like an addiction he was coming down from the high, changing his life for what one would thing was the better, but for so long it was all he knew. Her words were lost, though the sound of her voice was the beacon that would lead him home. "You do not need to thank me.." His quiet words shifted in her direction, as casually he placed his hands in the pocket of his captains coat. A deep rich gray color outlined in a smokey black. It seemed to fit, or contrast perhaps with his true nature, but as a gift from one pirate to another--it was cherished. "I have not seen your basket..but I will help you look?" He prayed for the distraction, please..eyes spoke for him, in dire need of something else to settle his thoughts on. "Where was the last place you had it?" He felt himself ask, but was speaking out of character for him..and speaking in turn. She was looking for her basket, he would help..simple right? However, was he ever simple?

She did not hear the plea in his voice, but she heard the pause, the strange note to his voice that ran contra to his theme and sent his spirit into discord. Something was off with this new friend of hers, and she could not begin to determine what it was, but thankfully, one did not need a reason to understand action was necessary. She was built in the same fashion. "I believe I had it when I visited Lady Campbell yesterday. I was on my way there now, but I thought I might check a few rooms along the way. Let us walk, it will do us good." She was not chipper, merely pragmatic, and started toward the Campbell rooms with Peregrine at her side once again. "It has been busy in the castle. Watch the servants when they walk." The Griffin servants were always efficient, but now they walked with the briskness of soldiers hurrying to report for duty. But it was not with confidence that they moved through the castle -- as they passed a group of three, each had bowed heads and rounded shoulders, appearing and disappearing so quickly, they did not notice either Rosalind or Peregrine. She glanced sideways at Peregrine, lifting a brow. "How very strange and disconcerting." She finally quirked half a smile. "What brings you here today?"

"Indeed." He mused as just this walk soothed his very soul, but when dark blue eyes passed over the servants he would turn a side glance to his companion, "Hmmm so now we are left with two options. I have no doubt that the war has the entire castle under alarm, but what would be their cause?" Following the lines of the women as they passed he would chase the edges of their ends with the hunger in his eyes. Back to normal? Almost. His steps stilled weighing the choices of either following the serfs or finding her basket. "I.." His hand would reach out and carefully touch her arm to ease her steps, as they now stood in the great room. "I'm..doing nothing." Distracted eyes parted from the path to settle inside her own for what seemed would be the first time as it was clear he had truly not noticed her until now. With the salty sea air mixed with the rich scents of the earth, he needed to wear no perfume or oils, but the scent of the burning wood carried well over his attire, "I'm helping you find your basket. Liliana's room right?" Blue hues faced forward again as he continued to walk easing to let her catch up. "Where is that Prince Charming of yours today? Out with the ranks I would assume? General sending him home tired.." She didn't have a new bruises..at least that he could see, so there was no doubt the man was lost to his cause. Maahes had a way of breaking a man, and many did not even realize the day was done.

"Right. My basket." She met his gaze. That note of discord sounded again, and disharmony rang in his eyes. She wished vehemently they were somewhere not as public, that she might ask him, but clearly, he did not wish to be asked. He changed the subject, deflecting attention back to her. It was a habit she had only recently discerned, and did not quite make her feel as though she walked around with a sign attached to her head demanding pity. It was merely Peregrine's dissembling, and now that she understood it, her first response wasn't to give him a cold shoulder, but to keep him moving along until he wished to stop. "I do not know where he goes during the day, but I expect he goes to see the men. We do not talk much. It is better this way." When they talked, they inevitably warred, and Rosalind had but one successful battle since their marriage -- her final escape to Skye, and the few months of peace she had enjoyed while Fearghus believed her dead. "He comes home late," she added as an afterthought. She knew the general's reputation, and had waited in some hope that Fearghus would return broken, even at the expense of Clan Lamont, but that had yet to happen. Fearghus was the most determined man she had ever met in her life. For good or ill, he was at least committed to action. "Her room is that way," she said at last, her turn to deflect, indicating the corridor on the other side of the room from where they stood.

Mischief would return to his eyes in a brilliant show as she tried to keep them on track, "Let's take the long way round. Less..people." People in whom he had crossed, or perhaps owed money to..the chances were endless, but for now he longed to simply be in quiet halls. The Castle was beautiful it's tapestries captivating, and for a world that knew very little color it was a treat to see such vivid paintings. A true lover of art couldn't miss their true meanings, but a true love--perhaps. Gently he would take her hand as if on an escape to lead her down the closed corridors, and of course worried she would question his motives, "This leads to her room, I promise." How did he know? Why any good thief would dare not tell his secrets now would he? "Why bother having a conversation with him hmm?" There it was, that light brightening his eyes, "You've got me..the little alluring friend of yours, and an entire fleet of women who would love nothing more then a little gossip hmm?" The hall less traveled seemed just that, as dust gathered in cobwebs in the corners. There was so much castle how could the cleaning keep up? "And how late is it he comes home?" The hour of the day was growing late, and he wished not to see her face broken again..but deep down knew he could not handle it. He was straddling the line between right and wrong, the thin red line..This man would find his undoing, and Peregrine would be beheaded no doubt.

She was torn between blurting out what she wished to say, to prove she never took anything in life as passively as he believed, and keeping the light tone she had taken since their first greetings. Leaving the great hall for the dusty servants' passage seemed to seal her choice. "I fought him. When he came. He hit me first, which caught me off guard -- " her words started slowly, then built up speed, like a boulder tumbling downhill. "I threw myself at him, tried strangling him. It didn't work as well as I had thought." She smiled faintly. "Perhaps I need a knife. Next time." She sighed lightly. "There is a great deal between he and I. He is my late husband's brother. That is reason enough that the priest should not have married us. He -- a long time ago now, my husband fell in battle. I led our men, riding out in his armor, until I was backed into Inveryne. I sent out cries for help among Lamont's remaining clansmen. Fearghus was the nearest, at Dunoon at the time. He could have come. He should have, and all the men and women and children that died at Inveryne would still be alive. But he waited. He waited until he was certain his brother was truly dead, and by the time he arrived, Inveryne had fallen. He ruined Lamont to bring it back, and while I do not understand why he would do this, I .... " she threw up her hands in an utterly Gallic gesture. "I do not doubt his determination to do with this clan what he wishes. I thought I had left Lamont a long time ago, when I fled south. I thought I would stop caring. But I cannot. If something happens to Fearghus, the clan will fall for its last time, and I cannot fault Lamont for Fearghus's madness." Her words finally came tumbling to a halt. She clasped Peregrine's hand again.

It was in her touch he could watch her story, this life behind visions. In her memory it was so real, so haunting that even he could smell the horse's hide as she rode into battle. The sounds of a clan on her own back, the weight of their lives in this precious little hand. His thumb would brush the back of her knuckles and inwardly mused at such a delicate flower wielding a weapon. However, in his long road down the path of maturity and those concerns with women, he was never surprised. "It is not in your to not care, you are not like me..you give a damn where concern is meant. This I knew from the moment I met you, and your frowning face." Deep into thought he seemed to fall head first, as clearly his answer for everything was not her own. "So long as my ship sets in that harbor, you have an escape, but I would not mistake you for a coward. That would be what I would do." He smirked lightly to her keeping their tread slow. "I can not pretend to not care when he hit you, as you can see that very clearly. It's the only justice I truly want to feel, his own face breaking below my hand. Even in this war, I couldn't find a reason to attack myself to one side, save for the ties I have already in the heart of Skye. I would go to the losing side to make this fight worth remembering," His own confession, "Even now doing the 'right' thing feels so wrong, but I just needed that reason." That, emphasized even with her hand inside his own pointing in her in direction before letting them fall again. "You keep on smiling like that, and I'll keep trying not to kidnap you." Would it be any comfort to her, a woman of high society that the king of the underbelly of Skye was on her side? That a clan of his own would be in waiting graces, of thieves and tramps..gypsies. Always in history, the underdog would win, but what about the story of the wild pack of hungry wolves that aided in that victory? She was out of his league but would that stop him from bringing the rain--no. However, he liked working against the odds, it made the end such much more pleasurable.

"I think you care more than you realize," she said softly. "It throws you off balance." She was thoughtful for a long moment, contemplating his words. Fearghus would be home well after dark. They had time, though Fearghus did not need to be physically present to know what his wife occupied herself during the day. She was careful by necessity, but it was hard to think that anything that came that easily to a person was not a talent from birth. "I will tell you something a dear friend once told me. You think too much. You admit you would fight on the other side to make this war memorable, save for the ties you have here? Why, Peregrine, I believe that is called loyalty. It is the same reason I return to the affairs of my clan, I think. Do not think about justice yet. There will be justice. It must wait, or I am afraid the tally for innocents will only increase." She had her chance to kill Fearghus before. Those she had hired, gypsies she had once let onto Inveryne lands during the summers and chased off by less caring Campbell lords, had almost been successful. Though she had not had her vengeance then, the most important success was her escape to Skye. It felt bitter, now, but she did not wish to think what would have happened had she not left. "Hitting me was the least of his offenses, Peregrine. Do not worry. I -- I do not know how, or when, but I have faith that there will be justice." She was afraid to say aloud that if Fate did not intervene, she would happily help it along. She had other problems to solve before that could happen -- namely, making sure Fearghus did not discover his step-son.

"Your definition of justice would be very different then my own, Princess." The was a darkening in his eye, this promise she had made. "Hitting you may be the least of his offenses, Rosalind, but it would be his biggest mistake. You have no idea how hard it to not release the arrow I have aimed at his head while in the barracks. It.." He started to get a little worked up, the anger rising like a phoenix from the ashes, it consumed him where a body was once numb--felt. "It is so hard to not kill him while he sleeps, Those shadows in your room, could hide me so easy. Any dark corner, unturned stone I'm there..I come off as a mere fool far too easy in eyes like that. Slip him..poison." His teeth gritted together in the pent up rage. His train of thought was broken, but he slipped back to the subject of loyalty seamlessly. "It is not loyalty that keeps me here, it's because I've been everywhere else. I for once am tired of being on the run; hunted. I enlisted in the fleet in hopes of building a life on my own..without cheating, steeling, and killing to get what I want." He turned to face her, the darkened hall lit only by a few candles, and lanterns lit upon the walls. "I've never been denied anything, " He spoke quietly a raspy hoarse sound laced with a danger dating back a thousand years. "So give me a reason Rosalind, Why--I should not simply walk right out of here with you upon my back, like the barbarian I was born." The draft of the hall was cold, but the heat of his fire seemed to fill the entire space, drafting loose strands of wheat colored blonde against his cheek, from the ribbon that held them back. "Hmm? Loyalty? To these people?" He would snort then a harsh little laugh, "They would all see me hung, not a one would welcome me back, due to the crimes of my past. Even the Lord General has tried to see my end. Not a soul on this island would miss me, should my ship sail away and never return..but that is just it. On every land I have ever stepped, it has been the same. No one happy to see me, so there..I answered my own question. That is my reason. I want to make a real life--but his death.." His fists clenched as he released her hand, "Would feel like a great victory."

"I would miss you," she said firmly. He released her hand, but she would not cede contact. She touched his cheek, gently, as if assessing whether he would allow it to remain, before cupping his jaw. "I would miss you." She was afraid it did not answer his question as to why he should not leave with her upon his cheek, but she was getting to that one. "Do you believe that I would? That I cannot be the only one who would? But that does not matter to me, who else cares if you are here or not here, if you live or die. I care. Right now, I have you. I can touch you. I can talk to you. You make me laugh when I would rather not. You make me smile when I am too frightened to cry. Stay." She dropped her hand, but did not step back. She was odd in that, although her marriage was a sham, she would never enter a situation in which she could be accused of adultery. She had already been down that road once before. Accusations were nearly as powerful as guilt. "I have often thought, as he sleeps, I could smother him with a pillow. Or I could push him down the stairs. A thousand deaths I imagine for him, but a thousand is only half of the deaths that will happen, if he dies before he can help secure a victory for Skye. There are forces at work that I do not understand, money that has changed hands that cannot all come from Fearghus. He is shrewd and he is intelligent, but he does not work alone. He will die, and I pray God I will be there to watch him do so, but for now, he must live. He must live until my son is safe," she concluded. "And I must stay with Her Grace. I know, in my heart, that this is the right thing to do. I ran once before, and I will not do so again. So I will stay here." Her expression did not vary much. But her eyes were intense, focusing upon him, and then when she spoke of her son, upon a dusty tapestry hanging a few feet down the hall. "I hope you stay, too, Peregrine."

Slowly he would make his way round her, in a careful manner of few steps. Her touch against his cheek had calmed the flame, bottled the rage, but more importantly leveled out his mind. From behind her, over one shoulder he whispered against her ear, "Has anyone ever told you, that you are in fact precious?" That grin was unmistakable, charming, handsome, but now she knew the deeper meaning, "I like the way you think, and you are right." Over her shoulder he followed her gaze to the tapestry, "He will die. It will be violent..painful, and slow." He smirked then pressing a gentle light kiss to her cheek with a hand touching her shoulder," but it will be in right reasons." With that he would move past her to continue their walk, turning over his shoulder to offer her his arm. "But for now we'll keep our little secrets, and find that basket, hmm?" A light there in his eyes, could captivate a thousand hearts--and has many times, but deep down she was holding the fire that would start it all.

She did not need to voice her demands. It was clear in her expression. Do not let me down. Do not disappoint me. She did not need a warrior to fight her battles, she did not want another hero in her life. She wanted her freedom. She wanted to make her own choices, and whether that was to return a kiss to the gypsy or find her damned embroidery was entirely to her discretion. She wanted to smile and mean it. She wanted to spend the days with her son. She wanted to make a family for him. As he took off ahead of her, with that renewed smile, something softened in her heart, made her usually hard eyes more malleable. She caught up with him and slid her arm into his, and as old friends often did, switched the conversation to more pleasant topics, without their past words casting shadows as they moved down the hall, past dusty tapestries and flickering torches, through dark and light. She did not laugh often, but that was simply her way. Quiet, thoughtful, but never lacking for a bit of wit. She smiled at him as she knocked on Liliana's door, and when the lady opened it, was quick to produce the basket of colored threads and bone needles that she had spent the better part of the day looking for. It was time to part for now, for the sky beyond nearby windows had dimmed completely. It was time to retire, and spend another wordless evening with that complicated bastard who shared her bed.

[Queen Beathag Aberdeen]

"M'lady, what else should we take with us when the time comes?" The castle's head man followed the Lady, along with two of the women who were known for their shrewdness, quick recall, and nimble feet in conveying messages. The question was asked by the man, but it was something they all thought on. Somber stones groaned in a cold winter gust of air. Windows did little to hold back the silent invasion of chill to assault flesh and marrow; even the faces depicted on them and in tapestry were twisted. Their thin, comely limbs seemed twisted together to create a warmth in their spring scenes, an imaginary warmth that seemed months away.

Beathag was only but one of a few who were deeming what would do of their lives in hidden compartments of fabric, stuffed hay bales, and a few brave souls. It was more than objects of jewels, clothing, tapestry, candlesticks, or writings. Rosalind, Liliana, and Kaori of late were giving instruction to condense a world. Her world, Adam's world. To open it had been to hurt others with disasterous results, but to close it, nay..to lose it. Looking around her she thought of the time that had passed so quickly, when a gruff, hardened woman commanded ships and a man came with honors of a Templar knight only to become no less than the royalty they were born to be. It was a role that did not come without sacrifice, loss, and bloodshed but there was laughter a'plenty.


"The joinin' rope n' dried wreathes from the handfast." Sediment. It peppered her tone much to her chagrin. Sighing, she offered in with that. "Any document like such ye can find. Weddin', death, contracts tha' will show the judgements given n' presided o'er by this court. We will need e'ery piece o' such should we need rely on allies for funds or aid." The ladies nodded, talking among themselves before turning to the head man. This man may become much if the war turned to good favor. He scribbled down the words. He kept words close, he had for years. His name was Caldean and he sought to serve any way his condition would let him. The woman who spoke now was named Norah. "I'll make sure yer wedding things are there, too, m'lady." They were proof of a record should the papers be undone, and they were more. They were the things that bound Beathag and Adam to this castle, to their posistions. Their wedding made him the official Lord of the Isles, with her as his Lady by marriage. Beauty could still be seen in them. The sumptious gown that had been made, the wedding jewelry too, would come. The Duchess took hold of a tapestry's edge. Laughing, the stalwart woman softened with a tinge of embarrasment to confess, "N' ye forgive me. The bairin softens m'head."

Tylwen, the other, stood beside Calden to share a look. When she spoke next it was with a matter of fact tone."A woman's child should have such a thing fer it opens your heart, Your Grace. Ye have no less of a good mind, firm hand, or sense because of it. It's cruel tha' others might think so. Come, what else?" She plucked up Beathag by touching her shoulder gently, waiting to resume step for one did not step ahead of the Duchess. Beathag led them through the halls, talking on every single item. Paintings that while some should stay where they are, others should be taken down to be hidden. Furniture, that could be turned into kindling, elements for repair were instructed to be taken to the courtyards for preperations. A straight back hoisted up a high head. They came to many rooms with many things, each to be resigned to a fate. Only once did they stop, when a firm, hard kick of the babe made her draw in a breath. A shadow came across her back while a firm hand went around her. "Tis alright," she waved off their worry, "Tis nay tha' unusual fer a woman this round tae need a breath."

Caldean smiled in secret to Beathag but the expression was impassive to the women when he lifted his head. "Let us gae on with it later then. A meal, for her Grace. A seat. There still be other thing she must beh fresh for. Norah will look at other things to tell us, Tylwen is fit to see to you." He saw to her too, with a concern higher than theirs. Secret, like the doings of this war, the enemy. All clandestine, his tie to her. The speaking stone on matter of kin said nothing. Hiding among them was kin and like many, the two women at his side didn't know it. "Your face wants color, Beatha," to which she retored with, "The world wants color, little one." They were older now. Too old, in fact, for little one to have so much indignation to him. He snorted, she smiled. Nothing had changed in those expressions.

He was her brother, after all. She as his eldest sister. That bond with a handful less of others was all he had now to inspire a purpose. She cleaved to family, land, and life for hers. Everyone needed something to move them be it love or vengence.

-.-.-.-

"We've yielded tae a great many things, but this? How can it e'en be done durin the Christ Child's Lenten season?" Her comment did not go unthought of by one who came with the priveleges of the King's word and judgements. Robert Bruce was trying to offer the errant island an olive branch that would appease his disenters and repair the damage he'd done. Clans in Kincarde were gathered to decide where their loyalties lay among each other, among the country. The western coast loved Skye too boldly to go without reprimand, but still it held fast. The Duchess pressed her hands together before going on, "We can host nay solemnity tae bring him hence, n' to do so would be at a peril tae his health would it not? The king is dyin! If he leaves Aberdeen by boat tae come 'ere he will die by the North wind blowin on him at sea. He will die by the same lines tha' are cuttin' our supplies. If he comes tha' far mercinaries, contingents! The King wishin' tae make a pilgrimage is a poor cover. We can spare neither the men tae guard him nor the room tae conceal him, ..."

The man held up his hand, "Please, your grace. I beg you put aside doubt for the greater good. His Majesty wishes to come here, in hopes a pilgrimage to be forgiven by the Pope himself during Lent will absolve him of his sin. To lend his support to your claims of superioty in this region would be a mighty thing, bring more to your side during this time of war. We are all at war! We can not afford to be divided and this will bring all of Scotland with him, to the Griffin's mighty arm! It will decided places like Kincarde. Do you know they all meet at Kincarde?"

"Ah dae."

"You do not know what they say at Kincarde, nor will I trouble one in your..way with it." His eyes darted down to the round, fat swell. A future in it of legitmacy. One could Lord Aberdeen's blackamoor child but never what lay inside of her now. Part of him wanted her to burst before him so that the worry of this island becoming a nation in its own right never crossed his mind again. Robert Bruce had grown soft with his sickness, reminiscent of days of yore. One did not make peace with the
likes of the Aberdeens. "But surely your province.."

"My country, m'lord."

"Your Grace?"

"Country, m'lord. We rule sovereign. Country."

"I was instructed.."

"Ye are instructed different m'lord. Lord Aberdeen is Lord of the Isles. The Isles are their own, his own. Refer to it nay as a province n' twill sit easier in your mind with time."


It would have been better, as it had been, for this to have gone before Adam. But better was not necessarily what could be accomplished on behalf of good sense nor vanity. Even though she had subsided from a great many affairs first hand, the Lord still kept his wife abreast. In truth, they educated one another. Their was nothing that she did not know, nor could not argue for or against. His tutelage was invaluable. From her, he learned to appease, command, and demand of the Scottish systems with a decidedly Scottish way. She taught him all of customs, traditions, and legacy so that those who doubted the Celt in him knew that is what they were dealing with.

This man did not fancy either one of them, and had little love for a pregnant woman telling him how to address snow covered landscape.

"Country, madam. Your country could surely find value in being returned to the fold of the mother land again. We can not afford, we realize, to overlook you as you can not afford to let Scotland fall. His Grace, God bless his soul, is the Guardian of Scotland having done much to defend the borders. You, yourself, are native born. Others will not enjoy this seperation forever. If the King set sail now what would you do?"

"Ah'd beg his pardon n' turn him hence to where he came. But," she lifted her hand now to still his talking, "There is truth in yer words. We can all afford nary a single rift n' all must be made right before the King dies. Does his Majesty have his house in order? An heir o' his blood found or if nay wot house will come after him in good terms?" With a head that shook of no, she came to her feet quickly. "Then a journey is nay prudent tae undertake without business done. Wot I will say is we shall look intae perhaps sendin' someone hence, with our interest n' your interests at heart. Yer God forbid his presence here. It would be the end of him."

It was better than the King's idea, not quite what he wanted to hear. He could say that they wished him not hear out of rancor and hatred but one who spoke with interests would prove that false. Even he knew that most still had love for their King, questioning what turned him false, turned his sanity. Aberdeen knew the King's sins, too, the sins behind his closed doors that painted horror stories now in the halls.


"I will be here some days more, your grace. Let us see who ye will find."


Her hand found the heighest point of her chair as the living will of the Bruce left. The color did not leave her face, but her hand arrested themselves to that chair until the knuckles paled with tension. Caldean stepped close to his sister, watching with observer's eyes what one in power must do or decide. "You'll have tae teach me, Beatha.." He whispered, taking hold of her arm gently. "I dun understand, n' I must, sae I can serve ye." He wanted to go to war with the men he saw leaving. He wanted to bleed with them, to call them brother, but he was not yet healed. "Caldean," she said, "call for all the tha' went with His Grace n' I to Aberdeen, they will know what you mean. It can only be among them someone who may e'en wish to embark on this thing. Robert Bruce was horrid tae them. He torchured them n' did unspeakable things with a woman among us. He killed his loyalists. Now he wants our forgiveness? Ah think his sickness makes his mind feeble, but there is a rightness in it. One of us will fall without the other, n' if one is lost there is still a doom."

[Queen Beathag Aberdeen]

Passion

"Wear it on your arm, your eyes, let it seep out of your skin because too often it is hidden. Let everyone know what it is you live for, what you believe in."



Sascha:His visit to the Pope was nerve wracking, to say the least, but it was not without merits. The bull was in his hand, sealed with a large red circle of wax. Looking at the embossed seal made his heart flutter unsteadily. He wondered, not for the first time, whether he was as mad as the Welsh lord for taking on this task, but his role was nearing an end, and soon his dreams would cease to consist of the heretic's fires. No more would he wake, wondering if the charred remains of the hearth had inspired such singularly horrifying dreams. Yet removing himself from all matters religious was professional suicide, and so he endured, carefully edging around the beast until he had little choice but to brave its den. He walked down the corridors of the castle, attempting to regulate his breathing. Though he knew he did not have a single drop of sweat on his forehead, he felt as if he should have some there. He muttered a rather ironic phrase of relief in his native tongue, thanking the God he did not believe in, and picked up his pace. He had good news to report to Meurig, who had been singularly distracted of late. But by what? He had yet to learn to let a mystery lie, though one would think, today should have been a good lesson on when to start.

Beathag:He held a secret in his hands; a sealed future that haunted his dreams. No mind in Griffin Castle was safe as the future became a brooding, ominous thing pulling everyone and everything into a maw rife with rot. No one knew what lay beyond grinding teeth nor powerful jaw of the great political machines of the age, but surely it was a belly of festering remnants. A pregnant woman was being shielded from the insidious rites of passage, the sacrifice, and the hardship only for other things to find way into her hands to be made right. It was a one sided coin, a coin that no matter how she flipped it, it always became a head with no tail. Steps stretched out unusually long for a woman of ripe state. The time was narrowing to the last few weeks before the birth of Lord Aberdeen's undisputed child of the blood. Happy at first, to be shielded for the child's sake, now the leader resented it in tandem with the equal footing she was expected to have when Adam was absent. How was she to solve a puzzle with only half the pieces?

Sascha:With the first of pieces already in possession, of course. And filling in the rest as hypotheses that required scientific reductions in logic until the answer had four straight borders and a clear image within. It was what Sascha Misailov was presently in the midst of. Some would accuse him of being well over his head in matters of religion, but he argued his perspective was the only neutral view in a world gone mad with proselytizing, for he had none but superstition to guide him on his path. Speaking of, as he walked, he slid his hand into his pocket to touch a charm his wife had constructed for him many years ago. The contents had long since turned to dust, but the bag holding the remains was a smooth, buttery leather never far from his grasp. It had the same restorative effect on him as throwing salt over his left shoulder, or for others, sliding a few beads of the rosary through thumb and index, a pagan Hail Mary. He was tempted to flip off the seal and read the Bull for himself, as if that might help him determine which approach to take with the sovereigns of these isles, for he knew what Meurig's reaction would be. He turned the corner to find a very interesting sight indeed. The lady herself, ripe with child. Though she was turned three-quarters from him, he could see the look of consternation on her face, and damn him if he wasn't going to give her more to worry about. He slid the Bull in the inner pocket of his jerkin, and considered "losing" it until Skye's worries were put to rest and the Lenten season well in the past. Clearing his throat softly, the Ruthenian took a few more steps in approach. He was taller than average, though he had learned in his recent arrival to the isles, that meant very little in this population of Viking giants. Fair-haired and blue-eyed, he could have passed for an Englishman, save the accent hard on consonants that clung to his words, betraying his origins to another land entirely. But he was well-dressed in the current fashion of the European courts, if the colors were a bit subdued, given his current state of unemployment. "Your Grace, forgive me for interrupting." He bowed formally, waiting for her to release him from the position before rising, the crisp movements of his actions a clue to his long-ago life as a general.

Beathag:"Worry nay o'er it. The hour is nay mine tae hoarde. They pass in the halls the halls beh for many." Long, unbound hair flowed with an unbidden sort of an air. I am the daughter of the conquerors and the conquered the strands told a story writ by gold fire, puncuated by poignant emeraldine orbs set in a full face. Sascha uttered prayers to a falsehood; God answered prayers of route if he could answered the sincere. Holy Mother Mary's face dangled close to the Mother of the Heir. Similies were few; a golden haired giantess was nothing to the small, swarthy Jewess. Still, Sascha, Beathag, and a simple binding to a Christian God was little. To his subdued state, a strange flower in rose shades despite the Lenten season.

Sascha:He could walk around the world and never part from his identity. Accepting who he was, unequivocally, made him the confidant man he was, placing his feet with surety no matter which land he found himself a citizen of. He took with him memories and little else. Rumor had it that when he set up his study in a small office in Turas Lan, he had little occupying the space save books, a bag of clothes, and furniture purchased on arrival. He was not particularly sentimental, not about his own past, at least. He simply was. Everything that must be presented was written upon his face, much as they were written upon the lady's. But whereas Sascha, like most men, were open books, the lady had a world within, honesty and mystery that perplexed the ancients as it did her contemporaries. Motherhood was fascinating. "I merely hoped that I did not startle Your Grace. Would you like some company?"

Beathag:"Nay ye did nay startle. Tis good tae see one shares m'habit." Odd smile on half-tilt was turned toward the supposed monk, the alleged scholar. Since the sight of him in the inn in Turas Lan some time ago, she hadn't seen him until now. Motherhood was a complex, beautiful strange thing that rounded a woman's body, being mother to land was strange. Her people were suffering, the children were in doubt but itw as hard to soothe their fears when people would tell her rarely what the matter was. "Ah didn' tknow ye lived in the castle now tae."

Sascha:Her accent was thick. His ears strained to pick out the words, to fall into the rhythm of her speech. She had a storyteller's knack, and it wasn't long before he grew accustomed to the burr. He would be amused to know she suspected him of being a monk. He was not dressed as such, and certainly used language that would not be appropriate behind the monastary's walls. He ate meat. He enjoyed having someone to warm his bed, though there had not been many to do so since crossing the Channel and journeying across Britain to arrive in this northern place. "I do not live here, my lady. I have an office in Turas Lan. I have come as an intermediary on behalf of the Abbey of Neath. I had an audience with His Holiness." He folded his hands behind his back and joined her. "I hope the monks are not an imposition on your hospitality. These are troubling times, but soon they will move on." It would be a little sad, in Sascha's opinion, to see the white-robed men leave the castle. Their voices soared in the mass, and their contributions to the coronation ceremony had been nothing short of unearthly beauty. "I find it is easier to compose my thoughts in my office. It is quiet. Maybe too quiet. I have taken to walking the city for the welcome relief of noise, but it is at the expense of my writing."

Beathag:"Ah have nay burden o' the monks. The halls are high with their sounds when they chant n' pray. They do nay talk much but their voices be an art, n' tha speaks for them." The men in white robes. Courts from Naples. His Holiness. No, there was no room for the King of Scotland here, how could the guard be spared to watch him. How would they greet him? "Ye are a man o' letters. Somehow Ah thought sae. Ye did nay seem as holy as the white robed ones," half smirk turned to a full smile as she found it easy to b e at ease about him. "M'solarium has grown without sound save m'harp but at times people are the source o' inspiration. Hopefully ye writin' suffers nay tae much. How fairs ye office within the city? Ah realize the times, bein' wot they are.." No more needed to be said as she looked outwards to the windows where now people remained in doors. Coronation? She had hardly time to consider what lay on another's head! A young woman had found her once and talked of her future, she was to be crowned. The Duchess of the unbidden hair was to be made..official. To arrive. What would they all arrive too?

Sascha:He laughed, giving her a nod, a touche. "Not by half, my lady, not by half. And not nearly as entrepreneurial, either." He mentioned, then, the things he had seen at Neath -- the smithy and forge, the casks of beer and ale, improvements made to food storage and farm fields, the wealth stored within the abbey that went back to the community it served. There were other orders that only seemed to sit on that wealth. He had never before seen it used for both the benefit of the Church and the people, and he was greatly impressed. "I owed the Abbot of Neath a favor, and I eventually learned he wished to establish a new abbey here, in Skye. There are other Cistercian houses in Scotland, of course. They are old, perhaps founded three centuries ago, and do not have the space for the monks the Abbot wishes to keep here. I believe it will be a great boon to your economy, my lady. His Holiness does you a great favor by issuing a Bull. But I believe after my business is finished with Neath, I shall retire back to what I do best -- my books and my papers. I have just started a new paper, and I hope to submit it within the next few months, on sovereignty and statehood. So it goes well, even if I have been lacking discipline lately. There is much to see here. Much to observe." His voice was careful, but always, leaving room for her to ask her questions, to find her answers. He wished to know more about her, and there was no better way to learn of another than by hearing how they put together questions, seeing which direction they took the conversation.

Beathag:"They dae well by our coin though it is a time when it is nay easily spent. M'hope is tha' whey they seek tae leave twill be somethin' tha can be done. The Abbot o' Neath n' his new Abbey. Hmm. There is plenty o' room here, within the city n' the countryside. M'hope is tha' they find a place among the people. Our thoughts'pon faith, perhaps the Abbot will be kind enough tae talk with me 'pon tha' way." Turning to face the man who owed others favors now it was her turn to offern him the same in becoming familiar. "Wot views dae ye hold on the paper ye make? Turas Lan must give ye much tae look 'pon about inheritance, rights tae rule, who may hold power n' the state alongside o' it. Skye is the re-invigoratin' o' an old inheritance. Claimin' it disrupted many set lives. I wonder if wot will be will be n' naught can cease it. Destiny when coupled with hard work n' determination create monarchs as much rights do." It was unorthodox for a woman to be open with her thought, but it was a place that was odd, wasn' tit? Where Popes and foreign peoples took interest, where destiny was being written. "When things are done, mah business shall be tha' o' m'children. Lingerin' in a new peace with m'husband, or sae one can dream. Wot is it ye will put in your papers o' times of peace?"

Sascha:"I hope you have a chance to speak with him. He is ... interesting." He was not holy in the traditional sense. He had a head for politics that transcended any piety. But, as Sascha had long ago deduced, a head for politics was not inherently evil, and could be downright useful. He stopped just before corruption, but if it was a benefit to his order, was rather creative in his liturgical interpretations. "It is a long held belief that the right of primogeniture trumps all other claims to rule, my lady, but it is my belief that some rulers can be good. And some can be not as good. They are men, ordained by God or not, and as men, subject to the same sins as you and me." It was a very simplistic statement, but in their world, such a statement was so heretical, it would surely have banned him from any court, if not put him upon a hill of wood and set ablaze. "I will not venture as far as what to do with bad leaders." He frowned. "I cannot, for I will not advocate violence, and I know no other way. But it is the duty of a scholar to present the arguments, and the duty of the teacher to provide options without pushing his student down one path. My ideas about statehood are complex. I must refine my thesis. And I am afraid, like leadership, the solutions are no easier than the questions asked. Culture, certainly, is a part of a national identity. But what of Skye, I ask? There are Normans in your castle and Greeks in your harbors. Language. Ethnicity. And a common political ideal that holds you unique from England, even from Scotland -- the pursuit of peace, and so I am told, the development of technology unrelated to machines of war. I must think. But Skye has given me much to think about." He smiled. "I hope to discuss it with you when my ideas are more firmly placed in my head."

Beathag:"Ah hope to talk with men again n' to debate the matters o' our age o'er tables n' nay at the end o' sword. We've secured enough in our reign with blood. Rulers n' rulin' is a hard thing. Ah've heard tha' much of Europe is by this way ye speak of, divine right. Tha' God picks them. If a God may pick a man, surely then God knows the will o' men, the way o' men n' women. Like ye say we are all nay different. Men rise. Men fall. We live n' we die. Just because one may have a throne makes them nay less right or wrong." Sascha, here, was allowed his outlandish heresy and supported in that the rulers thought the same. They were elected at first for their deeds before they figured this was of any inheritance of blood. "When ye make your....thesis, is it? Ye must tell it tae me. Aye, there are Normans in mah castle but there is hardly a soul in Scotland tha' has little by way of mixtures in their blood. Greeks in our harbors, n' men o' Arabia, Egpyt, Africas, as far as Nihon. We thrive tae give our people their achievements: their letters, n' art, n' scholars n' fine things tae give n' share with the world. The Celts are nay tribes o' fools n' folly. Turas Lan is a gem n' tis one we hope will shine with the rest o' Europe."

Sascha:"Then there is no shortage between us for outlandish statements," Sascha replied, amusement clear in his light colored eyes. "Will you give me leave to explore more of your isles? To interview your people? To see how they live and what they believe? This will help with my paper. And some day, perhaps I will present it again to those of Europe who may be convinced to see as you and your lord husband see the world. I know already there are a few states that elect the powers that be; the world is changing faster than it ever has before, and I am glad to live in such a time. Even if it is difficult." He had lost his wife to difficulties, and all of his past. He had been chased from the borders of his kingdom. He had said goodbye to that land in every way but in the culture he took with him in his nomadic lifestyle. He understood pain, though he did not often appear troubled. Life was subtle. Politics were in much broader strokes. *

Beathag:"Ye may dae sae. M'hope is tha' tae speak with ye might give them the same. Hope. The world is changin' n' many cleave tae the way things were n' vye to keep tradition fer how it will be but Ah live for change. To see a world tha' is nay rendered apart by power, but uplifted by it. Ah've lived for thirty-six years n' each year have seen Scotland n' England at war. We are two countries pon one island but surely..this i snay wot we wish tae pass untae our children now? Not I! War has embittered, broken, ruined. If we must fight let it be fer true honor, true freedom, but in its wake let us teach our children tae be better!" Passion raised her voice. She understood pain and lived with her emotions upon her sleeve. Now, she maintained a calm visage. (d)

Sascha:That was a great difference between the Gael-speaking northerners and his ancestors. Emotions were minimal, passions kept behind closed doors. There was no venue for entertaining them in his homeland. "Oh, I do not know about giving them hope. I am afraid I ask too many questions and am too curious for my own good. I may give them something to think on, or not. But it helps, and I am glad to meet new people, wherever I go. I pretend not to have bias, that leaders may choose what they will of my texts, but I have not learned to be so callous." He watched her, then, how her face shifted with each emotion. Passion radiated from her eyes, and she was once again the open book -- what she said was what she believed. He had been for so long embroiled with those who were so tangled in the lies of politics that truth was a murky note rarely heard, that when she spoke, it was like waking on a sunny day to find spring had arrived, even if she now wore a calm expression. "It will pass, my lady, and you will rebuild. Your people are strong and they will recover. You have a revolutionary spirit, and those who will adapt will gladly follow. I think they will be glad for your vision." He bowed once again. "If you forgive me, Your Grace. I hope to speak with you again soon, and will pass on word to the Abbot of Neath that you wished to speak with him. But he waits for results from my meeting with His Holiness. I will send you some texts, words that have brought me solace in times of difficulty. If you will permit?" He would not be surprised to find her too busy for whatever texts he sent along her way, but the offer still stood, like an extended hand for the taking.

Beathag:All of her beliefs were lived in action because she abhorred secrets that were so pervasive. Her fingers curled in on themselves, holding to her skirts. It was like waking on a sunny day? The sun sometimes felt hidden behind a great many clouds. Smiling she offered Sascha her hand, "Ah will permit n' welcome them with open arms, Sir. Unil tha' time. Remain well n' remain steadfast ter yer quest. Ah think people may be bothered by questions n' are nay given to openin' up for strangers, but ye will find our character is truly the opposite. A celt opens his door. E'en in this time, twill open. A revolutionary spirit..tha' is a fine thing then."

[King Adam Aberdeen I]

War Looms and Men Scheme

Was his absence notable? He was the Lord of the Isles. He just could not sit by and expect Skye to fend her own against the English and her comrades… No country ever went to battle alone. Just how much like his Father was he?? What was he willing to do to gain alliances?

Mountains to the north… Sea to her east… the English to the west and south… Adam HAD to break the English blockade… Imports were lessened by an English blockade… Skye was down to rationing food, just to make it thru the winter. Spring was right around the corner…

Still the ground was hard from winter freeze… Soon, spring rains would fall… and men would die where they stood, for moving would be slow and treacherous… he had to act now… The view from the window only exasperated his anxiety knowing his countrymen were in harm’s way.

That was four days ago… Now, Adam had sailed to Stavanger, upon the Skye warship, Belladonna… where he and Fain Haakon, a descendent of King Haakon IV of Norway, were meeting the Kings of Norway, Denmark and Sweden… it was a tribunal that Adam sought assistance. The Belladonna laid low in the water, her belly full of the new rifled cannon for trade.

Now, after four days of negotiations, Fain and Adam walked aboard the Belladonna, the agreement signed and documented. Soon, Norwegian ships would sail into the thick of battle against the English… who… would get a big surprise. The thought made Adam smile and patted fain upon the back. “Ah’d luv tae see the English Cap’ns faces…” then both men would laugh.

Yet, days later, in another plan of action… Adam looked thru the long looking glass, at the English camps in the valley. The black and blue Maubrey banners blew in the breeze. “Damn ‘im… he is but brazen… yet he wishes me to react…” then he moves the looking glass to the left. Not 4 kilometers from the road that lead to the Maubrey forces, were two camps… one from a French legion, and one from a small force from Andalusia… Adam laughs at the Talon next to him. “He’ll have naen fr’m mae this day…” slides the glass closed. “The plans are being laid as we speak… Send word to General Maahes and Admiral Flynn… Norway shall be breakin’ the English blockade lines, and that allies from Andalusia and the French are stationed in the valley to the west of Turas Lan…” then Adam walked to the white stallion… Stepping into the stirrup, glancing back at the Gold Talon… “I expect more troops fr’m France tae move inta northern Scotl’nd bae the end of the week… Ah bae ridin’ tae the south… Ah bae back in two days…” the knight saluted his lordship as Adam rode away with his Gold Talons.

[Lord General Maahes Asad-Aziem]

Battle at Cullin Hills

Lord General Asad-Aziem: Thick clouds gave way to the misty day, as cold air could only freeze so much. It had been a long week as news spread quickly through the towns and villages that the English had made port. The hearts of the nation beat a thousand drums in dire fear and worry that plagued the countryside like a sickness. Farmers clung to their wives, their sons knee deep in battle about to go face first. The castle had been alive like a serpent resting between the mountains, every person the muscle to make the war a smooth motion, with sharp scales as protection. It would be with bated breath many would gasp as a beat of another drum started, along with the rush of air from a massive wing. Giving birth to the 'Winged Isle' the black underside of the bird of prey crossed the setting red sun as darkness started to fall. Night would be upon her back, but this was what she had trained so hard for. This was the message she carried. It is time..Her cry was shrill calling out the falling darkness a prayer as she lowered upon a branch.


Peregrine: "No..." He whisper shaking his head to the Falcon, "You are supposed to go to him." With his eyes he motioned below to the men below, but with a heavy sigh releasing the note. From hidden marks Rangers would wait, and Danae's eyes would be met and she would give her nod. One arrow would be pulled from the Pirate's quiver, and like a card up his sleeve delivered his hidden talent. The note would be placed upon the edge of the arrow, and fired upon the army hitting mark the map a Beast stood over.


Lord General Asad-Aziem: He knew these hills now like the back of his hands, well worn hands that shook with grief, but stilled as this was simply his artform. A close minded brash man was a composer of the arts, blood his paint, the cries of death his music, but the victory his masterpiece. Quickly eyes would snap to the men across from him, "We'll be waiting.." He grinned a sick twisted grin, that meant their enemies doom. "Get into your positions. Move out!" (d
 
Lord Eamonn of Eohmark : The cold of winter's breath was the bane and foe of anyone that called themselves soldiers. This was not the first campaign that Eamonn had served in that took place in the frosty season, but that did not mean that Eamonn liked it any better. Traveling was difficult, supplies were low and had to be rationed. When you had horses, that trek became more perilous, more demanding, and all the more cumbersome. Such was why the number of horses for this battle would be lessened. Both he and Cormack waited in the mountains, on the steep hill above the passage through the mountains. From where they stood, it was hard to see any horses in the rocks, the towering boulders and terrain hid the two small company of horses. Around the bend and down the steep incline they waited, Eamonn sitting atop the dapple grey stallion as he waited for the signal, the lit arrow in the sky. A gloved fist was raised and by the silent command, the horsemen stopped. Wheeling Finbar around, Eamonn continued on, up the incline and toward the cliff that overlooked the path through the mountains. Peering over, hazel eyes saw in the distance the torches of the English caravan, enough. Look to the skies. On my signal, you blow the horn, sound the charge.`` Eamonn commanded, one armoured arm resting on the horn of his saddle.
 
Sir Kendrew: From the clouds came the breathe of a God with ice in his mouth.  Words unspoken resounded in blasts of wind across the land, painting white the hillsides.  Upward of the mountain, peaks disappeared into mists wrapped tighter than the hands of men who would take the throats of the enemy to break like kindling wood tossed in the hearts of the homes behind them.  Griffin Castle was in his sight, even if he looked to the road ahead she was imposing. Eternal.  Conviction made it eternal even if a battle so near to home tested the foundations of ages of might.  Narrowing his gaze he listened to the sounds of the war: marching feet in snow drifts, clattering steel plates and men like him on horseback leading their animals on. "We take our orders from him," Further ahead in the formation rode the leader of the campaign ,"Sae tha' is my order for the night. What he says, we bring to life."  He brought with him the Let loose the dogs of war. Let this be a mighty hunt, for Kendrew had grown hungry again for the charge.  The meeting of metal and man. (d)
 
English Scum: Northam... the very name was equated to brutality, savagery, merciless killing machine, everything the General Aziem fancied himself.. without the complication of a heart, soul or conscious...  it was General Northam , Thomas Northam that lead the  battalion of English up from the beaches toward the pass of Cullin Hill, and toward the Center of Skye, Turas Lan... weath, riches and power lay in the taking of Turas Lan... it was mostly Power that made his loins stir and his blood boil , craving the feel of death in his hands, watching men cower and piss themselves while begging for lives.. scottish lives that were not worth the sheeps dung that littlered  the crappy piece of rock that shot up from the oceans floor to begin this rebellion.. Quash... Kill... eradicate.. those had been his orders.. striaght from Maurbury... and his sights were set against Skye...(d)
 
Sir Stryker: To say you lived and seen, breathed and fought in hundreds of battle was not a badge of honor. Not in the respect some men saw it. He had lived and seen plenty of battles, each one different but each one holding one simularity. What he referred to as deaths silence. The moment before strike, the moment before the kill, the moment before some where sent to heaven and others hell. One of hundreds, his sword would make no different a sound as the next man beside him but the impact would be the same. No mercy, no defeat. Only victory. Icy winds chilled the bones as much as the sounds of war. Clattering feet as they trampled the snow covered ground, prayers to God not only for victory but for life. Thundering hoove beats of calvary and the wild heartbeat of men ready to take justice and truth into their hands. To fight for a cause and fight for a right. For him each face would be the same, justice wrought for Skye but for his own grief and the justice he could not see done by his hands. This would keep loved ones safe within their homes. Keep hearths warm and comforting. Innocence would be kept innocent while blood would be spilled upon the ground and across the chests of men like him as they marched to meet fear and prejudice headon.*
 
Mark Laughlin: In the mist, he felt more at home here, today.  Dampness in the air he breathed; the nippy cold air kept him alert.  Castle issued sword at one side and his bow ready, Laughlin knew how many arrows he had; how many chances he had to make his mark in battle this time.  Dark haired Irishman enlisted with Skye, Laughlin knew only one trade, one way to earn his keep. He saw war from the foot soldier's level, eye to immediate command and blind trust that he fit, one small part in a greater machine that was Skye Defense.  Cold as it was, Mark was sweating inside the uniform, thinking "Hope I got the luck tonight."  He would move out with the others, when ordered. A pawn in the game of war. (d)
 
Peregrine: There would be another rush of wings, a foreign bird as black as the hell that bore, and for this it could easily be doubted. Peregrine would reach out upon the branch of the tree, taking the Falcon by it's talon and the bird's wings would bate.."Look my friend." He would point then to the sky and as if the bird could understand, did just as he was told. Like a lover's whisper Perry then placed lips against feathered flesh, he begged."Attaque" No doubt  that bird was female, and like any other woman upon the Isle was quick to move as he asked and take out the spy; leaving Perry grinning like the pimp he was--watching his toy come to life.
 
Lord General Asad-Aziem: He would not need to hear the English in the distance, as the earth trembled below their feet, Nor would he need to pull down the mask that covered many men's faces in times like this. He would simply need to think of his wife's dead body, and imagine each man wore a carefree 'charming' grin--Atlas. However, with orders spoken the camp was packed away in a flash, the dark of night now resting upon them, and their enemy drawing closer. "Signal the riders." His raspy voice boomed moving to draw up his sword and remove the heavy fabric of his cloak. "They are in position." A chain of command would quickly go down the line until not one, but three arrows would fire from different positions within the woods, their heads burning with the heat of a thousand flames. Quickly the call of the English would have their men pull back, as over the first hill they would ride; the valley below them, an army resting at the head of the other. Maahes wasn't like any other General in many ways, but as always he was the first in..the last to leave. Quickly the surprise had been sprung and as predicted they would make their turn; clearly not ready  to do battle, but it would only be a matter of time. "Cowards." He snorted unfolding his arms and drawing his sword. "Follow!" Down the hill the chase would start, another surprise no doubt..This was Scotland after all..they should have known. (d
 
SIr Cormack: Seated upon the brown stallion, he felt the weight of his armor on his elder shoulders. Reaching near his mid fifties, many thought Cormack should have retired, but the old dog had some fight in him left before he went on to farm with others his age. With his helmet over his graying hair, he waited as Eamonn held the silent signal up then moved down to check and came back around before speaking to him. ``I will position the men.`` Turning the brown stallion about he moved slowly around, signalling his company to follow slightly more down the hill area. The plan was simple enough. Cormack would move his company around the path and block off escape when the English believed they had a chance and Eamonn would come down the slope to join him. He made sure to stay in view of Eamonn, even with the distance before he and his company paused and waited for the signal. Shouts in the distances made his horse snort as old eyes tried to see what was happening a moment before he looked to the Lord Marshal and waited for him to tell him to go. It was all about the right timing.
 
Lord Eamonn of Eohmark : No smile did the Lord Marshal bear on his face, no gleam of contentment or pleasure captured his features. Though his life was war, it was not his preferred past time. Blonde hair remained uncovered as the helm was belted to the saddle, spear held tightly in the other fist as he waited. The men were silent as the caravan passed them by, journeying down the path unsuspecting of the hiding bands of horsemen in the cliffs and mountains. Hazel eyes glanced to Cormack for a moment, before the flash of a bright flamed arrow shot upward in the sky before plummeting to the earth. The signal. Reaching for his helmet, Eamonn placed the horse helm over his golden head, fastening it under his chin, and nodding to Cormack to blow his horse. The sound of the horse would echo on the mountain ridges, piercing the air and dashing the fleeting hope of the English that thought to run safely back the way they came. Cormack went first, down the steep slope to cut off the passage, and Eamonn quickly followed after, though veering sharply into the line of men and running them over. The spear dug into the chest of one man and was swiftly yanked out. ``Drive them forward!`` He shouted, and wheeling Finbar around, the cavalry sought to push the surprised English into the hands of the General.
 
Sir Kendrew: Kendrew looked at his vantage point from above his men - it never settled with him that he should be elevated upon the back of a horse just because he had been seen by eyes that sought to give him leave to rise.  It was the right of a man to make his mark on the world.  Having done so, he dismounted from his horse in the lull between waiting for destiny and the charge to stand with his men on foot.  He thought better that way, thrived, and ultimately wanted a vantage point of nothing left.  To the left of him, to the right him, brothers and kin alike. "So then.  We follow, look ye then to the others!  Bare down on them n' lets give the bastards something to crush against!  Go! Follow them, ye on horse.. on foot? We pick 'em apart, we taken the down:" A place of honor was for a man on horseback, a place of honor that he felt was not yet given him, not yet earned.  He disappeared in the sea of uniforms and armor with the distinction of his sword and spear in the moonlight. One day, the aman would take his accolades and sit astride a horse. He would, at a distance, command a knighthood with his words.  Today was not that day (d)
 
English Scum: Northam... had many a weapon, Calvery, foot soilders, regiments of archers.. the  banners flew  at the head of the line.. annoucing their arrival, as if the scottish might see them and defecate... defect... give up.. all in fear... of the Mighty English army,, chestplates gleamed, and helmets reflected the wintersun.. where Scottish men were hungry and cold, diseased and weatherworn from winters death grip, the English were fresh, fed and uniformed... their weapons sharpened and honed... at Northams Side however was his most prized weapon..  the battle tested mongoloid giant... only known at Gollith.. biblical, in proportion to the myth... retarded in everyaspect save dealing death.. in one hand he carried a cudgle.. in the other a sword, so heavey a normal warrior could not lift it to save his life.. at over 350 pounds of corn fed muscle... he stood almost 76 feet  tall.. braced in leather and steel armor,  his headpiece  two normal ones fashioned together to allow his oversized skull... some referred to him as Melon... but today on this field... he was Gollith.     Down from the hillsides the mongerls came, like fleas escapign the dead carcass of a hound these scottish dogs.. cowards with no idea of proper military rank and honor.. they fought like savagaes... hiding in the rocks like carnivorous crabs , and So the English were waylaid, like fish in a barrel.. but giving up position did not mean and easy fight... these were seasoned, battle hardened men.. and a long bloody battle lay ahead(d)
 
Sir Stryker: Armor clammered and rang against the stillness of night. Broken by two waves, English to Scottish though their lands mixed with blood more then scottish. The English hesitated and the scottish advanced. The perfecr execution like a serpant to its rat pray. A quick strike and then a slender body wrapped around its meal, cutting off any edge of retreat. Swords sang as they clashed and butted heads striking the hillsides with an erie tune that heard by any without tout heart would shudder and recoil. To say he was foolish was perhaps an understatement, his helmet hammered his vision so it was unlatched and used to bash across the face of one enemy before released to fall forgotten upon the ground which had rapidly become a crimson haven. Into the fray, into battle, into hell...or so it seemed.*
 
Mark Laughlin: He held the bow, strung and at the ready, taut and ready to spring into action as he.  Mark looked about and saw one, Kendrew, standing on the ground like the men and came to him a feeling of being one with this company, a leader who could see this event like any man, not overlord or commander.  Although he did have the rank and power, it gave Laughlin confidence that even if he were just a small game pawn, he was going to be used for the greater good. (d)
 
Lord General Asad-Aziem: "And you are so different?" His words questioned the man, and it could be asked if he read the man's mind, but by now judgmental eyes were all he knew. A savage among gentlemen, the brute force behind beauty. It would be that the world would stand still, as face to face he came with the man, the one who dare stand still while the rest ran. His armor was light compared to the rest, as Maahes's skill was where freedom relied, and one could not kill when restricted behind a cage of leather. Amber orbs of liquid fire burned into the man, and black center would flash with the man's destruction. "Did you expect a..warm welcome?" The broken English sounding just a foreign as he looked.

English Scum: The English would be quick to turn, having stepped their bounds and no doubt to pay their rights. However, their lead was no fool and quickly an army of lions came from mice. The front lines would be formed in fashion of battle, just like their dances they took turns, in lines..formalities, but just like a dance war was not to be restricted by rules. Wide eyes would turn upon the horse and riders, quick to draw their swords and use the downhill motion to just like their dances they took turns, in lines..formalities, but just like a dance war was not to be restricted by rules. Wide eyes would turn upon the horse and riders, quick to draw their swords and use the downhill motion to an advantage--the only when on foot against a rider. "Get them off those horses!!" A battle cry would start as swords would slash against the long legs as men passed; dodging their blades at best the could. "Kill kill kill!!" Die die die they cried as battle moved on, until his voice would be cut off by an arrow through his neck.

Rangers: "Fire !" As always it rained, be it of blood or tears, or the waters of heaven. This scoundrel enjoyed this far too much. (d

SIr Cormack: A signal and a nod of Eamonn, was all that was needed as Cormack grabbed his riens tightly in his gloved hands and lead his brown stallion down the steep side of the slope. Not everyone could ride a horse, let along be in the calvery and these were the reasons why. The brown stallion snorted and moved, gripping his hooves into the dirt before he took off, running and sliding down the slop, using his massive weight to shift rider and himself along towards the herd of men. These horses were trained to do this without fear, any other horse would panic and flip both themselves and rider over. Dust followed the men and horses down the hill until the hooves hit the more leveled ground and charged forward. Cormack and a handful stayed behind, while the rest of his company charged forward, pushing the enemies on foot forward. There was no way around the horses save under them and that was sure death. Spears were pushed forward and down in a row, gutting men to the ground, pinning most before they were yanked up and the horses trotted over their bodies to give the final crushing blow as metal met armor and the weight of the horse pressed down. Calm and steady, the horses moved to push, push.
 
Lord Eamonn of Eohmark : Tip of the spear gleamed red with the blood of its kills as Eamonn pulled it from the chest of yet another Englishman. Eamonn would be glad when this fight was over. Hands released the reins for a moment, his feet digging into the stirrups as he reached out and grabbed the arm of one of his men. ``You, rally a few men and guard those supplies. Save the horses.`` In the winter, supplies were precious. What could not be taken would and should be burned to prevent the enemy taking it. Grasping the reins again, Eamonn wheeled around, but as a footman came running toward Finbar, the butt of the spear was dashed against the man's head, knocking him backward only to be trampled by the hooves of the war horse. Bred and conditioned for combat, the horses trudged on fearlessly, even biting at men who came too close. In his company were knights, the prime horsemen, while small in number they were better than twenty footmen. Tossing the spear up into the air, a gloved hand caught it once more and his arm pulled back, poised for launching the tall weapon. With a heave, the spear went flying, impaling the driver of the wagon. Sneering, Eamonn signaled a horseman to take control of the wagon, drive it away from the fight, and as the marshal passed by, he snatched his spear out of the lifeless body and joined his men on the surge forward.
 
Clan Lamont: It was not the time for Lamont men to take a stand.  It was not the time for Lamont heroes.  But the Lamonts were, as one, fighting under the command of the dark-skinned Moorish fellow.  They obeyed every order and took initiative where it could be found, supplying strength to numbers, the Welsh longbowmen hammering down their strong bolts into the English forces with more glee than they had a right to feel.  The Scots were content tearing at their neighbors' throats, aye, but killing the English was twice as much fun!  Fearghus Lamont was there, on a destrier paid for with another man's funds, issuing orders in his low voice, fighting with a weapon that was as vicious as its owner -- a morningstar meant for ripping, for tearing.  If any man thought to break through the ranks, if he so much resembled the English, if he failed to issue the battle cry of Skye identifying friend from foe, he brought the weapon down, tearing, ripping.  Men littered the ground beneath his horse's wicked hooves, some without faces, with gaping holes for mouths, with limbs torn from bodies, unidentifiable piles of gore. *
 
SIr Kendrew: The fight had scents he breathed in; entrails, blood, the crisp scent of winter wind that blew the blood of his enemy on his features.  He felt the rush of bodies crush against the tight knit formation of men.  Subject to be crushed from enemy mounts, native mounts, and steel at any side the footmen was a poor man by way of fortune unless on that night fortune chose to favor the brave. He thrust up his long spear, extended by the fierce tip to become a pole-arm.  It gouged into the arm of a mounted man. Rending him down from his horse, he drove the hook in harder, literally lifting him into the side of the hill.  "Stay on yer feet!" was the footmen's cry, his soul purpose so that he brought time for his fellows.  Organizing the spearmen into groups that ran out to parties of archers and footmen, those who held the sort of armaments he had that extended several feet forward charged further down into the English. As an enemy faultered, he stepped on their back to drive down another (d)
 
English Scum: As the Maddness descended on the hillsides and the pass, and body flung into body, horse into horse, sword into flesh it was from a small Rise that Northam's hand pointed with intent toward the  head of the snake... like all things vile and reptillian, once you dismembered the head the rest fell in chaos...  " Gollith... Kill... him "  three small words... and yet if done well.. and right it would turn the tide of the fight.. castrate,   the Scottish.. as their bull.. their leader fell to the mongoloid giant...  "Melon... Melon... Mellon" the soilders would chant as the brute of a man with the mind of only kill.. kill.. kill.. set forth in a lope, cudgel swinging, crushing any in his path the singular target.. the General... Maahes   It would be with the speed and force of a rockslide the General was attacked... full on...(d)
 
Mark Laughlin: English again! Laughlin gritted his teeth and with narrowed eyes faced the fray, aimed and  would fire when his order came.  Besides his current loyalty and work assignment, Mark felt this might count to help settle the score, to speak, for what the English did to his homeland, Ulster. It was here and  now, in Skye, he knew that. But a man used what he had to get into fight mode.  Champing at the bit like a good warhorse, Laughlin like a good warhorse, Laughlin bounded on to his duty, amid the other archers moving to place.(d)
 
Lord General Asad-Aziem: First one in, first one down or so it would seem as Maahes was hit hard; blind sided from the distraction of the man. Many of his men stood in shock as Maahes cried out, and their minds wondered if he in fact simply wanted to be with his wife again. Of all the wrath of an unlisted God, Maahes returned battle in ways that could not be forgotten. He could only think of his son, who he had yet to hold, the one no one could take from him, the one he got to keep . His sword had been drawn fighting against the man, but would be quickly replaced by the bare palms of his hands as the man bore down. This fight would not be won.


Peregrine: Is that him?..Blue hues of the brightest blue narrowed upon the darkened outline of a man whose very form made him sick inwardly just as much as it did upon the out. His heart beat out of his chest, the cold black thing that it was, and he felt the desire to have the man's blood run through his own hands..but what kind of pawn would he be in the Queen's court to be caught in this game so quickly? Where would be the fun in watching him die so easy without suffering first? It would be fate that would have Fearghus Lamont walk under his tree; but fate always through in a few aces to his hand. Luck right? The hood of his cloak, dark and green would be drawn so his face would be concealed, and the bag of heavy coins just...slipped from his belt..oops he muttered as the clang of coin upon flesh hit hard, no doubt that would hurt. "Sorry M'lord! Sorry!" He would conceal his laughter slinking back into the dark. (d
 
Sir Cormack: Cormack stayed behind, but not because he was a coward. Any man who slipped through the line, would face him and the small handful there by his side. Should the men begin to fall, he would charge forward and join the fight. Keeping the line tightly together, he watched as Eamonn and his company left a trail of men behind them while they pushed them as well. Three men hopped off their horses and ran to the dying or dead, gathering skins of water and  tossing them farther away from the fight. Foods were done the same with to destroy it. Coin was of no value here, but anything they could use and not be poisoned with would be placed into empty sacs among their horses for later use.
 
Clan Lamont: Aodh mac Donnchaidh looked up abruptly from his fight, but he was not alone in the gesture.  Nearly every head of Clan Lamont was suddenly jerked upward from the battle at hand at the littany of curse words suddenly issued into the air by their chieftain, some so acidic, he worried for his mother's ears -- and his mother was six feet under, buried at Inveryne, bless her soul!  "What the devil?" Aodh asked no one in particular, slamming his sword into a nearby Englishman just to have quit with his current combat to further investigate what had set off the Lamont.  He repeated the gesture a few more times until he could see what was happening.  Fearghus, who must have heard a branch snap overhead, but looked up just in time to have a heavy, lumpy something pound into his right eye, as if smitten from heaven, was rightfully angered.  And apparently, temporarily blinded.  Aodh dashed out of the tanist's way before that wicked morning star came crashing down on his head, reeling out of the way and gratefully back into the fray, even as Fearghus continued to thrash about.  His horse, sensing the rider's confusion, skittered restlessly among the General's ranks, and in a stroke of sheer luck, Fearghus brought down his weapon on a target just the right height for a half-blinded horseman -- the giant of Biblical proportions currently besting the General of Skye. *
 
English Scum: The English were scattered, some heading toward Kendrew and his legions on foot with Mark nearby, lines of footmen, with spears and lances.. impaling the scottish that dared to break their lines. it was all out chaos, as brother against brother , man against man, against the Horsemen of Eaoman (mispelled I can never get that right ) and Cormack.. came the English Calvery, swords swinging and battle lances thrusting as it clashed like waves of horses upon each other the sound sickening and bileful.  Ferhgus Lamont however... had struck a blow to the armored helm of the Giant... knocking it askance, and sending the giant reeling... back a few paces, long enough for Maahes to gain his feet, before the giant  again charged, with the maddness of the mindless...  huge fist swiinging, like meaty axes, at the Generals form., behind him on the Rise Northam signaled the Flag bearer and set the English Archers.. into motion, the sky filled with darkness as thousands of arrows loosed, blocking the sun for a moment, all falling into shade before the sounds of death begin to peal in the pass...(d
 
Sir Stryker: The battle seemed to rage on, both sides unwilling to yield as horses trampled over men on either side. Nicholas body weaved this way and that to avoid the same fate as those who had been trampled, seemed to lie in mass of blood without faces and crushed limbs. His hand grabbed for a comrade being beaten down against a sheild by a sword. Yanking the boy back with one hand as the other rammed forward peircing the veil of armor into the soldiers chest. Teeth gritted and beared against a face coated with blood. "Push on boy or go home now!" He let out a growl as she shoved the boy out of his way. It was all the encouragement the boy needed, silvery blue eyes caught the boy jumping in again, renewed as Nic's sword sang against the winter chill and clashed against the helmet of an English pig. A sword sang against his side and he felt a pain rip through him, a yell left his lips as the tip of the sword sunk into his thigh. Drawing his sword out of the mans face before him, he twisted, sinking the blade into the groin of the english impaling his leg as his elbow connected with a face. The sword at his thigh was removed as the man screamed in agony before reeling back from the strike to his face. Gloved hand moved to press against his leg as he swung, dancing within the snow covered ground to chop the mans head from his shoulders in one foul swoop and press on, leg wound or not, he was not giving up either.*
 
Mark Laughlin: He was one with the company of archers, a cog in the machine, a thing for which he was well trained and suited. He waited the signal to change from bow to sword, as he called it in his mind, "Pick off and then slash." (d)
 
English Scum: "Fall back!! Fall back!!!" They cried, using the arrows as cover. It was clear today would be no victory but would those of Skye let them through? The men on their horses were wild, like nothing they had seen, and clearly nothing they had trained for. How would they get around? As the arrows started to fall one by one they would sneak through, in hopes of running start back to England.


Lord General Asad-Aziem: Gritted teeth would press back his outburst as he gained his footing once he silently thanked the man to his side before running through the gut of the Giant a dagger that curled up his spine. The sounds of the men in the distance caught him as he let the giant fall, "Do not let them leave! No Mercy!!" Was he crazy? Maahes was a noble man, with a deep faith, and here he was killing them all, even those who gave in the battle and simply wanted to be home. No..he wanted this war to end, and perhaps a clear message to the English that they meant business, and should the need arise..this would be their land's fate too. (d
 
Lord Eamonn of Eohmark : And so it was that the ambush would turn into a battle. Some horsemen managed to lead aside supply wagons, horses, anything that could be of use to them and set the English back on their heels. However, that was proving to be a more difficult process than intended. As more of the caravan came around the bend to follow the path backward, what bit of horsemen remained in the English unit soon met the force of Eamonn's company. Silently, under his breath, Eamonn cursed, wheeling Finbar around. One hand released the rein as Eamonn leaned back, narrowly missing the lance of the rider. However, Eamonn grabbed the shaft of the spear and gave it a sharp tug, the two riders playing a bit of tug-o-war with the spear before Eamonn lifted his up and stabbed the man in the side, under the raised arm. Snatching the spear away from the rider, Eamonn sneered and tossed the lance away. A foolish footman tried to grab Eamonn's leg, but the rider slipped his foot out of the stirrup and sent a swift kick to the soldier's face, feeling bone crack beneath his heel. ``English swine.`` He spat out. Rider matched rider, but Eamonn's company began to push through the ranks, trampling some under hoof and others were ripped off their horses and pinned to the ground with the tip of the spear. Now, with his spear pinning a late horseman to the ground, Eamonn pulled out his sword and cleaved a  man's head in twain.

Clan Lamont: "My...pleasure," he grunted, assuring the man had his feet and could hold his own against the giant before returning to his own fight.  Aodh watched the exchange with some fascination, but was also quickly pulled back into the fight, and any other words were lost on him.  Aodh saw the English suddenly begin to flee under the rain of arrows, and between blows exchanged, could see the battle was winding down.  It was bad luck to say it was nearly over and the enemy routed, but he could not see this lasting much longer, even from the thick of fighting he was currently enmeshed within.  Why would they pursue a broken army?  But if Fearghus continued to fight, even half-blinded, so would the rest of Clan Lamont's men. *
 
Mark Laughlin:  His breath exhaled like a steam cloud, in this cold air.  Blood of the enemy, blood of  friends; it all exits hot and boiling, slipped into the cold night air.   Dark from inards or bright with oxygen fresh from good strong lungs,  blood is the sacrifice and the debt paid in war.  Laughlin determined to be A good tax collector this night.(d)
 
Lord General Asad-Aziem: The battle was over, or so it seemed with the dust of the moonlit night falling around them, and Maahes could only think of the victory at hand..yet would it lead to another? The English were on the run, wasn't that all that mattered? "Carry the wounded, leave the dead until morning." He watched the line of the horsemen, and from ear to ear would grin as even in the dark he could not mistake their leader. Eamonn perhaps enjoyed this just as much as he did, perhaps more. (D
 
 
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[Queen Beathag Aberdeen]

In the Aftermath of Battle, Beside the Sea

"We remember how to laugh,even though we sigh with sadness. We remeber how to smile, even if we have cried for a long, long while. We go on, even if we have lost and there will be those who can not go with us."

Jack: What would the occupants of the Pubs at Dockside have made from the scene that was unfolding on one of the shipyard's berths. A few moments earlier, the Lord Admiral's personal flag adjacent - an able seaman of his middle years --had ventured into the Pubs at Dockside and made an usual purchase. And stranger request. The purchase had been for one of the Pub's best bottles of cognac. The request was for one of the Pub's smaller tables and two glasses. The adjunct, however, had refused to say for what reason his Lord Admiral had need of these items. While one the tavern keepers would carry the table outside, where it was handed off to another sailor. The two figures headed off toward the shipyard, where the Lord Admiral stood on the berth.... where the wreckage of the Immram still lay beneath the placid surface.On the barest hint of the Immram's figure head, no doubt modled after an ancient Irish warrior queen, was still above the water line. (d)

Rosalind: Rosalind made her way from the castle, seeking out some adventure beyond the castle walls, but having a few errands to run that could not be performed by lesser maids. She went with an escort, and she went under cover -- at least, as far as such things went for Rosalind. Gone was the wimple today, her hair bound tightly to her head in a series of thick plaits, but the rest of her was wrapped snugly in a fur-lined mantle. She made her way down to the dockside at last, pulling her hood over her hair against the bitter wind whipping up off the water. Her fingers tingled with the cold even beneath her gloves, and her stomach was, as usual, taking a bit longer than her head to accept the arrival of Lent. Yet she had company in that, hearing the rumblings from her guards' stomachs, and sharing in a few laughs as they turned toward the nearby pub. *




Beathag: The Christ Child himself could not have foretold a finer season to do without than when Turas Lan was beginning to feel the strain of sea blocades and roads at war. Even a place of alleged "plenty" trickled a little less milk and honey. Still, a man might ask for cognac by the sea while a woman might find sanctuary. Her hair would be free now of old mourning clothes while another woman watched with longing eyes the sea waves. Some years ago numbering a pair the spring came early to Turas Lan not but a pair of weeks ahead of this very night. They were married in that warmth, given station, and life was beautiful. The sea that carried her here had carried her from Inverness, from war. Now as it rocked with the storm of brewding men design's, she saw only the sparkles beneath the cusp of the moon's curve. She lay her troubles on it from afar, for there was no sailing unless it was to escape. "Let's gae find a meal, a little barley beer is fine fer the babe in will dae fer me. " Some came to the sea to remember, others to forget, she came to be concealed for awhile. If you'd never known her before, than to see her in plain wools of dark browns and olive greens would have brokered no familiarity, only a woman off to find her man at the end of the day. A fishmonger's wife, perhaps (d)

Jack: In this time of hardship and want, would there be those that looked upon Lord Admiral as a queer fancy? The two sailors at last joined their Lord Admiral, setting the table near the solitary figure. While the adjunct swept the table's surface clear of grime and dust, the other sailor gently sat the bottle of cognac and the glasses on the surface. It seemed as though the Irishman was to drink alone this eve, save for the presence of two sailors. Jack quietly filled both glasses with cognac, raising one in a heartfult saulte to the pale-silver moon and the ivory topped waves. The words he said were quiet, "Ye 'ave earned yer well deserved rest, m'dear.... you 'ave served me faithfully and true for many a year an' always wit' a true warrior spirit..." The Irishman drank deep of the cognac, before setting the glass down on the table. The second glass? He raised, quietly extending it over the waves. Slowly, Jack tilted it. Slowly pouring the cognac out of the glass, letting drops splash over the figurehead's lips and into the ocean's waves. (d)

Rosalind Avalle: He wasn't alone if he had the two sailors, but there was something sad in the Admiral's eyes, a loss that went beyond words. Rosalind stayed back until the toast was finished, recognizing a wake for what it was. But it was far too chilly for her Picardie sensibilities to keep standing about outside when warmth waited within. She hurried along indoors, found a seat at a table near the bar, and immediately told her guards to make themselves invisible. It was a command they should have been used to, accustomed as they were to ferrying ladies of Skye about, but they still grumbled even as Rosalind ordered a cup of wine and eased back in her chair, waiting until she stopped shivering to even think of removing the gloves or cloak. *

Beathag: "To the wood, tae the sail cloth. to the lines. To the soul they come to have." She spoke unto herself, the guard watching the display commented on the tremendous waste of liquor on salt spray. "Isn't it a sin to drink at Lent, let alone to waste good spirits?" Beathag shook her head at the guard. He didn't understand what it was to love the wood-become-woman. To feel from conception, birth, and untimely death the very heart of the ship giving way to the water itself. Water-made-life slapped in the dark berth of womb, holding the baby inside. Resting beneath mother's hand, she called out into the night."Cold night for a tribute, Admiral! Ought not ye be warmin' now with the same drink aside a fire? Would nay dae fer the Lord Admiral to take tae a sick bed." Looking over Jack, she saw the horizon frought with danger but could still see nothing less than beauty in paradox. Anxious to take his charge within, he leaned in, insisting they advance on. Another of their fellows was within, and company was better than solitary. (d)

Peregrine: Whether there were rooms in the Pub or not, Peregrine found one, and after last night's little battle he wasn't frankly sure how he even made to the bed..but once his eyes opened with two sets of eyes closed at his side he could only grin. Arms were draped over his chest under his torso, naked longing wonderful flesh. He would be the first to rise, slipping out from under the tangled mess of limbs, and as bare feet hit the floor a well cokeed grin would pass from the ladies to the reflection there of his own. His hair was a mess atop his head, tousled and tangled clearly in dire need of a brush, but then again when was it not? The lines of sleep crossed his face as well the marks of passion ran the Gypsies back, and the search for his pants would begin. Taking note that a straight laced soldier still scored, he realized this little life wouldn't be so bad. The leather lace of his pants would be done, and of course that would be all he would do to prepare for the day..? Night? Was it night again? Who knew. No one downstairs would matter; drunk sailors, steps carried him down the hall, whores, no one...Fudge. Too late to turn back now, a smirk would pass to the round with child duchess, "Good morning ladies, and gentlemen..Duchess..you are looking much like the sun..glowing of course. Jack." Moving behind the bar he would not recognize the woman without her cover, until hands would fall inside the water barrel the cold feeling could still his heart, but the face that bore before him stole it. A bigger smirk would coke his lips as he corrected his stance, "You DO have hair. My goodness I thought you were bald, keeping it hidden." (d

Jack: The Irishman had turned at hearing the Duchess' voice behind him, turning quietly. There was a slight cant of his head, as he saw her there. A slow smile touched his lips, "Can I interest you in joining me in a glass, m'sister?" It was up in the air as to wether or not Bess would actually accept, but the offer was made none the less. If the drink was refused, the Captain handed the bottle to his adjunct, "Ye are ta spread this 'mongst the crew, allowin' each man ta be raisin' a toast to such a good warship as she...." A nod of his head toward the Immram's remain. The adjunct nodded quietly, slipping away. The remaining sailor would carry the table back into the Pub. The Irishman would wait to fall instep with the Duchess, "I am nae afraid o' this sniffle ye Scots call the 'flu' .... I 'ave 'ad worse." Malaria for instance. (d)

Rosalind "I do have hair indeed," Rosalind returned with the slightest of smiles. "Alas, my ruse is discovered." It was traditional for widows to wear the linen wimple, and Rosalind had worn hers consistently for nearly five years, only to find herself no longer a widow, and quite suspicious among those -- which was most, come to think of it -- who did not understand the particulars of her recent marriage. Her glass of wine arrived, one of the few indulgences she enjoyed, though it was not mulled with the usual spices and honey. She looked him up and down. "My, my, productive evening?" If she had a comb, she would have offered it to him, knowing he would refuse, but Rosalind was nothing if not generous. *'

Beathag: "Ye should have more caution with the North Wind n' who makes it blow." The Highlander cautioned the Irishman that it didn't bode well to court the ire of the Gods for ignorance. Even something so simple as the weather could turn a man's fortune. As they stepped inside the rogue greeted them. Smiling, the sun made with gold fleeced head shook the stuff of solar dreams, "G'eve, sir. Thank ye. Ah see ye keep company with a good Lady. Ah here tis a good time taebe fergive on' yer sins. Perhaps bein' near her ye may get saved, if ye seek such a thing." It was winter, bleak enough without foregoing food, and even with child she would have been excused from such a practice it still seemed strange but even heathens understood sacrifice in the name of the spirits. (d)

Peregrine: "Mmmm my little Gambit, always pulling the rug out from under me." He mused pouring his own drink and laughing lightly, as one could only hope it was not 'productive' not at least where children were formed. "Perhaps It was." He mused lightly taking a drink of his ale before removing himself from behind the bar and pressing his bare back against the counter beside her. "Why you jealous?" His entire shoulder screamed in agony from drawing that bow so much within the battle that even scratching a naked chest was torture. Glazed eyes passed over the room atop the rim of his mug settling on the duchess and her Fleet Admiral. "Pshh, look at him." A deep voice rumbled with a snort at the man who had snubbed him before, "bet he doesn't even know what way is North." Spoken to himself, but laced with a bitter bitter tone as a pirate stared the nobleman down from across the room...but there went that damned butterfly.. Oh look something shinny, "So your husband survived last night..right?" Leaning back again he propped one foot on the leg of her seat. (d

Jack: The Irishman nodded quietly, incling his head just so. Later on, there would be a covert gesture. A slight retriving of the horse's head amulet, an image of the Irish sea god Mannan mic Lirr, dipped into a glass of good Irish whiskey. There was a slow smirk as the Irishman heard the damned pirate's voice. He was quiet. Then he said, quietly, to the Duchess, "I 'ear tha' the Norse are to be aidin' us against the English...." He grinned, "Shall any o' yer Nordic family in the norse fleet?" (d)

Rosalind: "Please, no, I am not." She stopped short of turning her nose up at the implied suggestion. One could expect nothing less from this sort of establishment. And Peregrine. But when the Duchess and the Admiral entered, she inclined her head to both. The lady was dressed in subdued tones, and courtly manners would probably not be expected even of the most formally-minded Normans. "Oui, he came back, but I did not see him last night. It was late when he came home. And he was early to leave." She had seen nothing of him, and good riddance. "I am sorry to destroy your hopes. There is always next time," she added, a twinkle in wry hazel eyes as she took another sip of wine. *

Beathag: "Mm, I see eyes o' men glarin' short n' filled with vigor. Ye n' the pirate in love, Admiral? Dun be holdin' back on my account now." She chuckled over the new-found cup of barely beer. Cognac was too strong, not good for child as the burn in such brews encouraged early birth, where beers of good wheats encouraged milk in the breasts. Still, she missed the taste of stronger ales, whiskey! The spice of life would just have to come from company. Dock whoresorts plied their trade but it was a hard time. Instead of coppers, some even negotiated warming a bed for the necessities of bread. Tables were sparse, and the food once thick in the wooden dishes was thinning. In the kitchens, Grufford's wife wiped the sweat from her brow, which was wrinkling a bit before her time. "Should 'ave a meal soon Grufford! Hope its decent..things are less than decent.." Reliant on the sea for business, the Pubs were beginning to break apart as the berth where the Immram had once been. The man who said little, Grufford, took to watering down some of his stock to make it last longer. His Lizzy's hands were dirtied with collecting manures for fuel and then scrubbed hard white. She listened to this, and told Jack the good news at a time that was in need of it, and said it loud enough for all to hear. "Aye, m'husband's absence bodes well for us. The Norwegians are comin' tae break the English blocades at sea. Ah'm nay as familiar with me kin from tha' way but who knows! Ah'll just huzzah the day the English standard is at the bottom o' me oceans" (d)

Peregrine:Propping himself up on the seat next to her, he told himself he should walk away, but dang it..Rapunzle let her hair down! "If only it were that simple hmm? Perhaps next time." The jig in the pub would pick up, and so too would that Cheshire's grin. "I would assume it would unlady like for the dish to run away with the spoon, even in a place like this hmm?" Turning to smile her way, he would tilt his head, "Even if we run away in spirit, but keep our feet planted firmly on solid ground?

Maahes In an amazement he had walked away unscathed from the battle, his wounds kept well inside his chest as an open heart healed more then the ache in his chest. Perhaps he should not have been out, nor carried his 4 day old son out in the open air, with the threat of sickness, but the child was well covered; and safe inside Daddy's arms. It would be with a heavy heart he would seek out the Admiral, but it was a job that could not wait. Ugh, he hated this pub of all, he hated everything that had anything to due with the sea and would be very careful to keep his children from it. Yet, casting well into the room he would get wide eyes and gasps as always, but would fix his eyes on Bess, and Jack; soon coming to sit without invitation, "You should not be here the way you are..Duchess or not." His voice boomed to Bess shifting the bundle of blankets, well fed bundle, into the arm furthest from the crowd. (d

Jack: The Irishman smiled quietly, inclining his head as they chatted of the coming war. "Iffen it tis your desires, m'sister, I shall lead the fleet when we sail for war....." It seemed as though this war with the English, the dire straigths the Isle of Skye was in, was enough to lure the Admiral back to one last hurrah. Jack turned toward Maahes, arching an eyebrow. That seemed rather uncharacteristic of the man, if nothing else. (d)

[bRosalind[/b]: Maahes was always an impressive sight, but something about him tonight was even moreso. She looked back to Pere. "It would be very unladylike." Just a slight arch of her brow at that statement. Rosalind, even in an unhappy marriage, would never do anything so ... easy ... as leave it. She smiled though. "But if I ever thought to run away, I would consider you." Better? She could be nice, if she chose to be. "Did you fight, too? I know nothing of what happened, really, just that we were victorious." Of course. Or she would not be in the pub at that moment, but packing up Bess's belongings for a quick escape elsewhere. *

Beathag: "It is my desire and the Duke's command. Gather the captains, the ships, n' the Norwegians shall meet ye hence. Break the lines, m'brother." She shifted the cup in her hands, back and forth, looking in to it. "The mountains have seen the touch o' what it may be to be saved." On the parapets, in the towers, she watched the Cullins. Ears that were honed for steel heard the rumble of thunder like the Gods clashing. Looking up, the General, the leader of heroes, came but in a way that was not expected. Her brow furrowed at the bundle in his arms for it was strange. How strange! A child in the arms, was it a foundling? The news of the land did not flow unto her anymore; a vast many things she was shielded from, and had they known she listened to war, they would have sequestered her deep in the bowels of Griffin Castle. Now by the sea, by her blood, she sat with admonishing that it was wrong. "I am wot I am, the babe is wot it is. But how are you now, n' with wot..in yer arms?" This was not the way a man of war returned, and with whom? The confusion in her face was obvious. Jack, Rosalind, and certainly the pirate had no answers for this so she gently nodded her head to the bundle that seemed so small. "Who be this, n' wot has come to pass?" (d)

Peregrine: "If you call hiding in the trees picking them off one by one fighting then yes, but I am sure there are many men who would argue that is the cowards way, especially that one." Motioning to the General that passed, "He hates me with every fiber in his being, but he raised my bastard son so I can understand." Pressing from the bar he was a bit hurt, by what? Who knew, but Peregrine was in between himself right now caught in the cross fires of right and wrong. It caused a fire to settle in his chest, having to ACTUALLY work to get somewhere in life, when all he wanted was to charm his way to the top as always before. However, they knew him here, this land was not new and Rosalind of all women stuck to the lines very well, "Go sit with your Lords and Lady, Rosalind. It would only make you lesser in their eyes, with you being here. Wouldn't want you falling out of place now would we." He smiled pressing from the bar and letting his hand brush through the tips of her undone hair his thumb brushing the silken strands as he set them to memory. However, with that he would venture behind the bar to start picking up a few orders

Maahes: Jack, your men said you would be here." Lord where did he start, he suddenly worried letting his eyes divert from the pair to the little bundle in his arms. His massive hand would press away the fabric from the babe's face now that the air was warm. "Ealora never told me what she would have wanted for her ship," And suddenly it hit him, and then it would be clear there was another war going on inside the man, and this one he was not winning. "Her ship was recently repaired with the latest I would assume, took up most of her salary. Tears would pool around dark lashes, but quickly he'd grit his teeth; pressing them back. Subject change, quick. "This is my son." He would beam then, a puddle in the floor that held tightly to the child. No, no one held him, not yet at least. "Do not ask me his name," He chuckled lightly, clearly not able to stand in his right mind, "I'm in no mind to give it, to him or you." Spoken to Bess, but about the child. The reason was simple, they had never talked of names, and now Maahes was on his own with this one. (d


Jack: The Irishman gritted his teeth quietly, slowly shaking his head. He meet Maahes' gaze steadily, saying quietly, "Dae ye need 'elp, Maahes? I shall be willin' ta 'elp ye all I can......." It was, quiet simply, one windower and single father speaking to another. Another few moments passed, before he asked, gently, "Did tha Cap'n own 'er ship? Iffen sae, m'friend, it gaes through the blood..... although I fear tha' i must claim it fer tha Navy until tha blockade 'as been lifted...." To the merchants of Skye, the Irishman had become something of an enemy. He had literally press-ganged every merchant seaman and very merchant ship into Skye's fleet. Arming and equipping many of them for war. Only with the arrival of the Norse fleet would Skye even approach the power of the fleets arrayed against them. (d)

Rosalind: Her heart went out for Peregrine, but she could not find the words for him. Not now. She looked at Maahes with a different brand of respect, and recalled her last meeting with his wife of the sea glass eyes. There were histories that went deep, individual stories of losses and gains, and she always found the hints of such lives fascinating. She would never go so far as to stick her nose where it did not belong, but a peak through a slowly opening door always made her heart flutter. "I will move when I feel like moving," she offered mildly. She was not too far from the trio as it was. *

Beathag: Never told me.....her ship was.. The General was not a man of water. Salt spray stung his morality. Waves offended his sense and those that rode them held nothing beautiful..save one. The child smelled of innocence; swaddled in thick blankets the instinct of a mother without thought withdrew one of the wool wrappings from her own form to lay on the lap of the Maahes. Ealora was gone? She had been vindication for those close to her, in a sense for herself.The Gods asked for hard sacrifices of the diligent by taking her flesh when it should be suckling the babe in Father's arms. "Anything." her voice was soft, "Anything." For the man who had sat like a boy at her feet for a song at the harp. For the man who listened to her when the world fell apart, held her, when it shook. For one who saw the strokes of destiny in paint. To repay him their seemed little to be done . Were it that she did not have to send him to killing fields nor that there were any such fields at all. The Norwegians, the Danes, the Swedes, the French. None could come soon enough to save a lost life. The child was beautiful. She stood, saying nothing, but the steel in her eyes had softened as her mind reeled. What else would come too late to rememedy? How were these people suffering and trouble claim them. By God, what did she not know? It was haunting, really. These people were sacrificingthemselves against the altar they didn't even build. (d)

Maahes: "I don't want anything..just for you to take this ship." He was fighting tears then, beyond any other fight that had ever put up, but damn it he hadn't cried yet--wasn't about to. "I want you to use it to blow ever Pirate scum OUT of the water." Not infront of Bess, to the Duchess he was her strength, her brute force when times were hard." A merchant killed my wife, a man with a gold ship. You sink it, Jack. You win this war, and sink that ship. You will do agreat service. Not only to me, but to my son." There was a crazed defeat behind amber eyes, that now burned with vengeance; wasn't that how heartache went at first you were broken, numb, and then comes the one feeling to rule them all. The fires burned as always he bottled himself up, and had Bess wrapped her arms around him he would have started to bawl as she had become the only other female figure in his life that would ever stand close to the mother he never knew. Tommy was too hard, her shell would have never reached for him when she was weakened. "I was able to have my boy.." His voice was much quieter, "It will not be too hard..." Returning his gaze to Jack, "I'm serious..you kill any who carry that flag..or have, listen to your heart and do not trust just anyone. They will turn on you." Coo Coo. (d

Jack: The Irishman regarded the Moor quietly. Then he said, "I shall bring ye tha man tha' owns tha ship .... an' let ye dae wit' 'im as ye please..." As for the Irishman? He'd never had the personal satisfaction of slaying the bastard that had murdered Mairi so ruthlessly in Ulster. Just another specter in the Irishman's past. (d)

Rosalind: The world was rife with unfulfilled vengeance, a spiral she often saw plunging into the dark night. It made her feel cold and empty within, and she forced herself to think of other matters, to pull her thoughts from the trio and consider what wonders remained to life. The first touch of spring, the miracles of God, her son's first steps. She sipped her wine, occasionally lifted her eyes to find Perry filling orders at the bar, but more frequently, studying the few patrons, and the "working girls" securing their beds for the night and meals for the morning. *

Beathag: "He is a fine and great boy, from a fine n' great lineage." She did not wrap her arms around him, for to break a man before his peers was something the daughter of conquerors and the conquered couldn't do. But she still put her hand against his shoulder. The babe seemed to be cared for, fed, healthy. Certainly she looked to it, but the father? "Rest, for some days, with yer son. Ye have moved a mountain and saved it in the same breath. Rest now." Turning toward her guard, she bid him with a task to break the cycle of ignorance. Speaking low she charged him with this -"Find a crier, n' bring them to me. We must know everythin'." Another escort remained, so the ladies were not uncovered. His face contourted but he did as he was bid. (d)

Peregrine: He would slink back with the words raising over the room, the mug in his hand cleaned far too many times as it was clear his mind was elsewhere. However, the half naked Pirate would suddenly be very thankful for the crowded room. "That's my cue to run again, Rapunzle, do you know how to tend a bar?" He asked with a coy grin, his gaze low upon her looking out as danger filled the brim of black orbs. "Or do girls like you get their hands dirty?"

Ealora: Ealora was not gone, as she was simply just waiting at home, or so he felt. "Justice will come Bess, and you will not think less of me?" She knew as to what he spoke, knowing that right now rest would not come. If she knew her dark skinned brother at all then she would know he would need this war, as last night was proof. Rest would not come, nor would the tears, but if he had to go into battle with Ra under his arm then by Gods he would. Turning his eyes to Jack, his deep voice would boom, "His name is Atlas, his ship is the one conveniently next to that fool who works this place from time to time. I have every guard I can spare out searching for that man, but they know nothing of the ports, hidden inlets, and waterways. Her body was found just at the mouth of the river, the very river that carried my son to me. It would bring me comfort to know you can bring me justice. I only lost 20 men in last night's battle, but I fear there will be a greater number if my mind is not in it's right." (d

Jack: The Irishman nodded, "Any ship that I can spare, Maahes, I'll spare for this task....." Depending on whether or not he had the chance, of course, to do so before the blockade was lifted was another matter entirely. However, the Irishman would do his best to keep his word. To see that Atlas was brought in chains before Maahes, so that Maahes could carry out his own justice. It was not something that would be tolerated, of course, if the Ducal family put their mind to opposing it. He didn't think they would, however. Then he said, quietly, "Iffen ye need 'elp with yer son, Maahes, lemme know. I shall be more 'an happy to send Lisebette ta 'elp ye in yer matter....." (D)'

Rosalind: "I should go before I am pressed into service." She hadn't yet taken off her cloak or gloves, enjoying the warmth of them far too much to brave room temperature. But she had removed her hood, revealing the thick plaits of chestnut, darkened with the lack of sun, pinned carefully to her head. Nothing ostentatious; she was not looking for attention, not as the pale linen of her usual wimple tended to draw. Still, something about Rosalind remained humble, unassuming. She liked her life in the background. It gave her time to contemplate. "Have you finally realized you are without a shirt?" Another twinkle of hazel eyes, even as she stood and pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, the glimpse fur lining framing her pale face. *

Beathag: "Ah'll ne'er think less o' ye. Rest a few days, heal before gaein' out again sae tha' ye are of the strongest tae command your men." He would need the war but grief gone untempered led to madness. With a weapon in hand? She could not let him go so far gone that he would die by any means other than how soldiers might at war. Rubbing his back, she withdrew her hands. "Gae back tae the front in a pair o' days. Justice will come n' their will be edict tha' it be so.." (d)

Peregrine: "Oh..I seem to have misplaced my shirt..can I borrow yours." (d[/font]

[Queen Beathag Aberdeen]

To the West
- War Ensues and A Woman Considers -


Destiny lay to the West; aid in the great valleys from countries who felt the cause of Skye right enough to take as their own lay in wait there. Outwards to the sea, from the North the lands of ice and snow would soon ensue all directions of the water around Skye Isle. Beathag didn't need a map to view the world or one to read it for her. The charts in the Map Room remained open with no one to look at them. Frayed edges were bent back by the wind of an open window, but no one closed it.

She, like everyone, could see destiny unfolding by itself. The hope of the Island was beginning to fade as the bodies from the Hills came in. A man stood with his infant son, mourning his wife. Another spoke to the sunken dream of years beneath the sea. Others suffered, in silence perhaps. Children died. The world turned and many things were happening. Beathag had no more a desire for charts, maps, and second hand lore tempered for the alleged benefit of her safety. Why was it that she should be held so high above all others? It was hard to understand that. Leaning against the outer wall of the heighest point of Turas Lan made it come no easier. "Ye've done wot Ah've bid you," she told the messanger, who shared the view of the people milling in snow covered streets. "Thank you."

"Would that ignorance had been thy bliss, my lady." He felt strange. It was an order he defied in order to follow. Tell her nothing to bring any harm was what the lowest servant to the highest guardian obeyed. Even during the looming first notes of battle the Lady still smiled. Even when the shadow stretched out over Turas Lan, supplies were waning, and men were called up from the countryside she felt joy. He felt he had ruined that. Shaking her head she said, "Nay." The unbound hair shimmered on her head in the sun. It made him breathless, and he almost forgot to inhale moments later as she continued, "There is nay bliss in ignorance, n' tis nay as if there is nay still some after. M'heart aches for our people. Nay fer anythin' of my own. For these months while women wring their fingers m'belly has been full of life. M'heart full of happiness, n' my man securin' the future he promised me long ago. This, too, is a promise. Our child. He promised me n' everythin' has come to pass. Now it is not for me I worry o' it fading..but for them." Her hand swept to the people below, "For those with nothin' but their flesh in the absence o' food. Look at this place. Still beautiful by sight but her heart will surely perish if nothin' else. This can not be. Sae in order to make it beat again, we have to know, aye? You will tell me wot they will not, n' Ah will revere you. When the war ends, Ah shall reward you handsomely for a great service."

"For what service?" His head tilted, confused glance smoothing to knowledge when she replied. "For the service of the truth."

What could she give them? Her sword was silenced so it was not by right of steel that she would wrestle food out of enemy hands nor was it by any way other than words she had much power at all. Words were being sequestered; hard to go out as the roads to the fairest city of the Celts began to be closed in. Closed fist hit hard against the stone, only to be captured by Caldean. He had become her shadow for all else. His hands were thinner than hers, but both enjoyed a length attributed to their skills with tying knots or playing music. From a distance, Kendrew refused to allow Brom stand for him any longer. While he was present he wanted to see his charges. Indeed, he would begin to see history. He didn't understand the language they spoke, falling fast to a mixture of Gaelic and Norse with the rise and say of emotion. Yet here is what they said among themselves:

"It's not hopeless, Beatha."

"I know, but it is telling them that. Showing them that. They can nay go on this way, Caldean." In the language of her forefathers and mothers, her voice knew no imperfections.

"No one can, this is certain. But what is far more certain is that you have not left. I think you could have, long ago. Now they would find a way for you. Mayhaps you should let them now."

"To do that would be as dangerous as revealing who you are to me. I might try though, try by the sea, if nothing else. The sea. Why is it still beautiful?"

"Gods are never so vengeful they can't see it themselves. This is the blood of your land but it can not dry out. If the ships could come by another way...."

"There are minds thinking on that now. I hope they find such a thing. Caldean, the people are dying. Children have been torn to shreds. Corruption reigns in places we can not see. Is it wrong to want to be a part of that world still?"

"No. I want to stay among it just as much as you. I will serve in it, If I should die in it then to have lived long enough to see your face again is enough."

"Amhlaidh would have been proud of his son."

"Einar would have been proud of his daughter."

"I hope they will see you as I do." The family, the others. He would be forever an outsider otherwise. But to him it mattered little. As the hours would pass by, she thought hard. The thoughts turned to words, the words to song. It wouldn't be known by which way she came to the Western watchtower or by what method an instrument was given unto her hands, but it wasn't used. Only held. She could not give them much yet, but she could give them a prayer. The living and the dead. The song was old, it had been played by harpers, and written out in time by the women of her family. The people began to talk of a song so beautiful that it stopped them in what they did. The wind made it echo, deep inside. People mourning found comfort, and the dead themselves were honored.

"What can I do for them now, Caldean?"

"If ye can give them nothing else. Give them honor."

Long ago Davina and Murieall, the Heir's Mother and the Harper, wrote..

Lay down
Your sweet and weary head
Night is falling
You’ve come to journey's end
Sleep now
And dream of the ones who came before
They are calling
From across the distant shore

Why do you weep?
What are these tears upon your face?
Soon you will see
All of your fears will pass away
Safe in my arms
You're only sleeping


What can you see
On the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea
A pale moon rises
The ships have come to carry you home

And all will turn
To silver glass
A light on the water
All souls pass

The generation after them, Beathag, both heir mother and harper, would finish what lay for many years to be done. She had begun the restoration of the texts during the war between clans, and now it was thus:

Hope fades
Into the world of night
Through shadows falling
Out of memory and time
Don't say: "We have come now to the end"
White shores are calling
You and I will meet again

And you'll be here in my arms
Just sleeping

What can you see
On the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea
A pale moon rises
The ships have come to carry you home

And all will turn
To silver glass
A light on the water
Grey ships pass
Into the West


The Song of the West, where the dead may find rest, and the immortal live on forever. You are forever with us. She read this, and the names of each that had died. Young or old. Man or woman. Solider or not. Not from lists of paper or mouths of the unfeeling, but from her own. They looked to the Western Tower as she came to see them from the wall. At the last of the steps, she took their hands and lead them to be comforted, to hear their concerns, and by God, to do here what Adam did elsewhere.


"This is nay the end, m'people. This is the beginning."


For the honored, the gloried, the innocent, and the loved of Skye

-Lyrics: Into the West, by Annie Lenox-

[Lady Liliana Campbell]

It is strange... that the years teach us patience; that the shorter our time, the greater our capacity for waiting.

A Bond Formed During The Wait
Takes Place During The Cullin Hills Battle

Liliana: The castle halls seemed quieter than usual of late, preparations of war and the actual battles that occurred making the walls seem emptier, and yet there was still an aura within of...strength, peace, happiness. To most it was the children who brought this feeling about. Since the appearance of the Campbell children, giving Aodhan two companions, it was like even in such dire times one couldn't help smiling at the sight of them or of their antics. Liliana walked the halls now, Kylie's hand in one of hers and Roric moving a bit further ahead with Aodhan. Both of the boys were chatting up a storm. Roric was going on and on about swords, and they even began a little spar with invisible swords that had Lilianna and Kylie stopping in their tracks to giggle. "You two make enough ruckus to wake the dead. Lucky for us that none reside in these rooms yet. I wonder who will win this battle, Kylie? Your brother or Aodhan?" Kylie looked up at Lilianna, back at the boys, blushed and hid her face briefly to whisper,"Aodhan." The reaction, the whispered words, made Lilianna chuckle. It was odd that now, in such times, it seemed that her spirit was returning to what it once had been...if not strong.

Kaori: And who should appear from around the corner in the distance... but... a baby? And not just any baby! A baby boy running as if the devil were on his tail, giggling madly with black hair and very distinct almond-shaped eyes. Seeing strangers down the hall, he stopped, but continued to smile. He pointed at them and waited as Mommy and his twin sister rounded the corner, chasing after him. "We're gonna get you Cal- Oh!" Seeing that Caliban was pointing at strangers, Kaori walked over to him, setting down Carri which only led to protests. Rolling her eyes, Kaori picked her daughter back up, took her son's hand and headed over to the group. Kay was glad to see smiles for a change. Curtseying, she said, "Good to see you all. Lady Campbell." Caliban unfortunately mimicked his mother, bending his knees and laughing. "I have to teach you to bow," she murmured, shaking her head at her son before grinning back up at Liliana and her entourage.

Liliana: "Aodhan can bae the ainglish! Ah will bae Uncle Kendrew!" That brought a smile to Liliana's lips, a laugh from Aodhan and a roll of his eyes which made Kylie giggle again. The boys amused the young girl, which was good in Liliana's mind. She was sometimes so quiet one would not know she was there. Yet, in a way, that was something to be grateful for. Liliana could recall having to hide as a child, her own whimper giving away her spot, and she was sure that Kylie had to be extra quiet when in hiding. A copper-skinned hand reached down to stroke dark chocolate curls, a smile on Liliana's lips as she looked down at the little one. These two had been through much. All of these children in this hall had. It was at this moment that another caught everyone's attention. The small toddling boy turned Roric's attention, giving Aodhan an advantage in their mock play that had Roric tumbling onto his bottom, and Kylie bursting into laughter and applause. Liliana was amazed that she didn't blush at the appearance of Kaori, a witness to this debacle, and she murmured with amusement,"A pleasure to see you, Lady Hotaro. We were just taking an evening stroll before the children had to sleep." Chocolate eyes moved to the little ones, one in Kaori's arms and another copying her curtsy which brought a little laugh. "Who are these two adorable children?"

Kaori: Kaori was actually rather amused, offering her hand to Roric to help him up. "These are my children, Carrine and Caliban." She did not have to hide her little ones, for they were not the product of a shameful affair but a husband who had died at war. Carri, suddenly shy, was hiding her face in Mommy's neck while Caliban, on the other hand, was holding his arms up to anyone who might be willing to pick him up, be it any of the children or Lady Campbell herself. The children were different as night and day, Caliban favoring his mother's looks while Carri had fairer features in the color of her hair and skin. She was shy and quiet while Caliban was out-going and a jolly little boy. "Caliban, no..." Kaori chided, trying to get him to stop pestering the group. "We were doing much the same actually."

Liliana: It was not recently that the form of Lady Campbell had wandered these halls much as a ghost would. Many of the servants had even whispered that it'd been worse than when she'd been pining over not knowing if Kendrew was alive or dead in Aberdeen. Only those really close knew what had occurred to bring Liliana's soul to such a state of...sorrow. The miscarriage had been hard on her and it'd been the coming war, the news of these children and Kendrew's mother, and sister, that had slowly began to give her her strength back. So, even now, she felt a slight pang looking upon the small form of the little boy as she bent down to lift him into her arms and on a hip. Her chocolate eyes would connect with Kaori's, to make sure it was alright, before she smiled first at Carri then at Caliban,"You have lovely children, Lady Hotaro." Bouncing the little boy on her hip, she noted that Kylie was taking slow steps toward Kaori and laughed,"You can go see her. I am sure that she would not mind." The children talked about Lady Hotaro all the time, including the lessons, which piqued Liliana's curiousity to no end. "I believe you know these two mischief makers." A nod was given to each boy that had them smiling wide.

Kaori: "Of course!" Kaori answered the question with enthusiasm after having given Liliana an indication that holding Caliban was quite alright. As Kylie started to inch closer, Kay stooped down and said, "Carri-chan... Look, my dear. A friend would like to say hello." She did her best to coax Carri out from hiding, and the babe's head shifted just a bit to peek at the little girl. She remained mostly hidden, though one chubby hand would open and close to wave at Kylie. "She's a little shy," Kaori reassured the little girl, letting her knew that it wasn't any fault of her own. Caliban was smiling at Liliana, though he'd often look at the boys with some interest. Both Aodhan and Roric were watching her with unreadable expressions. Kay was different when she was with her children. Looking at Liliana, she was compelled to say that a babe on her hip suited her, but she had heard of the miscarriage and thought it best not to drudge that up. "What news have you from Kendrew?" she asked hopefully. She was unsure if she would have heard anything, but held out hope.

Liliana: Kylie would return the wave, content to stand near Kaori and watch little Carri. Every so often she'd make a little face, attempting to make the little one smile again, as she stood behaving. That the appearance of Kaori had suddenly made the boys more behaved had Liliana's lips widening even more. It was that question though that had little Kylie and Roric glancing at Liliana, eyes seeming to darken, the horrors they seen making them naturally worry about him. To keep all calm, Liliana moved with natural grace, even with the babe on her hip to place a kiss to Roric's head and Kylie's, and did the same to Aodhan who though he did not seem visually worried must have some thoughts on the matter. The boy was very mature for his age. "Why don't you two take Kylie and go play over there?" Liliana would point to a spot far enough way that they wouldn't be able to hear and yet she would still be able to keep an eye on them. Leaning back against the wall, still holding little Caliban, who seemed to want to go toward the now playing children, she'd let Kaori decide on that. "I have not heard a word. I wish I had though. It...this..." She shook her head, worried herself, and yet could not show any sign of weakness. Not around the children. Kendrew's Mother and Sister were a help in keeping her strong, the former more than the latter, and she was grateful for their presence. "Sometimes I wonder if I am purposely not being told anything. I dislike not being aware of what is happening and being cooped up in these walls."

Kaori: Kaori bit her lip, starting to wish she had kept her fool mouth shut. Thankfully Liliana was able to handle the situation with decorum for the children's sakes. When Caliban started to squirm to be set free so he could play with his new friends, Kaori nodded, letting Liliana know he was allowed to scamper over to where they were. The women, though engrossed, would keep watchful eyes on the little ones. Sighing, Kaori placed a hand on Liliana's arm, letting it run down its length in a comforting gesture. "One thing I can tell you with some certainty is that if there is anything you need to know, they will tell you. Trust me, in times of war, no news is very good news. This I know well." She gestured to her children before giving Liliana a knowing look. "I'm glad you have your family around you at this time. I know how difficult it is." Grinning, she said, "I take comfort in my children. And those children," she said with a tilting of her head in their direction. "They're wonderful you know. So intelligent and eager to please..."

Liliana: Liliana noted the action of Kaori's lip being snagged by her teeth and once letting little Caliban down to toddle over with the others, knowing they'd be gentle with one so small, she stated softly,"It is a question that has been on all minds. There was naught wrong with asking." The comforting touch was reassuring and she'd squeeze the woman's hand gently with a smile,"I would believe that except..." Liliana paused, unsure how to put it, and chose her words carefully,"I have come upon men talking and when I am near their words come to a halt. They do not continue until I am far away. Even the servants, reliable for their gossip, have kept their tongues suspiciously still. I do not think it is as much me that information is being withheld from, but perhaps they fear me telling someone..." Kaori knew, as any with ears or eyes did, of Bess's condition. Glancing toward the child in Kaori's arms and the others playing, she smiled warmly,"I think that without them around I would not be standing here. I'd be a mess huddled in my bed, worrying incessantly." The Campbell family had been through much already. "They talk constantly of your lessons. You have become as beloved to them as Aodhan."

Kaori: Kay bit her bottom lip, wondering if part of what Liliana was seeing was mayhap paranoia and not actually what she feared. After all, people were speaking of nothing but the war, and a lot of them probably thought it would be best not to speak of it in front of her just for fear of upsetting her. However, Liliana's words did please her regarding the children. "As Aodhan? Certainly not! They probably think me a right terror, though they did have fun today." She sighed before saying quietly, "If they spoke of games today, please do not think I was being frivolous. I was doing things with them to make sure if an emergency were to come up, they'd be able to stick together or hide quietly from enemies. I didn't tell them that was what we were doing, but I thought it was important to practice it." She shrugged, hoping it didn't sound ridiculous.

Liliana: Paranoia was not something Liliana was unfamiliar with. Yet, in truth, this was not that. That people always talked about the war except when she was about seemed to be why she was so suspicious. If they were protecting her or the children, she might believe it, except something told her that was not so. Liliana was smart and strongly relied on gut feeling. That feeling told her it was something more. Were they protecting Bess? Perhaps, perhaps not, but she wished someone would tell her something. Chuckling softly, glancing toward the playing children, noting that Aodhan had picked up little Caliban, to help him and Kylie escape the evil beast...clearly being played by Roric, she'd murmur,"They do not seem to think so. Kylie adores you and Roric...well he adores you as much as any young boy will admit to." Turning back to look at Kaori, she'd nod her head, tucking loose ebon strands behind an ear that escaped her braid,"I was intrigued, I must admit, though not concerned. I do not believe that anything you'd do would be completely frivolous."

Kaori: She laughed at the way Caliban was laughing, glad to see it. He hadn't laughed like that since Marcos had gone to sea... She did, however, blush a bit at Liliana's words. Mayhap not entirely frivolous, but all work and no play made Kay a dull teacher. "They did well, by the way. We'll have to practice again, but Kylie was being very quiet and Roric stayed behind her. It was very pleasing to see. He cares for her so much, but won't easily show it in front of other boys, I reckon..." She sighed, bouncing Carri gently who had fallen asleep. "They're lucky. To have each other, I mean. I hope they realize that, and keep each other close their entire lives..." She placed a kiss to Carri's temple, smiling. She often wondered what life would be like with her own brother, but it was impossible to tell. She' probably still be in Nihon, though. "Was it... very bad? What happened to their parents?" Up until now, she had been too afraid to ask.

Liliana: "Just do not let them know why you practice. Though Roric may figure it out at some point. He is intelligent like Kendrew." Liliana felt love for the children, even though she truly had not know them long, and they were already burrowed in her heart. "I am pleased to see them opening up and smiling more. Acting as children should. We were afraid that they'd close off after their Mother's death." Liliana knew what it was like to lose a parent in such a horrible manner, and did not want to see them go through something so horrible alone. Shutting yourself off emotionally, keeping it all inside, was the same feeling as being by oneself even if surrounded by a million people that loved you. That question had Liliana turning away from the children, facing Kaori. "Roric, as Kendrew, was in service to Bess. He died during the incident at Trotternish. A trap was sprung that caused a landslide. As for their Mother..." Liliana shook her head, horror in the depths of her chocolate gaze,"I do not know full details of what occurred. All I know is that she was murdered, for being a Campbell, and that the children along with Kendrew's Mother and sister had to be kept hidden. It all has to do with what is going on now."

Kaori: Kaori sighed, shaking her head. "And so young," she murmured. Shifting her hold of Carri, making the baby stir but not wake, she said, "I understand that. I do. I was 13 when my mother was killed simply because my father could not be. She was... going into labor when the assassin found her." She kept the finer points to herself. Thankfully she had never seen it for herself, her father having kept her away. It was in his grief that she had received her first hug from the man. It was until that moment he hated her. "We just need to be careful. Let them talk about it in their time... Whoever it is they're comfortable speaking with. Probably you, since you've taken on that role..." Kay grinned noticing that Caliban was now rubbing his eyes. Before long she'd have to tuck them in. "We've all suffered in some way. I'm sure we can relate to them well."

Liliana: Nodding, listening, she smiled at the way Kaori handled Carri. It was sweet to get such a glimpse of the woman. This was not the scholar, but the mother. "I was seven...when my family was murdered. I almost died myself. It is not easy. I want to try to help them through it as best as possible." Liliana did not give any details, just stated that, as she glanced toward those they spoke of. She could still remember all of that vividly. It had been horrible to handle such an incident as a child. "Kylie seems to show the emotions as to where Roric keeps it all hidden inside. I am just praying that with a show of infinite patience and love that when they are ready to speak on it...I will be there to listen." Noting little Caliban, she chuckled softly,"They have worn him out. Poor little one."

Kaori: Kaori giggled, shaking her head. "It's not so unfortunate. At least tonight he'll get a full night's sleep. He's been lacking in those lately. He misses his father." She found it odd that she and Liliana had so much in common, considering their pasts and the fact they were both so concerned with their loved ones away at war, taking solace in the children they both loved. She felt they were kindred spirits, and was glad to have gotten to know her better. "I probably should get them both to bed. Perhaps we can have tea sometime soon. Talk without the children all about." She started to wave Aodhan over so she could take Caliban back. She could tell Aodhan was now having a hard go of it. Babies got heavier the longer you held them!

Liliana: "Hopefully all this ends soon, for the sake of us all, and he will not have to miss him anymore for awhile." Liliana wished for nothing more than peace. Skye and all of its inhabitants deserved that after all the hardships they'd been through. Liliana looked forward to spending time with Kendrew, to expanding her family, watching the children grow, and making a home for them. That was the dream she held onto that kept her from losing hope. A hand would reach out to squeeze one of Kaori's and she'd smile softly,"If you ever need anything I am always available. Do not hesitate to come or call." As Aodhan brought over little Caliban, Liliana would brush a finger against his cheek and smile,"Good night, little ones." Liliana should get the brood with her to bed as well. Giving a farewell smile to Kaori, she headed off to round up the children, Aodhan at her side, since Roric was now chasing Kylie down the corrider. Hopefully all would sleep well tonight.

[Lady Rosalind Avalle]

In the aftermath of the battle at Cullin Hills, a few changes were noticeable to Rosalind that, perhaps, went unnoticed among others. They were subtle, as slow to emerge but no less sudden than the first shoots of green, or the water-laden air warming to a steady rain rather than the hard, icy snows. The ground was sodden in the courtyard and the gardens, the skies were heavy, bellies were empty of both fast and necessity, and yet there was a firm, pragmatic sense of Scottish victory. That was the first change, the spark to strike other fires.

She fed tinder into the fire rather than call for a maid. The servants were so determined in their motions lately, and Rosalind did not mind the chore of increasing the flames before bedtime, lest their room become as cold as their marriage. She stepped away in time to see Fearghus crawl into bed, and as usual, it set her mind humming with thoughts. She wondered if Fearghus and Gwen had a falling out. But judging by the woman's enigmatic expressions, Rosalind would never find out, even if she was nosy enough to ask. Gwen had all but disappeared, taking Aldric with her to parts of the castle even Rosalind in her infinite wanderings was unaware of. She had not seen her boy in a handful of days, owing to the closeness of quarters she shared with her husband.

Autumn passed, and with it, any hopes of building on trust so lacking in their marriage. Grief ran deep, but as a poet far greater than Rosalind would some day express, grief was a common thing. She would not busy herself fixing what could not be fixed, of accepting what was truly unacceptable. She waited by the fire, her arms crossed over her chest and her head bowed, until he rolled upon his side, facing the flames, and fell into an exhausted sleep. There was no use worrying over what might have happened so many months ago. The reality was now.

Wishing would get her nowhere. She lifted the covers and climbed beneath, seeing in the half-light of the fire the mangled bruise on Fearghus's face. She hovered over him as he slept, just for a moment, afraid to touch his face but not to wonder what could have caused such a mark. It was too small and too mild a bruise to have come from a weapon. Had someone hit him? Battles were at no loss for providing creative injuries for those who participated.

When she woke, he was gone. It was a relief to find he had left, mostly because her own questions were threatening to burst forth, though it could be said Rosalind had far more skill in picking her way across an icefell than any trained Viking. She asked the maid where Fearghus went, and found out a rather interesting story she hadn't heard before.

"He saved the General's life, ma'am," the maid concluded, a note of fascination in her voice. Even Rosalind's mouth had moved from its usual impossibly strict line to a rounded O. The maid shrugged, begged her pardon, and got back to her chores.

She shook her head slowly. What would become of them, lord and wife, misunderstood prisoners each? "Ah, Domhnall, you would have let me talk myself right again." Her husband had always been ready to lend an ear, even offering her a word or two to help her along, always intrigued to see where that lovely mind of hers would venture. He had quickly lost the air of paternal indulgence the much older reserved for the much younger, and did what the Lamont did best. He listened, without judgment or reservation, often surprising her days and sometimes months later by including her opinions amongst his own reflections among peers.

But ghosts never contributed much to conversations. He was gone, nothing more than a memory with a faintly bitter edge for all the good they had shared. She wondered, but she did not indulge. For now, she must rely upon the living. It was with that innate sense of logic that she shut the door on her quarters and went about her own work.

The servants were as busy as ever, though she noticed a head bob furtively here and there. They were not as willing to talk to the Lady Inveryne when she paused for light conversation, always with chores to complete and missions to fulfill. The ladies entrusted with Bess's valuables were putting the last stitches in the blankets, and had even taken to singing bawdy tunes as they sewed away, spirits refreshed by news of the win. And Rosalind's squires, spitting mad they hadn't been asked to join the battle, promptly forgot all of their French poetry and dance steps, and resorted to dueling with wooden swords in the great hall, each taking a turn as the English giant, the General of Skye, and the heroic clansmen who fought in the Cullin Hills.

"Oh, they are exhausting to watch," one of the ladies muttered to Rosalind with a barely suppressed laugh.

"Just wait," she replied in perfect deadpan. "Soon they will find themselves in need of new recruits to play the Norwegians and the French."

"Should not the boys play the French?" the lady asked, watching one of the boys go sailing across the hall to land very dramatically with the wooden sword stuck at a ninety-degree angle between his ribs and arm, tongue dangling out of his open mouth. He was resurrected a few moments later, this time as one of the horsemen, and studiously ignoring their erstwhile dance partners fidgeting with their skirts on the sidelines.

One of the other women nodded. "That sounds a fine idea, my lady. They could have some practice with those very important words. 'To slaughter,' 'will slaughter' -- "

Rosalind laughed. "The ruse will not fool them for an instant, I am afraid. And they will never consent to allowing a mere girl to play the General or Lord Eohmark." The two women looked temporarily defeated, though it was hard to stay crestfallen with that particular image in their heads. They were soon back to laughing again, conjuring up images of French soldiers parsing verbs on the battlefields, and the English stumbling upon the sword of irregular verbs.

[averythorn]

The aftermath of Cullin Hills Battle- Tending the Wounded.

Nothing's going to harm you
Not while I'm around...

The infirmary was filled with men, some moaning and groaning in agony. Others downright screaming. For some this might be the definition of hell. Hands reaching out for salvation, for mercy for peace. For days the healers and helpers had prepared. Talk of war, talk of pain and injury. Supplies had not be running particularly low but old chemise, dresses had been cleaned and turned into bandages, laces set aside for use on other things. Wood cut down, softened for splints. Herbs boiled for salves and potions.

The day then arrived. War...battle...and the night and next day saw stretchers upon stretchers of men brought in. Every bed was filled and the halls which had been silent rang with the moans and groans of the needy, of the screams of pain to limbs which had been hacked and slashed.

She had not seen daylight for days, her feet ached within her boots, her skirts dirty, dirt and blood stained. Her auburn hair had been braided and swayed and she moved, moving between beds.

"Please..please my lady...please" A hoarse whisper rang out as a hand grasped her wrist.

A gray eye and blue eye settled on the dirt and blood stained face of a soldier. Each one had a face she would not forget. Wiping her hands upon the leather apron over her dress as she took the hand into her own and sat upon the edge of the bed.

"Hush now love....you need your rest.." She spoke in a singsong voice as she reached for a bottle with one hand as the other propped his head up. "Here, take a sip..." The bottle tilted and then receded before being placed back on the bedside table. Reaching again, she pulled a rag from a bowl of water, squeezing the extra water from it before running it along his face as she laid his head back against the pillows. His wound had been sown closed but he had lost to much blood. It would be a miracle if he survived.

"Please...please... Mary Beth..." He pleaded as his head tossed and turned upon the pillow.

"You hold onto that image of your sweetheart...Rest now..."

She hummed as she bathed his face in the cool wetness of the cloth. Each one of these men she tended to had a name, now engraved into her memory. Each one moaned a story, a mother, a sweetheart, a wife they wished to see again. Bemusing they were not ready to die and yet for some, all she could do was make them comfortable. If the good Lord wanted them, there was nothing she could do to change that, though she would of course fight her damndest, in the end, their lives were in God's hands.

"Sleep now Mr. Brigan. You'll be right as rain in a few days...and be seen your sweetheart soon." She spoke still in a hushed whisper of a comforting lie as she pushed the hair away from his face before lifting off the bed and pulling the covers up to his chest. The man was all ready slumbering soundly.

A sigh left her lips as she pressed a hand against her head, the other at her belly. She hadn't been home in days, had worked and toiled hard. Setting broken arms, sewing wounds closed, cutting off and lancing limbs that could not be saved. She saw more blood then she had wished to see but all healing could not be daisy and roses.

"There's another one brought in from the battlefield misses...stomach cut wide..don't think he'll make it but you'd better have a look.." Came an old voice of an assistant. Avery turned and gave a nod of her head as she followed after the woman down the hall, towards horrid screams that could wake the dead. Sliding into the room, a man fought with the attendants to get off the stretcher on the bed, despite his injuries. Biting off the assault of blood hitting her nostrils, she moved to grasp the mans hand as it flailed about.

"Easy now, easy....We're not going to hurt you, Now what's your name?" A usually quiet tone had become hard and demanding.

"I don't wanna die! Get me out of here! I don't want to die!" The mans screamed, gripping her hand tightly.

"You're not going to die...not on my watch, my name is Avery, now what's your name?" She commanded again.

"Ga...Ga...Gabriel.."He stuttered, trying, for the lady to calm down.

"Hello Gabriel, now take deep breaths for me...that's right"A smile touched her lips as she released his hand, another attendant moved to grasp the mans hand, for support as his flailing ceased. Hands gripped the mans shirt and ripped it open though the gash through the material, it was easy to see a blade had sunk right through.

"Martha...Theo...Jacob, plenty of towels...hurry...and put a poker in the fire. A bowl of water, needle and thread..and um..." Avery's eyes squeezed closed, her brain flying to think of all she needed. "Opium, for the pain and um, some um chloroform on a rag, to put him out after.. Go now, go go..." She urged the three of them out of the room as the last available rag in the room was used to press against the wound to keep the blood loss from killing him then and there.

"Avery....got one that's lost an arm..." Jacob spoke as he brought some towels and rags into the room.

"I've only got two hands, Jacob."She sounded a bit harsh but what else could she do? After a rough sigh, her hand met his. "You've watched over me for months, you can do this Jacob...I need you to handle it for me, please..I'll be there as soon as I can.." The man seemed to be quite doubtful but nodded and took off as Martha and Theo returned.

Gabriel had laid in shocked silence, also perhaps from the blood loss, he seemed unaware of what was now going on around him. Preparations to save his life. Avery moved into his line of vision again, her singular braid swinging over her shoulder as she leaned close to his face.

"Gabriel...think of a happy time in your life..can you do that for me?"

Gabriel's brown eyes shifted to her own, His lips cracked and devoid of moisture as his head nodded up and down.

"A cool dip in the river, during a summer day. When the water is so cool and crisp, you can't help but loose yourself in it..."

Avery smile faltered then pulled back into place. "That's very good...now hold onto that image.." She took the chloroform cloth from her attendant and pressed it against his nose and mouth. "Hold onto that image...and breath deeply..that's it.."

She toiled hard, cleaning the wound of dirt and debris before closing it up, stitching as fast as her hands would allow before the wound was rubbed with salve and wrapped in bandage. The attendants would clean up, she had more work to do. Cleaning her hands off, she removed the soiled apron only to replace another and go find Jacob..in war, a battle would soon be over for the men, her work began but it just never seemed to end.

"Avery..Mr. Brigan...he passed away while you were working.."Another attendant spoke as she moved down the hall. She stopped and turned to look at the attendant. "Put his file on my desk, his sweethearts name is in there. I'll write her a letter when I get a break...have..."Her hand moved, wiped across her mouth as she sighed deeply. "Have his body moved...the bed cleaned...we have plenty waitin' on beds.."

She didn't mean to be cruel but if she stopped now, if she let the mans death sink in now she would break down and there was to much to do, to many people relying on her and the other healers and attendants. Life still needed to be saved, later..later she could reminisce on what was won...and what was lost. For now, the warriors jobs were done, for now, her's had just begun...and she would not let them down. She would not stop fighting, no matter how tired or sore she was, life...needed to go on for them. There were some who needed to go home to their families, others who would no doubt return to the battlefield, she had to do her part...no ifs and or buts. There was no breaking down right now. Her heart...hardened to steel.

This was what she was born to do, lend a hand to the sick, the helpless, the needy. To be their saving grace where others could not be. She would rest...when the hell of moans, groans and screams of agony within the halls ceased. When this place ceased to be the hell of the wounded...and was the saving Grace of blind men made to see...and lame men walked from the halls. This hell....would be turned into a heaven, she swore it.

[Lady Rosalind Avalle]

The Lady Inveryne was, far more than most, aware of the mercurial nature of public opinion. She lived her life carefully in the public eye, rarely making herself the center of any activity, with a distinct preference for serving in the background. The servants whispered of marital disharmony, but since Fearghus Lamont arrived several weeks ago, nary a shout was heard from the Lamont quarters, and rumor quickly swirled on to the next victim.

Had Annabella not served the Lady Inveryne herself, she would never have noticed the change. Rosalind was too perfect. There were no seams at the edges of her mask, no telltale shift of the eyes, no hint of dissembling. She did not change her route. She did not go anywhere unexpected, save the occasional late night wandering under escort, dressed as humbly as a widow as if this brief glimpse of rebellion would garner her any sympathy.

Annabella had heard the rumors about the Lady Inveryne. And she had been present the day her lady selected a few garments from the lavish dowry her husband sent her, and put the rest to auction, callously dismissing her husband's genuine attempt at an apology. Though she admired Rosalind's fortitude, she now had cause to wonder if that fortitude was merely a cover for much more sinister ambitions.

So she opened her eyes to the Lady Rosalind. She listened. And what she began to uncover chilled the blood in her bones.

Annabella was rather traditional when it came to marriage. Once the vows were spoken and consummated, no amount of unhappiness could ever counter a promise before God. She wavered for a moment after she saw Fearghus's inexplicable rage, but after she spoke with a few of the Lamont men, she began to understand Fearghus's perspective.

Rosalind had cheated on her beloved Domhnall. Yes, it was true, they all said it was. As if the betrayal was not enough, what truly drove her husband to madness and Clan Lamont to destruction, was the knowledge that Domhnall Lamont's own foster brother, a man he had grown up beside, one he had served in the Bruce's own honor guard with, was the man sharing his wife's bed. His kinsman! His brother! Annabella nearly burst into tears at the Lamonts' story, told by two burly men who had been too far from Inveryne to help the poor souls massacred by Campbell hands.

"He went mad, he did. Kent he couldna win, but went anyway. Called Arthur Campbell down to fight, an' neither of 'em walked away."

"She's a Jezebel, our lady," another offered in a grim voice. "Marrit th' laird only to watch Clan Lamont march to its ruin. An' she's got th' nerve to ask fer an annulment from the Pope? On grounds the deed ain't been done? Pfft."

"I was there," the first one said with a firm nod. "Fearghus ain't come out of th' room 'til dawn. It were done, all right."

Annabella covered her ears with her hands at their next comments, which were far from appropriate, no matter how despicable the woman was. When she uncovered her ears, the men had gone back to talking about the battle in the Cullin Hills, and Annabella quietly excused herself.

Rumor could be ugly and gossip devastating. She tried to forget what she'd heard. Her lady was no Jezebel. But soon rumor began to twine with what she had observed, with the Pope's refusal to see the Lady Inveryne, the auctioned dowry, Rosalind's inexplicable four-year stay with the Campbells, and her betrayal of her devoted husband and clan to Arthur Campbell.

She tried to forget it. But then, when she was on her way back to the castle from visiting her family's flat near the docks, she saw through the window none other than the Lady Inveryne in a chair by the fire, laughter on her face, her hair uncovered, and a pirate cozying up to the lady, his head pillowed on her cloak.

"Not again," she whispered, tears pricking her eyes again. Her last betrayal had resulted in two hundred innocent victims at Inveryne. She ran all the way back to the castle, and breathlessly, told one of the Lamont men what she had seen.

And in an instant, all was changed. For a wife who could not forget to whom she was now married, to the husband who had once been a villain and now found himself a hero, the world had tilted. They all went tumbling toward the singularity of war, set on a course of action with violent consequences.

"Watch her," the Lamont whispered. "Follow him."

[King Adam Aberdeen I]

Men and Machines

The Borderers on the north were fed up with centuries of English raiding across their lands… Lord Aberdeen had promised them land… land of their forefathers… the once no man land that the English armies terrorized. Ill-armed, the Borderers were eager to accept the Griffin soldiers into their ranks. Now those soldiers lived as the Borderers did… beneath the everyday toil and till, the soldiers lived as the Borderers did… but behind the scenes, the soldiers were training the Borderers in Skye tactics and arming them with better weapons.

Even as far north of the border, in and about Glasgow, there was a renewance of Scot loyalty… a fervor of Scot freedom. In silence, men knew the renaissance Maubrey offered was not anything like what Lord Aberdeen offered. Not since William Wallace had Scotland has a vision of freedom from the English… Even in Maubrey’s Glasgow, in the side streets and alleys, that murmurs of freedom began to buzz… weapons were provided to the most loyal... and to those who only offered prayer… training was offered…

Scotland was divided… a government divided… but underneath rose a fervor of patriotism… clans once fought against clan… now had a higher reason to band together… A Scotland divided !! The ailing Scot King, and the Pope from Rome, now conspired to make a new title… one befitting the Guardian of Scotland… Caretaker of Ireland…

In defiance of the English King, the two would form a new a new title… Mo’r Triath ‘dair nan Gaidhlig Cinneach… the High Lord of the Gaelic Nations… and declare Scotland and Ireland free nations… The document would be delivered to the English King by emissaries of the King of Scotland, and the Pope of Rome… Their intent was to pronounce the title upon Adam Aberdeen… but Maubrey saw this as an opportunity to gain the kingship he so desired…

With the document given to the English King, Maubrey now set his sights upon the position… This would divert his attention from Scotland to Skye… and in turn, he began to divert troops from Scotland toward Skye … In the north highlands, where English troops once were stationed, Griffin soldiers intermingled with Scot soldiers… filled the voids. From Aberdeen to Inverness, the new Skye-Scot army, under the Gryphon and Scot flags, would take up fortifications that once housed heavily armed English troops. From Stranraer to Ayr… from Melrose, to Edinburgh, to Aberdeen… Scot armies would rise up to meet with French and Skye brethren, along with Armies of Clansmen would band together…

Upon the Isle of Skye, General Maahes was positioning his troops along Skye borders… solidifying the lines of battle should the English try to sail across the channel to Skye. “Hence, when able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must seem inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near.” Words, that Adam would speak to the commanders at every opportunity. And those commanders where following the orders as if it were doctrine.

Now the English were caught between Skye… and the ever increasing Scot chokehold in Scotland… the elements for a total war were imminent… rebellious activity in Ireland was at an all time high… England was allying themselves with the last remaining countries in their alliance… calling forth every asset, to include importing mercenaries.

Adam stood on the veranda of the Gryphon Castle… looking out over fellow people of Skye, dignitaries of allied governments, members of clergies of all forms, free Scots, Templars, and people of refugee countries… Raising his hand to calm the loud, mixed conversations… “This morn, Ah, and mae wife was given a new life… Mae daughter, Davina Murieall was bairin this day… Tis a new day for all free people…” he pauses… “Yae knaew Ainglish are at our doorstep… threatening our very existence… Skye is upon a new era dawning… but those who ‘old the pow’r shant relinquish it freely… Ah ‘ave declared Skye, Scotland, and Ireland free countries… Yet King Edward expects us tae bow before him…”

Then Adam raises his hands again to quell the voice of free people… “There shall bae a war… but knaew this… In this war, there bae less or nae difference between warrior and civilian than in other conflicts, as nearly every person from a particular country, civilians and soldiers alike, can be considered to be part of this valiant effort. Fr’m this moment ‘til such time as our enemies shall ‘ave been driv’n from the soil of the Gaelic Nations, all people aer in perm’ent requisition for the services of the armies. The young men shall fight; the married men shall forge arms and transport provisions; the women shall make tents and clothes and shall serve in the hospitals; the children shall turn linen into lint; the old men shall betake themselves to the public squares in order to arouse the courage of the warriors and preach hatred of kings and the unity of freedom.”

Then he stepped back, guided Aodhan onto the pedestal on one side, and took his new born child in his arms and raised her up… and Bess then moved to his other side… and in a loud voice… “The Gaelic Nations shall bae free !!!!”

[King Adam Aberdeen I]

Ships and Blockades

The English fleets, flying the flag of a great nation… yet the flagship flew the Maubrey banner… It was Maubrey commanders in charge of the King’s fleet… Little did the English King himself know that Maubrey was bit by bit, usurping the reins of power from him.

It was Maubrey’s orders that demanded a battle plan for the Navy to bottle up the Isles… to choke off the capital… to make live stringent throughout the land… The Isle of Raasay had many troops of Maubrey stationed on it… ships in its harbours… Only Scalpay would offer the Skye fleet harbor off island. The southwestern corner of Scotland, the seas between Skye and the mainland were riddled with English warships that provided teeth to the blockade…

The Channel between the isles of Eigg, Rhum, and Canna, too was part of the blockade… Adam had forbade any Skye warships from venturing out as yet… a sore issue with Lord Admiral Flynn… Yet, just before winter, Adam allowed Jack to deliver several ships of war to Dunlace… to lay in wait… til the spring thaws presented itself…

From the Sound of Sleat on the south, to the very tips of Skye near Waternish and Eohmark, English ships of war sailed around Skye freely and unabashed… Meanwhile, Turas Lan and other major cities around Skye were rationing food and other supplies.

The eastern blockade consisted of 5 heavy warships, 5 medium, and 15 smaller, swifter warships… The northern blockade was similar… 5 heavy warships, 10 medium, and 20 smaller, swifter warships… The western and southern blockades were lighter… the reason was the winter winds from the northwest and the fact that Ireland was securely in English hands… or so they thought…

Time and time again, Lord Admiral Flynn and Adam had “words” regarding the deployment of Skye warships… still Adam stood his ground… “Nay Lord Admiral… nothin’ shall deploy… bide our time sir… things are in the mix as we speak… Soon Ah pray tae give yae wot yae need…” Adam was like a parrot… Little did anyone know that he was working a plan with the allies to the north… Norway, Sweden, and Denmark…

Cargo ships carrying vital resupplies were making their way southwest toward Skye… accompanied by Norwegian warships… Ships dedicated to the freedom of Skye also were sailing from France and Castile… Adam had been busy persuading his alliances to come forth and produce… also… meanwhile, Skye ships, one by one, were being refitted and rebuilt in hidden alcoves along the coast… Refitted and rebuilt with the most modern steering mechanisms… refitted decks with two levels of rifled cannon… and trimmer, fuller sails for speed. It was a renaissance… a secret… of the entire naval fleet…

For now, the Lord Admiral had few ships at his disposal… he did not know what the overall plan was and what his new fleet would be like… when time was right, Adam would allow jack his due… til then he kept things to himself… not even his wife knew.

[Queen Beathag Aberdeen]

"As the New Lord of all things looked to those whom had been the masters of the world, the Lady found them small. How was it that any one man could ever hold so much power over another? By the Gods, she was, as the wife of a man little lower than King of all things, about to find out."






Beathag: The warm sun that broke the clouds on the day of Davina's birth hadn't relented. Snow drifts became nothing more than puddle-lakes. Underneath the white patches, shoots of grass began to pierce through. It was not the burst of spring that others had spoken of when the ships from Inverness first touched Skye ports, but it was enough that it pulled hearth sitters out doors. Beathag wanted air, she wanted the baby to breathe it until the little lungs were full of the sweet scent of her homeland. She waved away the handmaidens today, strong enough to attire both herself and Davina on her own, and even Aodhan's winter garments were settled in place by mother's hands. The golden bower leading out to the gardens was still a thick connection of roots and branches. Looking up, she grinned, lifting Davina up to see what Aodhan pointed out, one stray little blossom. (d)

Adam: Leaving the library, his fill of Sun Tze for the day has been accomplished. He passed the room where his beautiful wife and newborn child usually lay. Nor did he hear Aodhan's boots thumping against the stone floors... With a flick of the robes, his hand went to his chin in contemplation. With lengthy strides, he put the library far behind... and with the interference of a maids duties, he learned of the trio's whereabouts. His attention now turned for the gardens, the man with black and gold robes, walked out of the west wing to the gardens beyond... Down paths of stone, passed patches of remaining snow only hiding in the shadows of the great walls. In the sun, beyond the gazebo, he saw a mother and babe huddled together in perfect form, the Ebony Prince playing nearby... his wooden sword swinging freely at his side. Coming upon them, he spoke softly, his hand at her back... a twist of his form to kiss the babe's forehead... Thn a swift erection of his torso caught the dark haired lad as he jumped into strong arms. "Da... did the book monster release yae?" "Aye Lad... the book monster has been caged... and naew tis time for the family strong..." he winks at Bess as he turns toward her, lad in arms. :::::::

Beathag: "In tha' Davina, is where the Spanish Roses bloom, n' there ae the tulips, from 'Holland. They are nay in yet but when they dae, oh such color. In the golden circle all the flowers are the shade o' the Griffin's colors.Sometimes, they say ye Da picked flowers he knew would be m'favorite.." There were parts of the garden, that when in bloom were manicured wonders where others were the wild, beautiful concoctions of a cottage design. The wild fields of the moutains, too, had been contained so that they could roam in piece the wilds of the worlds. Aodhan battled imaginary foes in triumph, telling his mother all of the lessons that were now engrained in his head. Three they were, until the arrival of Adam made for. She looked up from the Babe's eyes to see the same in her father, capturing their son. "Oh, the study set ye free! Though we might 'ave tae wage war against it." Once he had done thesame, all but forbidding her from viewing a single piece of paper as the lack of sunlight made her pale. (d)

Adam: "Aye, and wage war, Yae mae 'ave had tae dae... baet naew tis nae reason, as Lord and master now succumbs tae the father in me..." his voice not forceful of a leader, yet mellow like a spoiled husband and joyous father... "Tis gaed tae see yae up, but Ah worry 'bout yer health. Should yae nae be resting after such a task.?" his free hand allows a finger to find the babe's face... his eyes eventually looking into hers. Looking around the garden, he casts his gaze upon th trio. "The garden soon blooms with the warming sun..." ::::::

Beathag: The great Griffin came down from his mountaintop to deliver no great turns of oration, no rhetoric. He came to lay about the trees of his realm with the fruit of his heart and the one of his loins, so new in the worlld. Beathag was his counterpart, equally seduced to be ambivalent. "Ah'm deemed fine e'en by Aislin 'erself, husband. Nay stiches were needed..the bleedin' is nay much. Both mother n' child are deemed hearty. They say the fresh air will dae her good n' put a flush in all our faces. Ah wanted her tae see the sun through more than a window," she leaned over and kissed his lips, cherishing the moment. Aodhan giggled. "The garden will be alive, n' she will be alive in it. (d)

Adam: "Then by the commands of our Head Physician I relinguish mae concerns, and enjoy the company of my beloved ones..." "Aye, they shall..." he winked ay Aodhan... "And our family grows... and so daes Skye..." Then with a slight nudge... "And yae should get healthy faster... as yer man yearns and wishes tae practice faer another..." then he angles Aodhan away from her sight a bit ... smirking and and winking at Bess everso wickedly.. :::::

Beathag: "Good! Ah've missed ye. Those books n' ye duties steal ye away tae often. Were Ah a jealous wife, Ah'd tell the island she were a mistress n' tae get away from mah husband!" But the best of wives in the age learned to accept their husband's activities with only a sigh. Beathag, on the other hand, wrangled with the mistress that was Skye so that all three had an accord. Davina gave a little sound of discontent at the nudge, resnuggling her posistion near mother's breast but Beathag laughed heartily. "Ah was already asked iffn we shall 'ave more, n' sayin' Aye, one wonders how close they shall be taegether." Did she still appear to him beguiling, seductive, just a few days after the babe's birth, healing from labor? (d)

Adam:: He set Aodhan down...a hand to the back of his head... "Gae play... enjoy the sun before spring rains set upon us..." Looking to Bess with a smirk.... "Tis nay if baet when... and as soon as yae heal and are ready, wife... I shall fire the passions we have yet to uncover..." The babe would hear only the sounds of his voice... and Aodhan would be away at play... Aye, he did feel her beguling... seductive... moreso now that in the days young... for now they shared more than dreams... more than politico goals... "Wife... yu mean more to me than life itself... knaew this as time marks our land... baet na'r mark our love, for it stands still naet..." :::::

Beathag: The boy needed no further invitation to enjoy the warm sun after being bundled up so heavy for the snow, the ice! In fact he took off his cloak, his scarf to run around in a place of his own design. "Ahdam.." A turn of head for an instant, Davina too young to remember this moment, these words of trysts, passion, and desire between her parents. Moor's eyes regarded the ocean. The land and sea, meeting, melding. Resting her forehead to his she nodded, "Ah know. E'ery promise e'er made stands kept n' e'ery dream made real. Time markss the land, but nay you, nay you. Ah feel more alive now than e'er in m'youth. Tis as if my youth..our youth is now." (d)

Adam: He chuckles... "Youth ? Ah belive Ah nev'r 'ad a youth... so naew in time Ah enjoy mae youthfulness... Aye... our youth is naew.. and she bae proof... " Urging her by the arm, the pair begins to walk... "Gimme the babe... mae arms desires to hold her so..." The only time he was able to hold her was at her birth... a memory he would cherish his remaining days... and at the time, revealing her to the people... The bairin... new to all the world... would now give further reason for the people... She bore the names of grand women of Skye... and in those namesakes she would carry forth with her brother long after her parents are gone...:::::

Beathag: "Aye. A spry, good, fertile youth tha' will give us children when people our age are grandparents." He wanted her to follow, so she did. A few steps later his arms ached for the child her arms held so much since the day she was born. It was a sweet, accepted surrender. Gently, supporting the head and lower body, Davina was put into the waiting craddle his arms made. "Mind 'er head, there ye are..natural ye are. Just sae natural." When he had a good hold of the baby, her arm went around him, and the other in the crook of his closest arm. Her fingers wriggled in a place to find warmth. Skye appeared before them, the sounds of a waterfall churning the last of frozen ice. Sun shredding the mists long enough for a view of the city descending out to the sea. Their daughter bore the names of great women of Skye, in that, their mothers lived on. For a minute she gasped softly, taken in by the impact of such an honor (d)

Adam: Never had he held a babe so small before... even the first, Edme, was much older... but still he craddled her as if a natural act of a father. Along the path they walked, his daughter tended by his strong arms, and gentle hands. Standing at the edh=ge of the upper gardens, before them was Skye... to the east, the vast waters between the Isles and the mainland... To the north, the Cullins.... and leveling out to the west and south where armies would move on the great city.... But Adam had other plans... his war would be in Scotland and England... The English kept a backdoor open and he would use it to his adavntage. But for now, he would hold his daughter... play with his son... and enjoy his wife... Life as promised, was a safe place to live and raise children... ::::


Beathag: "The world is widenin', husband. It is larger than this place. Yer Grandfather would 'ave been vera proud tae call ye his successor." The upper gardens were but a taste of the future domain. None among them strived to be truly royal, but fate offered advantage to ensure that the progressive thoughts of the Duke's mind, the will of his woman, would be matched so all might benefit. Great armies were ensuring the freedom of the Gaelic world now. "N' Davina will be proud tae call ye her father." (d)

Adam: "Aye... tis agrowin'... nun wot Ah expected... Aye, M'grandfather indeed... wot would he expect o'mae... nun wot Ah 'ave dun already..." ted..Shaking his head a bit... "All Ah wanted was a place safe faer yae... and Ah hope she loves mae as much as Davina loved her father."..::::

Beathag: "Davina will love ye with the same love n' devotion, ah know it. Ye know it tae." She curled her hands over his arms, watching as the baby reached a hand out to grasp her father's fingers. "look, look!" Beathag laughed, touched. "We are as safe as one can beh in this world. War n' fightin, n' changes are a part o' tha' world Ahdam. Was ne'er naieve enough to think different. Ye've done the best by us n' yer people.." (d)

Adam: "Aye lass... baet Ah feel like Ah nay dun enuff... We are still beseiged... still at war... soon Ah will face mae father... Ah knaew it in all mae heart..." The smile conquers the frown he wore when Davina took his finger... Looking at Bess made him laugh... and all the fears of tomorrow went away. "Ah love yae all..." :::

Beathag: "Ye will face ye father n' triupmh Ahdam, but ye must face him. We are at war n' we fight a war. We are beseiged n' we seige at the same time. Tha' is the *Way o' it. Tis been the way o' Scotland since we all were wee. But ye will make it different for Aodhan n' for Davina. We love ye vera much. Ah love ye ,with all tha' Ah am." The baby refused to relase her father's hand, bringing it to her lips to investigate what it was she held. His scent was new, but in time it became one that was soothing as she turned in his arms to lean closer to him. "Wot 'er comes o' this place, Ah only want tae be the woman worthy tae always be at yer side. (d)

Adam: He glanced at her... "Worthy tae bae at mae side? Mabbe tis Ah who prays tha Ah bae worthy ta stand by yae..." he smirks. He had gone thru an influx of emotions... Could one endure such emotions when his country was at war? Aye... with the woman worth the grain Bethag Aberdeen was... and this too would come to pass... Now lay beofre them a new family... a new path... and a new country... the spring would bring hope... war... and mayebe even salvation for a nation anew. ::::

Beathag: "Ah could ne'er dae enough tae be worthy o' you," Beathag looked at her husband with so much in her heart that it couldn't be expressed. She bit into her lower lip, shaking the unbound locks of flaxen gold. Clasping her hands together, she put her head against his shoulder. "Then one may say we are worthy o' each other for we shall always beh provin it aye." (d)

The King, The Pope, and Adam: The stillness that was the gardens... the family enjoying what they have reaped til this day... for it was... that behind them a noise... a rustle of heavy feet... Adam Turned, the babe craddled in his arms... and now before him was the ill King of Scotland... and the Pope from Rome... Two men usually lauded and heralded wherever they went... now moved in hidden routes and paths that would hide them from public... Adam bowed slightly at the approaching men, but he would not bow too deeply as the babe was in arms. He simply glanced to Bess, then back to the men. :::::

Beathag: "Forever' n' a day, Ahdam. For'e'er in a day." A moment alone with Adam was a moment stolen for the time that was demanded of him consumed the hours of the day. Heavy boots turned an ear that grew no less sharp after retiring from the battlefields, if anything, her head turned harder now that she had so precious a life to protect. "Mm" Quiet mutter. Adam lowered with the child in their arms, and were it not for the sake of appereance she would not be sure if she would have lowered herself down. The dip was not far, for she was still a woman healing from the rigors of child birth. Two men crossed hidden paths in the same fashion that they did now, for the sake of a moment's peace. The Pope from Rome interested her in that he found her company fascinating despite the fact she was an unrelenting heathen, while the King? His sickness shook his soul's need to be here, to seek forgiveness. To defy a direct want of no, but if Adam had brought him hence it was because he would not see Scotland's hero die. "Wot can we dae fer ye m'lords?" (d)

The King, The Pope, and Adam: The two men bowed deeply before the trio... Immediately, from behind them Aodhan peeked. "M'Lady ... M'Lord... " the King began... "We come, on a united front... tae see you regarding the English... and to offer you proposition..." Adam looked a bit confused... and with this, Besss could see they had arrived most unexpectedly. ::::

Beathag: "How is it that ye 'ave come tae arrive, M'Lord," Robert Bruce received a studious, careful look from the Lady Griffin. In a way, she wished to hide her children from the man's gaze. To aid him on his way to death, but there was a part of her that still remembered what he stood for, even if he had forgotten. "The voyage was deemed tae ardous for yeself with the health. Wot proposition" Her confusion was mirrored, but her words direct. It was becoming very clear that he may have been the King of Scotland, but he was not their ruler. The Pope was playing his hand, and while he may have been the head of Christian Europe, a part of her felt burned that he would excersise such authority here. What if the Bruce's ship had been spotted, or their plans uncovered? Did they consider the great risk now that the armies were gaining ground? (d)

The King, The Pope, and Adam: "Wot prop'tion...? Wot can Skye do for Scotland... and the PapalStates...?" Adam's voice was low, soft and genteel. Bruce stepped closer and bent to one knee... " Ah coom a humbled man in the last thros o'mae life... Ah dun many a things wrong... an' naew Ah wish tae make it right... Scot'and is divided and Ah nay can make it right.. The Ainglish are making way across Scot'and, making for battle." Adam turned and handed the babe to Bess, then stepped forward til his boots were just below Roberts downturned face. "Skye is growing... we have the backing of many allies... we are bountiful in both economy, army and navy... Why should Ah let Scotland suffer because of yae? But with yu... Ah would have all of Scotland... " he pauses... "Ah do have the Borderers on our side naew tae..." The Pope stepped forward, bowing his head... "I could offer yu th support of God and the States. IF... you could just show abit of God's word in yer speeches...?" Adam placed his hand upon Robert's head, and looked at the Pope... "Religious freedom... tae praise whatever God they seek... THAT is mae only promise..." "Rise Robert... speak plain..." then he back next to Bess... ::::

Beathag: Soft, low, genteel. Patience. He wanted to hear what was being said while his wife collected the babe in arms. Davina was but days old, and as any mother wante dher child surrounded by the warmest moments that could be given her. The Pope at turned his eye at her from time to time. A cause, perhaps. If Adam returned to the Church his wife could be persuaded to convert with him. It would be a blessing to inspire such....wildness...to be soothed. What of water on the head of the little one? To look on the Bruce was no better, for it was to see a man whom inspired many to take up arms, who had himself been exocommunicated along with all of Scotland for loving him so and restoring their throne, come to one knee, to beg. Aodhan's eyes were instructed elsewhere, "Come m'son, tis a matter o' import." Ushering him away, Aodhan was not so young as to not fathom that something serious was at hand. The power her husband held was at once two things: awe-inspiring, and frightening. Did his father count on the pressures of a heavy office to crush him in spirit before the meeting of the field? He sotod beside his wife, who shifted only slightly to usher her son on elsewhere. He did go away, but still found a place to watch them in secret. (d)

Adam: Robert slowly, and painfully rose, and from inside his robes, he pulled a scroll, sealed by the royal Scot seal of Bruce. Handing it to Adam... a glance to the Pope and Besss, then back to Adam. "Mae time is dun Lord Aberdeen... yu and yer family come from a regal heritage... according to all documents Ah could find, yu are the rightful heir to be called the Lord of the Isles... and yu are the Guardian of Scotland by decree..." The Pope began to nod. "My seal is upon the scroll as well, Lord Aberdeen... I, and the Holy See are supporters of this venture..." Adam's glance to Bess was momentary... and he now viewed the two men in curiousity. He took the scroll and looked at it outwardly. Handing it to Bess, he spoke softly. "Open it m'luv... see wot it says..." ::::::

Beathag: "Tha' should have been obvious tae ye the moment he appeared before ye in the Autumn, O' King." Her voice was methodical, and barbed. The scroll was taken into her hands, the seal outside broken but the weight of what was within did indeed hold the King's Seal and his Holiness'. As the Harper, she had increased her study to know what was the sign of the allies, what insignias, flags, standards and seals. It was a more successful venture than evre softening her English proved. "How is this sae.." She furrowed her brow and read it again, Mo'r Triath 'dair nan Gaidhlig Cinneach..... High Lord o' the Gaelic Nations. How is it ye've the power tae hand o'e rwot has ne'er been ours Dae ye realize the vera danger ye place him in..yerselves in, with this? Men fight fer their freedom n' tae hold them all in sway we'd look as tryrants." BEathag was highly opinionated, but if that wasn't known one wouldn't wishher to read it. The babe began to stir..so she sushed her. "The Holy See is nay Ireland, tis nay Wales, ner Cornwall, Mann, ner Brittany. n' by making him the Guardian of Scotland ye leave him tae be as King in yer stead.." The world began to reel as she passed the document to Adam. The changing of the world she said was life. But this, this she could have not forseen. The Queen of the West they told her once, but she spurned it. If this was so, no tyrant among them now could survive or the rebellion would be hideous. It looked of terror, of another war. Of uncertainty. (d)

Adam: Robert stepped forward a bit and bowed his head. "M'Lady Harper... as usual, yae are right... tis a dangerous venture... baet the Ainglish hold Wales, Ireland... Cornwall, and Brittanu... Mann is leaning toward Skye... and the clans? well they too lean toward Skye... It is a stepping stone to Kingship..." Adam turned to Bess... "Yae are right M'Luv..." then he looked to the Pope and Robert... "Baet, Ah wun bae King..." The Pope interrupted... "But M'Lord Aberdeen... not only SKye looks to you... but those who seek freedom... Those who wish the freedom from England." Adam laughed... "Aye... Ah knaew wot yae say is true... but wot of freedom from the tyranny that os Rome?" he nudged Bess... "Tis Rome who tore these island asunder for many years... now centuries later yu wish to make amends?" The Pope bowed his head... and Robert looked away...
Ignia Ferroque: ::::

Beathag: "N' ye think tha' to amend all the wrongs is tae make a king o'er all? Is this not want the enemies want n' ye would decorate it in a lovely way tae make it seem right." At the mention of her Scottish title she gave a long pause. Beathag had forgotten, that is what she had gone there for. In some way, it was sad to come to this. "He loved ye, m'husband, my men, and many across Scotland! They gave lives n' homes n' all their worth tae follow ye. How could ye even begin tae right the wrong ye've done for him, tha' ye've left for the Lord o' the Isles tae amend? N' you, yer Holiness. Do nay think ah have nay seen ye in yer way tae turn Ahdam toward the Church. His ways are his ways, n' the Church has a fine foothold 'ere, a splendid cathedral, n' an order o' monks has come tae establish an abbey. But tha' is nay the only way ,the only faith. M'husband is nay a pawn." She said plainly, and with the risen voices the maiden named Heather came forward to see what the matter was. "Take the Princess.." That was what she was, and the pope's words begged the question if they were already royalty in their own right, why not ascend the full throne? Beathag had not for an instant surrendered her daughter long, now she let her arms experience the weightless lack of Davina, but she wanted the baby to hear no more of this. "Aodhan, gae with Heather now." She held fast to Adam's arm, perhaps her mouth should remain closed but it was hard to see, to be still. (d)

Adam: The maid bowed deeply and took their babe... and Adam interruoted the two men to kiss his baby goodbye for now... His eyes turn back to them when the babe is taken away... his hand upon Bess' on his arm. "Ah dun wish kingship... baet Ah tell yae ture... Baet Ah shall elad Skye unto a new Gaelic Renaissance... one that will nay be likened unto Rome's nor England...baet to FREEDOM... pure freedom for all Celts... for any man, er woman er child of any nation... faer that... I'd be yer Mo'r Triath..." Adam smirked at the two's expression... The pair had come with expectations that Adam would relinquish the title... but instead he readily accepted it... but not for the men's reasons... but his own for his country... was he truly like his Father? :::::


Beathag: "Sae it is done. N' should he e'er become a King, if tha' is what the Gods 'ave in store." His Holiness cringed, but Beathag was nothing but sincere, "Than he shall dae it with more humility, n' mercy, n' love than either Rome, England, or 'en Robert Bruce could muster. You should pray tae yer God, n' ah tae mind, tha' this shall be as ye've written it. " Would the pair go proclaiming it in the streets? But if this is what they offered, she looked to her husband and said, "Tell the clans tha' follow ye tae wage nay war against our people, King Bruce. Tell them." He was ill, but still a piece of his anger could be riled. It sparked in his eye, and instead of fear all Beathag knew was anger for herself, for what he had done to Shaden, to Kendrew, to all of them. '"Tell them or it will be fer nothin', sae help me. " He nodded, and she nodded in return. Her face turned away for a moment, slightlydrawing pale from the tension of the moments. (d)

Adam: Adam smiled at Bess' words... like her steel they cut deep... He could always depend upon her to spark the truth in men... "Aye... yae need to sulk in darkened streets nor by ways... naew tis the time tae tell all... tae coom out and speak.... for this..." he holds out the scroll... "means nothing without the public hearing it from both of yae..." "Coom... we shall retire inside... and drink a bit... o'yer choice of course..." he looked at the Pope and smiled... With Bess upon his arm, he made his way down the path... the Pope assisting Robert along the paths.... Adam would no more help either man unless their lives were threatened in Skye... He leaned to Bess, where none could hear... "Tis dun M'Love... naew we see where Skye goes..." he glanced over his shoulde then opned the door for them all. ::::

Beathag: "It needs tae be told 'pon the square, and in Blue Castle. If he will be here he shall be 'ere. Ah told yer man, King, tae keep ye clear o' here but the danger ye risk is yer own now. His Holiness comes with a great many other reasons, though one would swear he should take great care. Ye reveal yerself tae much." The Pope and the King went one way, and the future monarchs of all the known Celtic lands another. Beathag stepped through the door he opened, the sight of the men consumed by the wood until but a sliver was left. "Adam, Ah'm afraid." She whispered as if the walls would betray them. "This is wot yer father wants, nay you, now it is forced 'pon ye n' fer all the world there is nay choice. But wot will it mean. Now they will ne'er cease tae call ye yer Majesty." Few would see him as lord, and the exuberant would find him a worthwhile King. In a sense, his ambition for change cornered him as much as Maubrey's want for supremacy was burning him low. (d)

Adam: Plans, speeches, meetings both public and secret... Gaining alliances at every chance...building a world power in the meantime... Was he like his Father? Yes in some ways... with one difference... Freedom for all... "Titles mean naethin tae me... freedom daes... If'n the tile gives mae the ability tae free people then ah shall..." he closed the door behind them. Soon his orders to get the Pope and the King to the Blue Castle as soon as possible. He chuckles... "Damn them anyways... they did naet ev'n say anything about the babe... we shall see if they dae afore they depart..." he chuckles. "Baet as for mae Father... In mae dreams, he and Ah face in battle... the Gryphon faces the Bull... and in a great battle... AH embrace him one final time..." then he looks away a bit passing by a tapestry::::::

Beathag: "But Ahdam it will place ye in a place far heavier n' this one, title or nay..." She breathed softly as they regarded the tapestry ," Tha' battle between ye n' yer father will rage hard now at this. The line between him n' ye is quite thin. Please, ask Eirian the meanin' o' this dream. It is nay as if she is nay here Ahdam. Title gives power but with tha' power comes a price, n' Ah'm nay sure tis worth it tae pay. Fer the price o' their freedom they have given their sons n' daughters n' dae sae now. Please Ahdam. Make it end soon." She shut her eyes and reached out to touch a tapestry "Our people need us 'ere. Most o' all, n' y er children need their father." On behalf of Scotland the Isles..she had learned. She thrived. She did what was needed. But on behalf of the places that fought for themselves, that indeed were England, she found it all very overwhelming. Her head came to rest against that tapestry (d)

Adam: He looked at her.. then took her by the arms, pulling her to him... A charming smile.... soft words... and a loving embrace... His arms wrapping around her, his chest supporting her head... course hands caressed her hair. "It will bae alright luv... Ah promise yae..." ::::

Beathag: "Ye keep all yer promises, but can ye keep this one, m'love? ye can nay control other lands..." She held him tight against an uncertain future, breathing in and out. He steadied her. Calmed her. "They made meh dizzy,." She muttered (d)

Adam: Lifting her chin... "Yae make mae dizzy... Ah luv yae sae much... baet, ah wun bae controlling nations, Ah bae guiding them tae freedom... Wallace did it... and he was nae god..." he smiled. ::::

Beathag: "Ye read tae much. Ye aren't Wallace." She mumbled, smiling a little more at his boyish grin. "Gah. N' all ye wanted tae dae was build me a blasted 'ouse" (d)

Adam: He laughed, the sounds coming from his abdomen... he shook as they finally laughed together.... then he kissed her with a renewed passion. ::::

Beathag: "William Wallace was seven feet tall n' shot fire from his arse, remember?" They laughed and laughed, quieted only by his lips against hers. The passion stole her breath, and tightened her belly with a wish for a quickness to heal. Adam brought forth the woman in her. (d)

Adam: And she, the man in he... "Aye, Ah ain't sev'n feet tall... baet mabbe the fireballs fro' mae arse..." he winks:::::

Beathag: "Yer terrible." The lady giggled

[Lady Eirian Gwenyth Apollius]

Memories, A Price



Eirian: Twilight slipped away like the rosary beads under the fingers of the devout. Vesper bells harkened the faithful to prayer and before they knew it twilight became full-fledged night with cut-out diamond stars through a blue-black blanket. A passer-by in the streets found that the cloaks of winter could be relinquished for a favorite shawl. Drawing it over an exposed shoulder, she would look up before being called by husband and child to the lamps that cast an aura eminating from the inside of the Artisan's seperate Hall. The Hall of All Guilds housed the means to teach any trade, but it still had land enough to seperate the distinguished. "They are awake much." The woman in the s street said before scurrying to catch up with her family that faded into the encouraching mists. With the supplies came an opportunity to replenish what had dwindled so that the memory of the fallen, the beloved, and the high cherished could live on. The rooms that had gone still bustled with activity. Everything inside smelled of inks, paints, soft hands and inspiration. It did not seem a night for danger, when the moon was shaped a pleasing crescent or when the people inside sounded like a family at a hearth of exceptional size. Some stalls were being shuttered that did not participate in the bustle of the night markets on other rows. Shops pulled their windows shut, but the doors of the guild could be opened by a bell rung by a long, heavily braided rope of old twine. "If no one is at the door," The High Artisan said matter-of-factly, soft lips blossoming to a smile, "Then about your work! I wish to have the images done for a processional the Church wishes to have. Aye, that icon there. She is to look the very image of a saint..shift your tile to the left, sir. Good!" It was not a night for danger, but that did not mean itdidn' tlurk somewhere. Thinking. Plotting. Seeking a vengence, perhaps (d)

Dora Dorie was wandering along, market basket over one arm, watching all the folks going about their business. She usually kept to the task of finding out the best price for turnips, but tonight she was going to seek fabric. She had plans to sew a new shift for the lady, her employer and this was a good time to see what new is there to be had. She sauntered along, unaware this was any but a lovely eve free of work and tasks for her. (d)

Apollius: It was nights like this one which reminded Saul of his homeland-- where fog rolled in thick waves like the surf rising upon the rock lined coast; the cold breeze whose touch pierced the thickest armor. He would sigh and watch as his breath took the form similar to the fog which loomed about his small caravan before stretching its greatest length and disappearing altogether. His eyes retained the image of his father's, and a gaze that was sharp and young. He had long black hair, tied back in a pony-tail, it hardly kept the rogue strands from falling in his face. His jaw was solid, and chin lifted to regard the Marshal of his Knight Order. ``Commander, I must inquire on why it is you pulled me on this quest. I have no reason to be in this place.`` Saul said, taking his glance from the Commander who rode beside him. The sound of their horses' hooves and the pair of carriages behind them breaking any veil of secrecy had they been trying to be covert. The Marshal, obviously older in years to the younger Saul would not look to the Knight-Errant. ``Has nobility fallen so far as to question the orders of their superior?`` The Cmdr asked. ``No, my lord. `` Saul replied, glancing back to the Cmdr, but keeping his bearing. ``I asked you along because I wanted you here. You have been here before, yes?``-- ``Your wisdom in stratego will not be questioned again, my lord; and yes. Many years ago..`` The entourage could be heard coming closer to the Artisan Gathering.[d]

Maggie: It wasn't exactly a spring night fit for strolling, but it did find the Quadroon former Lily, now the Captian's Lady, Maggie, within the arms of her love, upon horseback as they had rode into town for a night alone dinner and a bit of company with a grieving friend , who had lost both daughter and sister in the recent weeks.. Now that they had left the confines of the Lily, she had to wonder at the trek they took, not toward the sea, and their home upon it's bluffs, but rather toward the Artisan section of the City where great artist were known to reside and do works of sheer splendor.. even at her questions he chided her, teasingly, saying she would see.. in time.. which resutled in a comical rolling of cobalt blue hues that plainly said without utterance of breath MEN, but was softened by the adoring smile and the tinkle of laughter upon her lips as his hands tickeled her sides beneath the ermine lined cloak of a hue similar but lacking the brillance of her eyes..(d)

Avery: Her hand was not made for sketching, drawing or painting. It was meant to heal and to sooth those who saught cures for sickness and for discomfort but that did not stop her from admiring the work of the Artisan Gathering. Faces and places frozen in time of elaquent strokes of brush and charcoal and even some in fabric of tapisties. She could not judge their hands for freezing the faces of those to be remembered, from the lowlest to the most noble, nor the scenes of battle who would one day be told by the very men who lived it to children turning eager and undying devotion of ear to the storyteller. There was no judgement as she moved amongst the men and women commissioned to such a burdensome and yet special task. The singular braid of her hair swung as she leaned in close to one worker. "Pardon miss...but yer effectin' meh light." Avery's cheeks flamed as she took a step back"So sorry..." A faceless woman in the painting was tending the sick, as she had done. Of this she could relate, feel pride for it and the man who so skillfully moved his hand to etch time.*

Eirian: "My Lady what will ye be about this evening?" One of the artists called, holding an armful of parchment papers, passing through lifted canvases by two burly lads. Eirian stood upon tip-toe to have a voice carry over the active din of the main gathering, " To devotionals, to Hope, and to the loom! God be gracious, and to my husband!" The woman was easy to loose for unlike the vast majority of people of the island she hadn't even the luxury of an additional inch to five feet of fame. The five foot itself could be questioned! Child-birth had rounded the woman's figure though trevail had made it taught, limber again. Ah well, she'd mused, the Lord giveth, he taketh away. "High Artisan - the.." "Watercolors, I know, pray, go hither! I've pressed a new set for you just before Compline!" What set Eirian as noticeable were three things: The palor of her skin, the startling brightness of her eyes, and the fact that she was the highest of artisans among them. The evenings were stolen for the day was too much good to surrender: at long last, the artists were being paid for their efforts! With families to feed and lives to go on, they had taken to all manner of odd end jobs large and small on behalf of others to get through. She was no different, electing the path of giving instead of receiving. As she twisted around one artist stretching out a tapestry, the path of the faceless woman being painted was crossed. Looking between the faceless one and the one she didn't know, she gave a soft nod. "It becomes captivating, one is literally enslaved..." Footfalls heard. Horse hooves and carriages, but the artisans thought perhaps it was another who came to make a petition. Many did. From the lowest to the highest born. "Watch just so, Sean is exquisite in the way he captures the smallest items. How come you here, and is there something you wished m'lady? Forgive us, one and all, it is oft so busy we are inclined to forget..." (d)

Maahes: Walking down the path at night he lived in this moment, healed. No longer did the death of his wife bother him so easy, and that now with her image captured in his heart he held his head high. The city streets were empty or so it seemed, save for a few out on their way. Bess had said Eirian had something for him, but really he just longed for the company. So into the hall he stepped. (d

Jack: There was a soft smile as the Irishman and his Quadroon lady made their way down through the artisan's quarter, "Do you have trust in me?" There was a smile, "I tell you all I can..... to tell more, would ruin the surprise." What would Maggie make of it, as they slowly traveled past the cartographers, the painters, and others. As they moved, they went closer toward where the artist of stones - the master builders and the sculptors -plyed their trade. (d)

Dora: While she was seeking cloth, linen woven with floral designs right in the threads, Widow Lynch was taken by the fabulous beauty in each Artist's creation. Coins in her hand, wound up in a twist of parchement, she reached out to touch one particular pale off white cloth, woven with heather and thistle in its design and calcualted what would do for her sewing, with a side glance over to the drawings; artwork of people. Not church paintings but lovely reality. Dorie just gawked and then shook off the trance and went back about her business of selecting fabric." How long is the entire; it be so lovely I wish I could afford it all." she inquired of the artisan weaver. (d)

Saul: ``You learn quick, Sir Knight..`` Commander Austyn said, finally affording an accepting glance to the younger Knight. When the group arrived the carriages behind them finally came to a stop. The pair of knights leading [Saul and Austyn], and another pair at the rear, began to dismount their horses. Saul landed with an easy bounce, his leather boots making a clapping just before the swish of a small cape that fell to his ankles. He put a hand to his sword, resting it there as was the habit of many Knights. He followed Austyn to the carriages, handing their horses off to the young squire one of rear Knights were teaching. The doors to the carriages opened, and several high-end English men and their escorts would step out, all of them armed in some manner. They all had a purpose to which Saul was unaware of. ``In we go people..`` Austyn said, taking charge like he was prone to do on many occasions. Everyone began to bunch and they came to the door. Whoever was inside heard a loud trio of knocks.[d]

Maggie What she would make of it would be a slight confusion, and an odd tickeling of anticipation that always accompanied his suprises " Of Course I trust you her hands found the tops of his as he guided the horse they rode thru the maze of artisans toward the carvers.. still clueless as to his reasons, but trusting he had them and they would be amazing as usual.. Coming upon the settleing of Carvers both stone and wood.. the stallion would stop it's master alighting with an ease, born to a much younger man, light of foot and heart, it seemed as he helped his lady dismount.. an easy familiar brush of bodies acommpained by a sweet if quick kiss, before hands were joined as he led her to a door, and knocked.. thirce(d)

Avery: "It does..."A smile touched her lips. "I am always fascinated by things I can not do myself. All of it...is so beautiful, like walking through one of those mythical portals of time." She spoke to the woman who had in turn spoken to her, a beautiful and breathtaking beauty if Avery had ever seen one. One gray eye, one blue watched the woman with a smile, a touch of scarlett on her cheeks. "Oh I'm just here to look. I forget there is a world outside of home and the infirmary, seeing these, brings me back to it."A hand gestured to the many works of art.*


Eirian: "Then welcome," said the woman with pieces of paint and string upon her hands, "It is a good place to see and remember there is color in life..." Maahes entered, and for him she had something that was precious, that she allowed to occupy a sufficient amount of her work on the behest of the Lady Aramoire. The Admiral, too, was among them, and a woman on his arm she had not yet had the pleasure to meet. The artisan weaver looked to Dora, and considering the price said, "If you but tell me where you found such good vegetables in the market, and pay three half griffin we shall call it even." The artisan would release the beautiful piece to the admirer for a literal song! "Good evening, you all! Forgive me, your pardon I pray grant." A walk of few steps and a curtsy most graceful, followed by a retreating step and another dip of form and head. "Will you make them comfortable please, thank you. Make sure the Admiral is shown about and the General gets not far, I have something for him. By heavens, what hour of eve is this the bell sounds so. " She was going to fetch it herself, when one of the novices paid respects. "No, please, allow me. Rest you awhile, My Lady" Sweet voiced and no more than fifteen, the young woman scampered off to answer the great gilded doors with letters that read. Art is a power to life, life to art. Pulling back the clasping locks, a click and whir was heard. "Yes?" She peeked her head out to see many men. (d)

Maahes: A small little smile was given to Eirian before the art would catch his eyes. The colors, and crafted works had always been something to captivate. Perhaps in another life he would have been an artist, and in the back of his mind he love to see Ealora's work hung here. Though, he found he had a hard time parting with it. Brushing the chill away from his arms, the weather had started to break from the day's cold, but still held that frigid manner. Or perhaps... he simply knew something was not right. (d]

Jack: There was another soft bit of chuckle, his beloved and intended kissed his cheek. Eventually, they would make their way toward one of the sculptor's places. There was a smile, as he guided her in toward the shop. "Are ya curious as ta why we've come here, m'dear?" He smiled. The artist was waiting for them inside of her studio, as was the chosen median: a block of good, solid, wood from an Irish tree. The block was as tall and as wide as a man. (d)

Dora: "For turnips, go to Madlyn at the east of the square; tell her Dora sends her. " With a raspy whisper she told the artist, "She keep the best for friends and their friends. And so like the price be reasonable." Dorie got out the coins and exchanged for the cloth, sliding the turnips from her basket over to the Artisan." Take these; for now. Enjoy." Then she turned to the sound of a disturbance in the even flow of talk and movement in the area. Others had arrived and she tucked her new cloth into her shawl, curious what the to do was. (d)

Saul: The servant girl was snatched by her forearm and twirled into the hard silver cuirass of Austyn's. Gloved hand wrapped around her mouth as her hair was pulled backward, angling her neck out and putting her ear right by his mouth. She tried to scream, but it was futile. He looked to the others, nodding his head to signal them to move in; in that instance the door was pushed the rest of the way open and about fifteen people moved into the building. Saul had been helping the Squire secure the horses to the back of one carriage, unable to see what was going on at current. He missed the trade off with the young girl, the pair of Knight-Bachelors taking her from their Marshal and forcing her into the windowless carriage. The door shut behind them just as Saul and the Squire came around the other side oblivious as to what was happening. Austyn stood at the top of the stair, motioning them up. Saul looked to the squire, shoved him forward playfully, and moved behind him. The door to the gallery was shut behind them.[d]

Maggie: Very Curious" she murmered her eyes all aglow with the sights of the art and artist around her, so many wonderful things in veiw.. that caught her attnetion she turned looking about almost reticenct to follow when there was so much to see, but was pulled along by his hand.. " Jaques" the french twist on his name that had become and enderment, passed her lips " What are you up too ?"(d)

Eirian: Poor, poor apprentice girl! She had only gone to do a favor for the High Artisan and her fellow guild fellows. Little did she know that a cruel twist of fate waited to rob her innocence on the other side of the beautiful sanctuary where nothing but beauty was supposed to reign. Unable to scream, the sound burned a hole in her chest for want to escape. Twisting, turning, her form was tossed into the carriage where her feet began a useless, relentless assualt on the walls for freedom. "Where is Isobelle? My God, the girl can daydream even answering a simple door. And at night..when will she learn." Eirian was set to scold her severely for it was a matter of sense and safety in girl her age. The hallway was dark, however, the lantern blown out by a gust of spiteful wind. "Isobel, Isobel?" Her voice called down into the dark. The Commander crouched down, putting a finger to his lips. Thus far, nothing was seen. They weren't seen. "Isobel come here at once!" One step down, two. In the seeming silence a breech happened by an unusual twist of someone's boot heel. The common would have heard little, but the slight of sight are given good ears by God to compensate for what the eyes may lack. "Isobel.." She reached for the lantern at the back of her, only to turn around and see the Commander on the stair. He smiled - an invitation, a question to seek of them. But it was curled with a malicious, personal want that stained any play he might have had. "SEAN, SEAN SEAL THE DOOR. THE ROOM DOOR!" If he were spry enough he would catch her, but as it was he caught the fluttering hem her dress before it was snatched away. The lantern dropped..spewing no flame for a fire, only casting light on the faces at the bottom of the stairs. Little space was between them and most of the Guild itself! "THE DOORS!" There would be no time to close them completely. Sean dropped his work, putting his hand to his hip to feel if his dagger was present. It was beginning - that space small enough for her to wedge through...but the force on the outside would surely be enough to counter it, for old doors are often heavy in Europe. The commotion! Everyone looked among one another. What was going on, had not a victory been gained for the side of Skye? (d)

Maahes: He would not have a clear visual on what was the matter, and frankly was foolish enough to have left his swords at home. So deep in the belly of the beast he feared he would not remember the hand-to-hand as he had grown very dependent on his sword, but his voice boomed harshly down the hall. "Stay calm!" He barked, grabbing on small boy by the shoulder, the child clad in the mess of his trade--a painter, "Run into town, tell the first knight you see, first in. He'll know the rest." The boy would give a shaken nod, and Maahes would start to wade through the crowd, "Eirian!" Franticly his eyes would scan the masses in search of her face. As harsh as this sounds; the rest could burn so long as she survived. (d

Dora: This night she has wandered out alone; her comapnion Clovis the firewood vendor was still out of the city; the pair of dogs rested at home guarding the hearth. She wheeled around, market basket in hand, agog and in wonder. "Great land o' Goodness! What be come to this place? " She had only a market basket and that half full of turnips. Where was her employer, Lady lePower? Dorie stood and held the panic back." Hide! " she hissed to there fabric artist." I will make sure you not be seen." There was trouble on the horizion, for certain.(d)

Saul:: The doors shutting was a minor set back, but as they would come to meet in the center, to be shut completely there would be a scuffing sound. A sword was pulled from the safety of the commander's scabbard and stuck in to put enough distance between the doors to keep it from being barred. ``ON THE DOORS YOU IDIOTS!`` He screamed, and the men of the group slammed their shoulders upon the doors, giving them three strong shoves before they would open. The cusping sounds of several swords were heard being drawn, and the noble men took the lead. One grabbed the back of Eirian's collar, trying to force her to submit and be slammed against a wall.-- Sean was elbowed in the chin, which sent him backward and into the wall, dazed. Austyn stepped in and closed the doors behind his entourage of Knights. Saul was there, but confused. He thought he saw Eirian..[d]

Knight:Feet pounded against the street, perpelling the black armor clad knight through the streets. The boy had barely made it out of the doors when the knight nearly knocked the boy over. The look of a demon surrounded the form, clad head to foot in armor which looked blackened from hells fire and to boot, a horned helmet upon the head, obscuring the knights identity. Shoving the boy along on his errand, the black knight threw into the battle. The scrapping of swords was met with the singular draw of a sword behind them. Reinforments no doubt would come with the boys aid, but one knight amongst how many?. A body shoved against those blocking the doorway, a dark horned head turned and a scabbard went sailing through the air, much to large for an average man, the lion head hilt seemed to dance and twirl within the air before the whole thing clanged down by the General's feet. The hilt of the knights sword found rest against the belly of a man who yanked a painted vase from one of the artisans who screamed in protest at her work of art being taken. The vase went sailing through the air which only caused the artisan to squeal even louder. The black knight twirled, a foot kicked against the mans face as a body stretched and the vase was caught gby scant inches. Gloves fingers groaning in strain to catch the artifact before the knight was whirling around, tossing the vase at the artisan, whether she caught it was her own damn know how before the knight was within the crowd of innocences who now seemed to understand what was going on. Artisans clammering to save their work from thieving hands and patrons ducking for cover.*

Eirian: "Ye come on too!" The fabric Merchant pulled hard on Dora's hand as things went from placid to tumultous in a second. "I know the way out! Or pray to God I hope!" They would crawl if need be, but she was not living her here to be trampled or worse! Beside them, one of the English who had breeched the door seemed to come with an odd agenda. It wasn't the figure he came to maim, but the art itself! Forbid any of these lower born scum to be remembered for all this would burn! "Jesus and Mary!" The cloth artisan shielded her eyes as a veritable season of work was being torn apart. A knight spared what he could, a precious vase, to which a woman caught and sighed. It was t house the ashe of the dead. But some were not so lucky. For standing their ground over the memories of the people they took the blows themselves. Inside of this one room was a strange, battle. Unusual for what was to be saved here? Eirian turned to see the artisans fleeing for whatever door they could find, servant's passage, even to the edges of the walls with arms of people and substance. Maahes combed through an ocean of veritable martrys in his quest for Eirian, who would reply to him with a scream as she was grabbed. On the stairway things were being pulled down, pieces turned over, but it seemed to be the memory art of loved ones the artisans tried to cover most. It made so little sense that it was the stuff of poetry. Pushing her hands up, she was not slammed into the wall, but turned around instead. Jutting up a knee, she impaired the hip of her captor and with the aid of angle jutted him over it. The amount of men was enough to do harm to people who were not trained knights, enough to pose even a problem for the strange dark Knight, Maahes, and the Irish admiral. Fleeing from captivity, she ran head long into another knight but froze. There, in the light - it couldn't be...that was not who she saw. Apollo's face, but younger! (d)

Maahes: The sword would be picked up with only one glance over his shoulder to the man, silently giving his thanks, but panic set in as he heard Eirian scream. He would be damned if he lost another one. The people were mad with fright. girly men with paint on their hands, and he would remind himself later to have them all trained. The brute force of his body would wade against one man, the one closet to the sound, a man in arms, and not one of his own. His sword would be drawn, "KEEP THAT DOOR" He would yell to the dark knight who had helped him, and then forward he would go blade first into the battle. (d

[d]Dora[/b]: Old Dora slid her hand into the market basket and from inside its woven rush sides, inched up a nice round rather crispy hard turnip, and eased her throwing hand on out to her skirt side, careful to keep the edge of her apron over this missle until she sighted a likely target and then side armed it at one of the disruptors, yelling,"Bloody freakin hell! I ain't gonna take such behavior!"She sidearmed turnips at a helmet, a nose, eyes, where ever they were most annoying; just like cobblestones she threw at the English, back In Ulster." Take that, ye lemers!" (d)

Saul: Eirian's captor was subdued and stunned in the brillaince and speed of her evasion. His back hit the ground with a resonating thud, and his sword bounced from his hand.-- Austyn saw the towering Maahes over anyone else, and Maahes would be able to see him. In one, fluid motion, he removed his sword and held it with both hands before moving to attack the dark General.-- Saul looked down upon the youthful image of his stepmother, and his jaw dropped. ``Mom?..`` He asked, his hand on his sword to end her life, but stopped. Just as another of the English tried to claim his mother by the slice of their sword, Eirian was but where he stood, and he took her position, the sword going across his back. He screamed out in pain as he felt the tear of his skin and turned about to face the man who had dropped his sword in confusion. Just certain he had aimed the sword to strike Eirian. Saul subdued him with one square punch to the chin, knocking him into the ground. He turned to face his mother, wearing a pained expression as he sought to protect her now.. and caught a turnip to the side of his head...[d]

Avery: Avery's back came to rest against the wall as the comotion stared. For a moment she looked stunned...frightened into a frozen position until the womans two different colored eyes seemed to darken. She had no sword or dagger but used the only likely weapon, a painters board, used to store paint while they worked, it still had glops of paint upon it. As an Englishman went to run past, the board slammed against his face, painting it with glops of color. "Whoops... my bad..."She spoke with a grin as the man fell to the ground. A set of arms grasped her from behind. Perhaps any other person would of panicked...Avery, remembered to SING. A pointed elbow jabbed into a solar plec making the man release her with a grunt, Her foot went out next, instepping to his toe before she whirled on her feet, her palm thrust out into a nose and finally, a knee to the groin. See....SING. "noo...noo" An artisan cried as he held one end of his painting while the other end was held by an english their, the aritsan made failed attempts to slap the mans hands of "Ger off! Ger off!" He cried. A tap went to the english theif's shoulder, the man turned only to be meet with the glove of the black knight. Another advanced behind the knight while whirled upon feet, catching a painters drop cloth in hands, the mans hand was wound with cloth, trapped as the seemed stunned as such a weapon was used, the knight danced again, twirling on feet behind the man and with a quick jerk...the man punched himself in the face before receiving a swift kick in the ass. "A hand lifted, signaling to the General that the order was heard before the knight was again weaving through the scattering people, artisan, patron, and english. Course the English wouldn't be pushed aside....but fought. *


Eirian: Eirian had all but wanted to fall to her knees but now was not the time for petitions of piety, was it? "Saul? It can not be you..." They met on the wrong side of things, but it mattered little because Saul made Eirian cry out in alarm as the sword came down ,but on his back! Apollo had spent so long looking for his son, so very long that the boy came and went until he never returned at all. The assault of missles from unknown places turned a hard eye to the room in utter pandemonium. Her stomach twisted in a hard knot as the glint of steel came in corners. "If they won't surrender it, dun give 'em any reason to do anything else." The battle began to fill the stairs, the surrounding corridors, and that room. Some had broken through the second set of doors, fleeing only to find their escape was short lived. She reached out a hand to them, only being able to curl her body over that of Sauls for minute for the refuse and debris not to find way to his wounds. Call it an odd placed mother's love. Call it a life for a life - but for what vast things seperated him the young man was her son! "Maahes!" She called out, "Behind you!" It had never had a chance to be drawn, never in an instant was it thought of to be on her either, but under the tightly wound sash that accentuated the tiny waist, she found her saving grace. Some would go away from this hall, such as the cloth merchant and Dora, closer friends. She huzzahed the old woman's spirit and joined her, pitching the wood bolts that one wrapped the fabric in out into the open. "Look for anything with a good face. Good face you can recognize.." The Commander looked at Saul, under the woman, under the enemy, but had better things to do. A few of these portraits would fetch good price in London and make him an earldom, especially for faces of those generals and knights from the battle field he'd seen. Of the high ups. Eaiser to kill when you know what you are looking at. "The loom and the paintings...the book.." She looked down at Saul, kissing his forehead. "Hide. Hide!" She had no intention of letting him take those pieces. Not of the people that needed them most - not of the images of Ealora, nor Shaden. Maahes....Adam and Beathag. Eamonn. The names began to pound at her skull, making her cut under and around people all the faster to beat him to the door (d)

Maahes: Of course he would be caught by surprise as they now seemed to be turning upon their own, the shift in the crowd was quick to notice as well. He could see Eirian's face looking upon the boy..and then that name. Saul? It had not been but a month's time since Apollo was at his doorstep looking for his son, and it would not be until sometime ago did he understand what true love of a child was. He was not ready for this fight, not in a million years, and how disappointed Tommy would be in him. However, she was not here to save his rear this time, and as he turned to face the brute even his eyes would get wide. Arabic curse would leave his lips as he took the sight of that man on. (d

Jack It seemed as though, when battle was at last joined, that no part of the artist community would be safe. It was only the quick thinking by the Captain that sawhis beloved Lady being put in in a closet for safe keeping. The Irishman himself was engaded in the fight. (d)

Dora: She ran out of vegetables and with only a market basket, she used it as shield, as she followed the fabric artist in dragging some of the lovely woven goods away from the display table to duck 'em from the market invaders. She did see the little picture of her employer be taken away; Dora was sure it was her. And where would it be going? To someone making spells and cursing the person? Widow Lynch knew of such things and it set a shiver up her spine. (d)

Saul:: Beneath the frame of his mother, he was forced to unconsciousness, blood pulling beneath him. Upon his chest, the coat of arms for an English Knight Order, and his own Knight-Errant symbol. The color drained from his face.[d]

Ealora: More seemed to advance, the horns upon the knights helmet were grasped impairing the knights ability to move. A hand reached up to unclasp the strap keeping the helmet on. Jerking down, the knights head popped free. Russet curls framed the Egyptian cut features of the pirate queen, celadon eyes blazing as she ducked and turned, hands went to the helmets end which were still held by the other. With a jerk, she yanked the helmet out of the hands and slammed it against an English face before she was jerking around again to find Maahes being attacked. A growl left her lips as she jerked her arm back and threw it forward, hurling her helmet at the assailant attacking her husband with all her might. As the helmet sailed from her hands, she jerked forward, pumping her legs for all their worth, jumping a table with scattered remnants of something glass to sail through the air and land upon the one attacking her husband. The helmet slammed against his head right before her body collided with his own, knocking the man upon the ground, her knees connected hard with the ground as she straddled the body, growling in a low hiss as pain shot up her knees but she would not let it still her and her fist connected with the back of the mans head, knocking him unconscious. "You...don't touch...my husband.."she hissed at the prone form.*

Dora: Old lady Lynch sat down on the floor, her back to a counter and gasped. "I shoula not laced me stays in so tight tonight."

Eirian: The time between looking over her shoulder and seeing Saul, near to breathless was heartbreaking but there was nothing to be done for it. Only to go forward. Beyond the hall where the priceless artifacts were being ruined to the one place even Eirian refused to sacrifice. Just as the Commander was coming down upon his place of interest, a little flash of grey cotton and silk darted past him; a most unlikely bird came down on the locks to the room that set all the hinges in place. Turning to face her, he'd be surprised - if not laugh - at the woman with sword in a place ready to defend that room. "Get away, so help you get away! " Jokingly, he gave a one handed swipe with his sword to find it deflected. Another, deflected. He was toying with her, dangling her on a string. From the neighborning room came an armed man, whom awoken in the chaos, was slow to reflexes. He did not last long, and the first body fell before the door. "Come now, move. This is adorable really...": He chortled, growing more..annoyed as it passed on? Looking at Widow Lynch the cloth merchant grinned, "Eh, fine stays for a good hoisted bosom m'lady! Ye heart should beat mighty fine tonight! " Looking across the room her heart fell, but these were things in the end no matter how precious. It was the people that could not be replaced. "Say, lady, have ye seen the goodly folk? I don't see The High Artisan anywhere.." It wasn't supposed to be this sort of night: For glory, for memories or martydom. Nor to prove any points or reckon with the missing. By now the commander had engaged Eirian enough to know she was a dog with a bone. Breaking off a long wood beam from the table, he said, "I'll take you down like a weed under hoof." He enjoyed it too much but she didn't move. Crazy, Foolish. Or just determined. She didn't move! Backing up he did as he promised, driving the wood into the door, wrecking the pin locks, driving the woman through it but in an odd twist of fate, the lintle post was weakened so that thetop of the door frame fell solid on his head and shoulders. Before the bull went completely down, he pulled at the limbs of the woman who scrambled to pull the pictures closer. Ealora facing the sea. Maahes, standing over his men. There were images of Dora and Dmitri. Of all the people that perhaps never knew how closed she watched that would never get to England. Their journey ended under her body as she began to move in and out of consciousness (d)

Maahes: Of all the chaos around them, the storm that had been in full force all he could see or hear was the woman standing against him. She had saved him, of body and of soul so many times. Over and over again he praised the lord for her, and in that moment thanked God once again. He knew she was not dead, he had felt it. However, he needed to be pinched and with a heavy booted foot coming to press down on the man's back that had struck him he moved to take his wife into his arms and kiss her all over again. "Hi, Habibi, I've been busy." He smiled only hearing the screams and watching as Eirian fell. Taking Ealora's hand he drew up his fallen sword and pulled her into the battle. "Get em' Hellcat." And with that all the English would fall or be given their run, "Avery!" He boomed then bending to Eirian's side, "No no no, my Queen. You keep your eyes open." Touching her face lightly he watched the color drain from it and shook her chin lightly. However, at the same time he would keep an eye on Ealora..Lord this man is going to need a stiff drink tonight! (d

Ealora: A gloved hand groaned as his hand took hers, hers squeezing tightly within his own as he pulled her up to her feet. His lips met hers before she had a chance to say anything and a soft moan emitted as her other hand rose to cup his face. Stealing a moment in time as her lips curled into a grin. "I see that.." Her hand dropped from his face as he pulled her into the battle, releasing only as she battled on with another englishman and he to Eirian. "Always.."She sent him a wink, Celadon eyes blazing before her attention was stolen away.

Avery: The board she still clutched within her hand was slammed against an English head a second time and down went the man. Her head turned at the sound of her name, her braid swinging madly and waking another in the face. "Be right there.."She shouted over the howls of the man whacked in the face by her braid. Twirling around, she slammed the artisan board against his face, the last hit as the board broke in two. Dropping the two broken bits
ofpaint stained wood, she ducked and weaved between the reinforcements that had arrived at Maahes command and came to a slide to her knees by Eirian's head. "Easy my lady...do not move." Her hands captured the womans face. "Keep your focus on me...or the General..."*

Eirian: She had fended away the English commander for several good strokes, so out of sheer force was the only way he found in. It was not to his advantage, because the beam that had fallen on him did little by way of keeping him alive. It was holding him to the floor, thus smothering his air ways. Eirian's eyes swam this way and that, fluttering between both people. Despite orders she tried to get up, regretting it the second she did as it sent her careening backwards with a sharp wince. There was blood on the front of her from saul, splinters of wood. "Hope....Hope. She was..with Tabitha. My daughter please. My son." Her thoughts were skewed, but under her back in perfect semblance were the things she would not them take, like the other artisans, memories were precious. The force was enough to have bruised her, but if one could ask her she would say i twas not new. her left eye had a webbing over half of it. a light one in the right. The thickest was the left, because Eirian had a partial blindness. One of many things that should have killed her, but God was very kind. "Saul."(d)[/font]

[hotarokaori]

Kaori was once more by herself, in the office that would cover the scent of her perfume with the scent of ink by the time she returned home. Her hair had been left down that day, but was now pulled back loosely so it wouldn't hang in her face as she bent over research and notes. She had also started wearing dresses and blouses that she could pull the sleeves back on. She had stained a good many dresses with ink and gotten a stern talking to by concerned chamber maids that didn't understand why the High Scholar had been working so much.

Kaori was actually quite proud of herself despite stained sleeves and tired eyes. The worst thing about historical texts and documents were bloody inaccuracies. There were dates that had been recorded incorrectly or illegibly and accounts that were written from one man's perception rather than an unbiased, uncompromised record of events. Furthermore, people who are afraid for their own lives may write history as other wish it to be written rather than what actually happened. History was rarely accurate. History was far too easy to fabricate.

Triumph, however, can be found in tenacity. When Kaori found discrepancies between texts, she marked them. Then she would go to a third source. Then a fourth. She would go to however many were available in order to skim the truth out of the jumble of opinions and mistakes. That was what was taking so much time. There was too much information that couldn't be implicitly trusted. It took a certain sort of person to have the patience to figure these things out. Well, Kaori could never pride herself as a patient person, but she was a determined person. And when she wanted to do something, a tenacious person could function just as admirably as a patient person.

She also found a very valuable colleague in Nathan Renquest. It would have been very easy to say that his contacts in England were providing him with information she had desperately needed, but that wasn't the true extent of her regard. He was willing to sit with her for hours, brainstorming and figuring things out. Furthermore, he had a fresh pair of eyes and a very different perspective to bounce ideas off of. He thought of things she hadn't, and he had a talent for seeing things she had missed. He could pick out details where she was more concerned with the bigger picture. In reality, their talents complemented the other's perfectly. And when all was said and done, Kaori was finding herself considering him more of a friend than a mere colleague.

Kaori was just about to launch one of her silent but exuberant seated victory dances after figuring out her latest discovery (her private dances had become a bit of a ritual when she was by herself), when something else caught her attention. Cue the scream, the jump atop a stool and the plaintive calls for help (though it was rare anyone else was anywhere near her at this hour). This was Kaori, though. Instead of shrieking, she positively beamed. "Colonel Fitzpatrick-O'Sullivan-MacRiley, what are you doing away from your post, man?!"

Kaori stood and brushed off her dress, watching the rather large spider scurrying across a couple of books on her desk. He was easily the length of her middle finger, and though he was not hairy and there were no pincers, she still found him positively precious. A poor older woman who had come in to dust had discovered him in the corner closest to Kaori's desk, and the scream had made Kaori wonder if she had discovered an assassin shoved in the corner. The older woman had promised to get someone in to kill him, making Kaori launch into a full battle with the woman as to why spiders should not be killed. In the end, the woman had promised to leave the spider alone, but if she came in to dust and he was not in his web, she would leave. That suited Kaori just fine.

The following day, Kaori had made sure to say hello to him. From there she started to call him Colonel. The next day he was Colonel Fitzpatrick-O'Sullivan-MacRiley, complete with a very brave history and an entire list of commendations and medals, all well catalogued in Kaori's mind. ... Working late hours by herself could be very lonely, and while Kaori was sure that no one would judge her, she still kept the Colonel's history to herself.

Bending over, Kaori cupped him in her hands, bringing him back to his web. "And why on Earth would you take an excursion? Look at this! You've captured that big juicy fly that had been buzzing about and vexing me for half an hour!" Though Kaori didn't feel the spider bite her, he seemed happy to be released to the wall so he could make his way back to his home. "Now don't waste any time before wrapping her up. She's still fighting. You'll lose yourself a meal."

Sighing, she couldn't help but wonder what Marcos would think if he saw this mess. While he had seen her office at the castle, he hadn't any occasion to go to the Scholar's Hall. If he had seen Kaori's mess of an office, she hadn't a clue what he'd think. If he saw her speaking to a spider she had named and devised a biography for, he'd probably think she had gone crazy (though Kaori preferred to think of herself as a lady going sane in a crazy world). She had to smirk as she looked to a stack of folded parchment that was very much out of place among aged documents and dusty tomes. Was it best she get those out before Captain de La Costa had an opportunity to discover the extent of his beloved's eccentricities? Oh, it made no matter. He was too stubborn to call off the marriage now.

Moving back to the table she worked at since her desk was no longer accessible, she knelt upon her pillow and arched her back,bending backward until she felt an audible crack. She then straightened back up to set back to work as Colonel Fitzpatrick-O'Sullivan-MacRiley busily wrapped up his treat in a cocoon for later.

It was sad really. The position she held made her see the war through a filter, hearing accounts but never having to see blood and attacks and fight battles. But she could still do some good. William Maubrey, the Bull of Aosta, was soon going to be revealed for the sneaky serpent he really was. And Kaori couldn't wait to show him that one had to choose their prey wisely. Sometimes the ones that looked like the easiest victims were the ones that fought back the most viciously.

[Lord Eamonn of Eohmark]

Winter Camp of the Riders
IN THE FROZEN WOODS THE WEARY TAKE THEIR MOMENTS OF PEACE..

The sun had long since set, disappearing beyond the horizon and unveiling the stars and night sky in its wake. The moon glistened; lending light to the earth, but even the lunar light was too dim to make sight and visibility clear. The dense woodlands of Skye scattered the light of the moon, dispersing it to cast the ground below in a dapple field of light. With the absence of the came the dropping of temperature, it was winter, making it all the more freezing. The winds howled this night, but they had been for some time, Eamonn noticed, and longed for the luxury of a warm fire and soft bed. However, such commodities were impossible out here in the woods so far away from Turas Lan, or even any other small village. It would take some riding to get back to civilization, but they could not spare the energy of the horses. Banners whipped in the wind wildly, snapping and waving frantically as the spear tips they had been attached to gleam in the caught light. It was so cold you could see your breath in the form of a white, wispy cloud. Horses snorted and from their snouts came the clouds of grey, only to drift in the frosty air and be forgotten. Winter campaigns…Eamonn loathed them. The soft crunching of snow under the hooves of the horses could even be heard over the jingling of armour and clattering of weapons as the horsemen moved onward. Soon, they would have to stop and make a camp for the night; the horses needed respite and the men needed some amount of warmth and nourishment to sustain them.

Lifting his spear up in the air, a gloved hand tugged on the leather reins attached to the bitless-bridle, halting the dapple grey stallion. Hooves sank in the white snow that covered the woodland grounds and that powerful neck arched as the horse dipped his refined head. Strands of black, grey, and white waved in the cold breeze, muscles even shivering a bit but would have gone unnoticed by the untrained eye. Turning slightly in the saddle, the Marshal glanced back toward the horseman that followed him, looking over their tired features even in the cover of the night. Eamonn knew his men were tired, hungry, and cold, just as he was, but there was little that he could do to help them. They all were going through harsh times on this campaign and it would not end until this war was over. Thin lips, chapped and cold, pressed together to form a thin line, hazel eyes traveled south to survey silently the condition of the horses the riders were perched upon. Inwardly, he sighed. The company of Eamonn and Cormack had been travelling for hours on end, all day in the saddle, and it was taking its toll upon them. Some riders were injured from the last skirmished, horses exhausted even though the pushed on. No more for the night, Eamonn thought to himself silently as he turned to Cormack, the pale horse tail attached to his silver and gold helm glinting in the dappled moonlight. ``Set up camp…they have had enough for today.`` Eamonn whispered, and sure enough, Cormack gave the command for a base came to be erected for the night.

Men, all too glad at the call for camp, started to dismount their horses; some were leading their horse to a tree to tie the reins to it. Eamonn motioned Finbar forward a ways before dismounting himself. The moment his boots struck the ground a sigh emitted from his lips. How good it felt to stand after being in the saddle for so long. The long spear was thrust into the ground, standing erect with the sharp head pointing toward the sky. Another labored sigh came as he took his moment to rest before tending to his horse, who was as tired and cold as he. The company splintered to small groups, each one building a fire to shed some sort of warmth in this wintry season. Gloved hands, nearly frozen stiff, unbuckled the saddle, and with a great heave, the saddle was removed and placed on a fallen log. One man set out to build a fire for their group, gathering what fallen, dry, limbs he could before peeling back the snow to reveal the soil of the earth. As more men finished tending to their tired horses, they too came to help, gathering kindle for the fire, stones to ring it, and wood to keep it burning. It would take many logs of pine to keep that fire burning, for pine burned quickly and did not last as long as a hardy maple or oat. The tents had long since been used for bandages for horses and riders, leaving them all in the open, even the commands like Eamonn. They were all stuck in the elements now.

With a fire sparked to life, Eamonn continued rubbing down Finbar, massaging the horse’s muscles as best he could in the inhospitable chilly winds of a winter night. Finbar snorted, cold, standing as close he could to the fire to absorb the heat. Eamonn reached down to the saddle, and unbuckling a large blanket, his own, the Marshal draped it over Finbar’s bare back, knotting the ends to keep the wind from stripping it off the stallion. ``I know my friend…it is not much…but it should keep you warm for a few hours more…`` Eamonn whispered to his horse, who turned his large head and nuzzled his armoured side, understanding. Other men groaned as they finally settled down, the riders who had some knowledge in medicine moved about the small camp groups to lend aid to whoever they could. ``Keep the blades near the fire, we do not want them sticking to the scabbards.`` Eamonn instructed without having to glance over his shoulder. In the frigid conditions, the metal of the blade tended to stick to the scabbard, making the drawing of a sword impossible. One rider pulled out the black pot he had and gathering the best looking ice and snow from the trees and ground, he began to boil the water, melting it so it could be drunk. Eamonn removed his helm and placed it near his saddle, the pauldrons, greaves, and vambraces were all removed, even his tassets were placed aside to lighten his burden. Tired, Eamonn finally wandered over to the fire to join the men huddling around it.

``We’re going to have to hunt soon, our supplies are running low. But, with the night so high above us, a trip into the darkness is not wise.`` A rider mentioned, huddled in his own wool blanket. Visibly, he shivered. Eamonn’s heart went out to his men, knowing how harsh campaigns could be, and even how demoralizing it mounted to. Still, they could not lose hope. Already, under the layers of armour, Eamonn and many of the other riders were much thinner, evidence of food rationing and the kinds of food they could carry.
``In the morning, I and a few others will look for something. Perhaps a hare will venture from the burrow, to wish for a doe or buck will be a fool’s hope.`` Eamonn replied.
``Even the animals are smarter than us, having sense to stay in their burrows and holes.`` A rider commented, getting a laugh from many of them.
Eamonn smirked and nodded, and when the cup of newly melted water was handed to him, he took a few large gulps of it, the hot water hitting his stomach like a swift kick in the abdomen, but it was warm and he was so thirsty. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Eamonn passed the metal cup to the man beside him and hazel eyes turned to the small fire, the glow warming his face, even as the cold breeze came and shifted the strands of blond hair.
``My Lord, your cloak.`` Came the voice of the man.
Eamonn glanced over his shoulder and up to the rider holding out a wool cloak to him. He smiled softly, and a bare hand reached out for it, his gloves had been laid near his saddle. ``Thank you.`` And with that, he wrapped the cloak around his broad shoulders, pulling it tightly about himself as he suppressed a shiver.

Idle conversations drifted on the air from other men, some laughing, some already asleep on the ground, worn and weary from the ride. The rider that was doubled as their medic was presently wrapping a man’s bleeding leg.
``When is this war going to be over, my Lord? We have been on this trek for months…will we ever win this war?`` Inquired a tired rider, laying on the cold ground curled and wrapped up in his cloak and using his pack as a improvised pillow, resisting the urge to pull out the hard bread in his pack to sooth a growling stomach.
Eamonn arched a brow, tearing his eyes from the fire and gazing upon the man on the ground. No expression, save that of weariness from a long day’s ride, appeared on his features, which were sharper now do to weight and mass loss. ``I do not know. Wars are uncertain, and could turn to our favour. We have not surrendered or claim defeat yet, so there is hope. As long as we fight and take as many enemies with us, we all strive toward the conclusion of this war. Just think about your home, rider. Let that be a reason to keep hope. That, is one thing the English cannot take from us.`` Eamonn replied simply, nodding his head curtly.

After the riders all had their shares of water, refilled their skins, a thin stew was made with whatever they had left, the last dried meats of a rabbit caught days before, though even that was in no great quantity. It was food, however, and you ate whatever you could. Cups turned into bowls, of if one did not have a bowl, spoons were dipped into the small pot and the hot stew was consumed. Everyone that had ever been in the military for longs periods of time knew the value of a hot meal, no matter the taste of it. This was far from a platter at the inn or tavern, this made those meals seem like luxury dining and the soft beds were a Godsend compared to the cold, hard ground. Men took turns taking watch over the horses, Eamonn slept little as his thoughts wandered from the war and to his home. He missed his wife, his Aislin. How he longed to hold her in his arms again and keep her close to him, to feel her love. Out here, the world was unforgiving and her kindness and love was a ray of sun. Eamonn missed his children, wanting to hold them close and watch them sleep. But, it was because of them he fought now…so in the days that followed when he died they would not have to fight. Still, it pained his heart silently, separated for days at a time from his family, never knowing for certain if he would come back alive or dead. But, to think of the latter did little good. Eamonn was alive now and had every intention of coming home. Sighing, he leaned back against the log and stared at the fire, tossing a log on it to keep it burning and warming them all in the frigid night.

[Exeunt.]