Murieall's Last Days

[King Adam Aberdeen I]

The greatest treasure
lay kept in a chest of stone;
writ in script of spider's style
A name, time held close, forever keeping
The tears that from eyes brimmed, weeping
are dry
The greatest treasure, forgotten lay
the hearts holding fast to the story
have long since died.

Murieall of Aberdeenshire was a great niece of the Lady of the Isles, and so was Davina's cousin. Their blood differed by a little and at once by great divides in the families that had grown, swelled, and changed at the mouth of the rivers Dee and Dun.

They lay in state together. Davina died some time before Murieall had, but the pair of them seemed to be spaced by mere weeks. In their morbid sleep of eternal beauty, above them the world would rumble. Soon, the dust would be brushed from their dead lips. Soon, Murieall's words would resonate:

" I am killed by he who loved me. I am killed by that which I loved. I am undone by loyalty and buried beneath the last Kingdom of Scotland, giving way to only Scotland remaining. "

In the days before Davina… before Murieall… a young knight, in the army of his King invades the Isles. Unable to defeat the army of the Lord of the Isles, he finds ways to infiltrate the city… opening the gates from within… while his army surrounds the Capital City. Instructed with taking the city by any means, William finds himself struggling with his conscience, over the possibility of regicide.

He is concerned with consequences he would face were vast, and that there are many reasons why he should not murder Alan MacRauri. These were his first thoughts on the matter at this time murderous thoughts are alien to him, he was a soldier… a knight... Many thought him to be a very moral and conscientious young man and he knew that regicide is a cardinal sin.

Pressured for a successful campaign against the Isles… Despite with fighting thoughts describing his inner reasoning against the murder… the word that William stressed was success… power…beyond those of simple kings… finally deciding that his only motivation towards regicide is his ambition.

The subversive manners used for infiltrating the castle led William to a power called the Brooch of Skye… Be it witchcraft or political, the emblem was the seat of power in the Isles… and his acquisition of such would prove his success…

As time goes by, William began anticipating that the murder would be carried out… Instead of contemplating whether he would murder MacRauri, he is now deciding how to murder him.

William’s strive for power affects every aspect of his life, and this motivation eventually leads to the death of the Lord of the Isles… would venture yet another motivation… to stop at nothing to gain position as King of the Unified Isles.

The path to his goal was filled with malfeasance and darkness. All actions taken by William have immoral intentions and/or evil outcomes. His dark intentions to quicken his crowning, fuelled the desire to murder anyone or anything that stood in his path.

In the end, William murders the Lord of the Isles and his oldest daughter… to prevent any heir from gaining the Brooch. The youngest daughter is sent away and hidden.

Ten years later, William is married to Davina MacRauri and has a son… with whom he shows neither emotion nor feelings. Again, William's stress was success… power…beyond those of simple kings. But one thing he did not expect was a love that grew inside of him for Davina’s cousin, Murieall. For her, he was willing to commit murder once more… her husband and his wife… not for power, but for love…

With Murieall's denial of his affections, rage burned within… Again the MacRauri’s would suffer at his hand… How Davina died was a mystery. Was it from heartbreak or what he did?

William was away from London serving the English King in Aosta; her son had left home to find his own way thru life, being denied the way of the Cloth as his mother wished. Not long after her arriving in Aosta, servants would find Davina, laying upon her bed, a vile of poison by the floor. A love letter from Murieall to William upon the bed… or so suspected…

[Queen Beathag Aberdeen]

1333



From the depth of the caverns of the castle, from the stone sarcophagi, the glass coffins were removed, their bodies so well preserved, as if they were buried but days ago. The army of men it took to move just one, numbered fifteen, to heft the glass coffin and to honor the Ladies on their way to their final resting places.… To the redesigned room fit for a queen, the last remnants of Davina and Murieall were laid to rest… a befitting place for the two. As the laborers bowed in deep respect for the two, then they departed. The room was smooth, all shaved stone of the castle walls, a revetment to harbor the sarcophagi, as they rest head to head in a V shape, to allow visitors to knelt at their sides. The Cross of the cathedral hung overhead and to the side, the bloodstained alter from which Lord Alan died held Davian and Murieall’s well-worn Bibles. All symbolic of the efforts of the McRauri’s endured for a free people.

Adam came forward and looked around. Finally, he knelt next to Davina’s glass coffin, one hand upon the top, he prayed for the first time since the age of 12. He softly spoke in the Gaelic… “God, upon high, I pray that you accept these two women into your loving arms… and provide me the wisdom and strength to fulfill their dreams of a free people. I know they suffered greatly at the hands of evil-doers and were wrought from this Earth far too soon… I pray now they shall be honored as they rightly should be… Bless this resting place oh Lord and keep their dream alive… Amen.”

Meanwhile, the men cleaned up the caverns below, preparing the sarcophagi for repositioning, when a discovery was made. When two men pushed the sarcophagus of davina, a small grotto carved into the side opened and revealed its contents. Inside, was a leather tube… sealed with the royal seal Murieall of Aberdeenshire. Immediately, the men stopped work and ptrotected the area while its forman ran upstairs to present the find to the Mo’r Okesula… Would this find prove who actually murdered Davina? Would it give clue to Murieall’s death? What would be unveiled as the small grotto is examined further?

The room where the women rested took no less than five years to complete, for it required improvements to places in the castle that had long since fallen out of use. The Mo'r Triath took great stock in assuring the women could rest together, away from prying eyes, home where he felt they belonged. The Mo'r Oukselo believed that such preservation was an abomination, but could not find it in her heart to put Murieall to the pyre. She could not find it in her heart to turn a son away from honoring his mother, either. Knowing of the fondness her mother had for her distanced relation making them as close as born sisters, the room was where Murieall of Aberdeenshire would always stay.

To her, the great mysteries were as solved as they needed to be solved. It wasn't Beathag's intention to ever reside in a giant puzzle box or to find that everything she had once forgotten under the weight of England's heavy hand was right under her. In the years since tapestries told stories or the solar a fable, she lived a happy life.

Titles meant precious little to the people who knew her best. Duchess Aberdeen, Mo'r Oukselo, High Lady, White Lady and scores of other names only enlivened one portion of the masterpiece that had become she. A sliver of the axe she had cut into the enemies of the Celts with lived in the luckenbooth at her throat. A silver griffin? The sign of a love who'd promised to return from battle, now that of a nation. White Lady? What remained after the hellhould and banshee were laid to rest under the silent gray stones of what was built after the ground had taken in the blood. Scarlet would have made a mockery of a color to include in the royal lists. Black and white, at once the union and absence of color, fit well. Meaning is derived from things that host a symbolic link.


Living symbols were better than dead ones.


Caldean, son of Amhlaid and Murieall, took leave of one guard to be the one whom stood outside of her solar as the harp strings were plucked. In him, like others, the unknown took substance to not be wondered over. He no longer need be the poor, mourned brother whom vanished in Scotland many years ago. He could see the light in the East Wing of Griffin Castle while breathing in the fresh air from an opened window. Invigorating gusts of cool air danced with dust specks. The fire place flickered, only to push back against the assault. Beathag, daughter of Einar and Murieall, claimed daughter of Amhlaid, played on. She couldn't feel the ill-effect of cold stiffening up her joints anymore, because years had healed what time wanted permanent. The two did not speak often of their relationship anymore. He was not given the accolades nor craved the placement of Eamonn, but was content all the same. He was not mourned for, and even his nephew whom brooded more than he spoke sat transfixed beside his aunt. The boy was Brycean's son, the eldest of the children born of Murieall, whom had died in battle before the eyes of his sister.

There were paintings, words, and tapestries. Then there were the living whom accounted for what the dead couldn't give.

Eamonn was the brother whom was born in a land across the sea. That land gave Einar life when Scotland could not, and for this all had learned to be thankful. His children and his wife, Aislin, healed the hole that Moyra had for years left behind. What was to be seen now of the three in the Solar? Caldean left the doorway to step down into the room itself. With the door sealed behind him, the world was sealed away. He placed a hand upon Beathag's shoulder. Only then did she stop playing to ask him:

Are you happy, Caldean? Ye are sae quiet, only the Gods would know?
Aye, sister. I am.
There's nay more to be done for you, nor against you. You are at peace then?
Aye, sister. I am I do nay need to be seen in the front tae know tha' in a world where there are two sides, we share the better of it.
What of you, nephew?

The young man put his hand to his aunt's knee, and smiled up to his uncle. For all of his silence he, too, found happiness here.

"Aunt Beathag, think ye Ahmlaidh will e'er return? Ah've thought to look for him, my grandfather, your...father. Is tha'the way of it?"

"He is the only father Ah've e'er known, if you'd look at it tha' way."

"He's rarely depicted here."

"He's depicted enough. He was nay one for rememberances or sittin' still long enough for more than a pipe or a boat."

"Do you miss him?"

"No. He knew wot he lost n' knew what he stood to gain. He let it slip away. The past is nay as important as the future. Aye, it did tell us things..but there are a great many more here with us now n' now is where you should live as well. Yur young! Ye must find some place for yourself.."

To live in the future was a fine intention. It was a lesson that Eamonn had all but pleaded with her to learn when their lives were split in twain with secrets. Desite the best laid intentions, a workmen from the resting place of the 'Two Queens' arrived with a face reverance. One would have thought him holding a grail, the way he treasured the little find from the grotto so. When he was granted entry, he paid his respects to the other two with kindness, for they never took to any royal titles.

"M'lady, begging your pardon. This was found in the sarcophogus of one of the women, Davina, and has the seal of your Lady Mother upon it. I was instructed to present it to you.."

Beathag placed her hands on the back of her mother's harp. Just as suddenly as peace descended it could be revoked. She forgot what it felt like, to have her lungs burn hot with unreleased air. As the room began to spin, no one would be aware of it for she accepted the little tube with a grace that had become as standard to her baring as a temper once had been. She felt as if she wanted to question her mother: What more could you have to say..but thought against it. Caldean, however, did not. "What more could beh left?"


The workmen was dismissed. Walls had ears, but human ones listened for longer. Whatever the container held, whatever was behind the seal already disturbed her. Could not Adam have simply burned it, or left the dead to their musings? Now, it would be her duty to read it.. "Ah dun know, wot e'er it is..we will nay speak of it in the open company o' the court.."


Behind the cracked seal read the following:


To Adam, Written on Behalf of the Lady Davina, by Murieall:

If I should never see you again, If I should never with my voice tell you of the love I bare for you than know it is endless. I know that a vile thing rises against me, so with these things I hope your future will be secured:

They would read in document how the King of Scotland had granted the seperatist Isle of Skye the chance to become its own Kingdom, as it had been during the time of the Normans. It would go on to further say that the line of succession would pass on to Adam, and that he would become a King. The blessing of this had been done by a man of the church in his court, and he was to be blessed..and coronated...


These things had come to pass. Not in the way Davina had intended, nor to the extent of granduer, but they had. Still, it was to mean that her death did not come from a passive hand. It meant that Murieall, a member of Davina's plots in preservation, all but secured her death in doing so. It meant that where they were sitting should have been more, but it was enough. It meant that Davina died as a Queen, and what Maubrey lost infuriated him for he could claim no mantle. The impressions of a woman's fingertips were on the outline of the page. A note, behind it, would read:

"Davina please, please come back to Aberdeenshire, with Adam. I fear for you. Amhlaid is not himself. There is far more to this..- M"

She did not read these things without the company of the two who had remained in the solar. In fact, it was Caldean whom noticed the name of his father, and commented on that fact. "He's ne'er appeared in more than her journals.." he commented, for Beathag had recounted to him the story when Eamonn's ears did not wish to hear it. He couldn't blame him, he sorely wanted to know himself, but he had missed so much he felt almost indebted to listen. Beathag nodded, "Amhlaid was nay aware o' all the..he told me sae himself. But he did say..once..he thought..somethin about..Queens. But Ah thought him speakin' folly in his old age. N' his hurt. N' his anger, strong as any o' ours e'er gets.."

"Ye do nay think tha'."
"Nay, nay Cal I dun, nor dae Ah e'en want tae. I dun want tae think about any o' it.."
"Beathag, wot are ye gaein' tae dae with it."
"Tell Ahdam, n' after, Ah want it burned. We've endured enough. The dead 'ave endured enough. Tis nay as if it is gaein tae bring them back..."

Then the young man spoke, "Aunt n' Uncle. When Grandfather had his fears, he often became, quieter. He was strange, markedly so."

They both agreed that he had been. There was no sense to ponder the talk of Kings and succession, for there was already living proof of that, and to knowledge, no one wanted to be King. But amid the path to acquire it was a man whom had known his wife had loved another who'd fallen to the sea. He knew that she held her honor in esteem, and it was going to get them all killed.

He knew a great deal more than he'd ever told them. The boy whom was now a man whom said little, told them the story of something he had never realized had much merit, until now. It was one of the stories his Aunt Moyra had told him of her father's strangeness.

-.-.-.-

Somewhere, in Norway, he sat pondering the last things he'd ever said to Murieall. In Skye, as they put the papers away until later, there would fall a sliver of a paper torn in half. The other half was in Ahmlaid's hands, and it completed the last days of Murieall's life..

-.-.-

Memory

"Wot? Ye saw her, n' ye did not stop her nor save her? Ahmlaid how could ye ...."

"There was nothing I could do, woman! Or would you rather I have left him to undo you? He is coming for you. Now we are leaving this place. Or if you will not move, then I will take the children with me, especially Beathag. Gods only knows what sort of madness you think in pairing her with Maubrey's son! You invite hell into your own front door, and you do not even believe in the Christ!"

"You let him kill her! Ye did not stop her from drinking the poison, and you saw it and you did not stop it! You are as good as havin' put a weapon at her skin! Ye didn't..stop to think, tha' m'kinsmen..your kinsmen..deserved your aid with how well she came to love you?"

"Fook her love! Fook any love but yours n' m'children. Fook everything except the preservin of our necks! Now get your things and get to the damned boat, Murieall, or I will drag you.."

"Nay, I refuse!"


He lay his hand upon her. The first time, the only time he had ever done so. For his punishment, Murieall left him and for days he could not find her. By this time Beathag was a blossoming to be a young woman, as was Moyra. They had never heard their father argue so horribly with their mother. Even on that night, Moyra begged them reconcile while Beathag tried to ask what the matter was. Somewhere in the talk had been the mention of a boy named Adam.

"N' they say some days after that she returned from where she'd been and he returned from where he'd been and they never spoke of it again."


Inside of Beathag's head, a familiar pain came to visit after a long time away. Memory began to pull itself together from the dark recess of forgetfulness. Caldean noticed it first, as her fingers came to comb up through her hair, and her face lost its color. The papers spilled to the floor at her feet, and she merely said this:

"Caldean, how old were we when we lost our mother, n' thought to have lit her pyre. When the body came home tae us from her place of ailment.."

"Beathag..ye were, maybe thirteen. Nearin' thirteen. N' Ah was still a boy m'self but I can't ferget it. She came back sick from somewhere..n' was some time later, but still tae short for my likin', that she died..or..what we thought was her came tae us..anyway."

Even he lost his color. For Amhlaidh was his father, and he did not settle well with his mention.

"Nephew, gae fetch yer uncle please." The young man left, dutifully, to do so while Beathag turned to Brycean.

"I dun want to know anythin' else."
"Nor I."

So together, they would hope to reason this with his lordship. It would only bring about pain..

or was there a necessary truth with it?

[King Adam Aberdeen I]

Adam sat in the bed chambers thinking upon the memberance of his Mother… “If she could only have seen him and Beathag now… the children that she could not have… the land that would not be in William’s hands…” he thought… And it was as if the gods summoned them together, that Bess entered the bed chambers to inform him of the time-riddled leather case.

“Mae luv… forgive mae as I knelt as Ma’s tomb… Ah knaew yae think they should ‘ave been set tae pyre… but Ah am compelled to keep her safe after sae many years below…” then he saw the case… “Wot tis that?” he inquired, canting his head a bit.

"One o' the workmen came at once tae me. Said this was found within yer mother's case, in the grotto. The contents o' it..." She sighed as she walked over to him. It was time to sit upon the edge of the bed and have a conversation on the old work of ghosts. Would it never end? The Mo'r Ouksela beheld the Mo'r Triath. Her eyes were nothing but calm, thoughtful eyes that wondered what would have become of him if his mother's full work had come to pass. He spoke of his mother, and it was for this reason he did not beseech them to burn the preserved bodies that may well see another century when they were dust. She knew, above all else, what it was like to safe-guard the dead. Her hands caressed the leather casing before she continued where she had left off. "More words. From yer mother, n' mine. More of wot they intended n' wot killed them..."

Adam swallowed hard… did he actually want to see it? He wanted to break away from the past… He had maneuvered a future for them… at the expense of many !! His hand shook as he reached out for the leather tube… As he took it, he looked to Beathag… “Luv, dae Ah need tae read it, or can yae jes tell mae…?” he paused… “My heart says read it, mae mind says it just proves mae Father was an evil man… one who is nay hung by the neck yet…”

His fingers rotate the leather tube… “This house… the tapestries… ev’n the building holds more secrets… more clues tae a past laeng forgotten by all… Are we nae in a position naew tae ignore them?”

[Queen Beathag Aberdeen]

"Ahdam, Ah dun need tae know anymore than wot Ah know now." She muttered to him as she slid his hands across the tube. In that tube was only more heartbreak, only more disdain. "It speaks o' things tha' are ne'er tae gae beyond this room. If Ah tell you this, bring it not up tae the others. Not tae Aislin nor Eamonn, nay e'en bring it up tae Caldean or Bryce. The heart just can nay take it."

The Lady of the Isles closed her eyes. Her body rocked to the rhythm of her heartbeat, attempting to be steady as the stone. Silent as the stone. To break that would only be the voice as her body came to a hault, "Yer mother was killed by yer father's hand, tha's nay a mystery. M'mother was killed by him tae, perhaps a week or so after your mother died. It says tha' yer mother would have secured ye Kingship of this island, n' seperation from Scotland long ago but tha' has played out in its own way. Ahmlaid was there..when yer mother died." Crack. He couldn't hear it, but she could. It was another rift a part of the heart trying desperately to cleave to what it could. Family, fortune, peace. The sound of a name rung long, loud in the hallowed halls of a long mind. Amhlaid was still a name that held some measure of sanctity despite the rift between the pair in his later years. "He saw her drink the poison..ah think he even knew it was poisoned, or wot was tae happen..but he left her, n' went back tae Aberdeen tae try n' save m'mother, n' us. It was not long after tha' m'own mother died. Wot e'er she was exposed tae had weakened her enough tae be."

When she closed her eyes again, she saw Caldean's face as his father's name was set to be carried through the dirt. She couldn't bare to look at Adam's, in knowing that a man could have prevented the woman from being a glass encased corpse but didn't. That he could have had her here, breathing, if it weren't for a man's selfishness.

If he should break open the tube, to read the words for himself in Murieall's hand, words on behalf of Davina to her son, and one of the last notes ever written.

"Twas Bryce, tha' remembered. Their last fight, as told tae 'im by Moyra. Before his grandmother passed. Caldean recalls words of it. Twas nay in m'thoughts till tha' thing was read. Ahdam, Ah can't dae it again. Not when we now 'ave five children who depend on us tae be whole more than the people below us tha' we rule. Ah'm honored tae be yer wife. N' yer Lady. N' tae rule. Nay tapestry or stone need e'er tell me tha', but this involves Amhlaid. Ah dun want tae know anymore.."

She chewed into her lower lip, graveled voice barred off inside a closed throat. Strain could do that, even now. Injuries of long ago were evident in how they could still be around, not healing all the way. She didn't limp as much she used to, but it still came in the cold seasons. He didn't rub his arms as much as he used to, or the place where a lance hit his chest, but he thought on it, surely. Did they have enough heart left to lay on the table as they searched the recess of old minds?

[King Adam Aberdeen I]

One habit given way to others… The chest wound from battles long ago now seemed insignificant… yet the past kept creaping to stab him in the back… He and Bess were parents now… no longer the barren White Hound, or the man rumored impotent of seed, if not politics… Alan MacRauri and his daughters were dead… No longer lived the man named Adam Maubrey… nor Marco Sudovaine… In their place was a man destined to be King… yet sought it not.

The question of how long a King could not be called a king hung over the air rife as what the contents of the leather tube could reveal. Just how long, too, could his Queen deny her due? It mattered little what the remainder of the world saw or thought, yet the essence of self as it pertains to these things is hard to over look. She sighed, leaning over to place his head against his shoulder as silence became the staple for a few moments more.

Adam took the leather tube from Beathag… and in his fingers rolled it back and forth… his mind contemplating various actions… He looked to his beloved wife… and to the tube… “Mae b’love’d wife… We be here b’cause o’ many reasons… non’ less daunting than Our resolve… and lo, our resolve has been questionable at times bae many, baet nae tae to oos…” he walks to her, his free hand caresses her face. If a tear was to drop from her eyes, it would bear witness to a rage that sought no end…

"We bled as much as the dead 'ave, if nay more so. We've repayed their presence n' spades n' lost our own within the story. The past can nay make us all tha' we are, just tell us where we came from. Iffn we hold tae much tae it, twill be for ruin. Ah can nay see tha' sort of ruin across our faces again, paining our hearts. Nay after such as we've had."

Her voice was pregnant with the fear of revelation as well as the pain with what she already knew. Somehow, Amhlaidh was marked for his love of kin as well as his infamy. No one must know this! Despite their differences, a part of her heart was still that of a daughter who wished nothing more than to protect her father. No, there was nothing that she wanted to do more than suppress the secret until it suffocated under the cover of her hands. Where once it was Einar who came into question for Eamonn, it could not be this way for Caldean. What it had done to Eamonn, she could not see done again.

[King Adam Aberdeen I]

Adam looked to the fire, then down at the old leather tube… his warm hand leaving her face, he stood befire the hearth… “Nae more…” he shook his head… “Nae more doth the past rule our future…” then he seemed to be speaking to someone long dead… “Mother, know that I love yu… always have, always will… yu were taken from me far too soon… Know I am happy… loved… and have a legacy to raise… Murieall… I love yu too… for what I have come to know, yu were my Mother’s heart… a calming wind in a storm… Know Beathag is happy… loved… and safe… and aye, a Mother in her own rite… Thank you both for your guidance… and love beyond death…” his hand raised to throw the tube into the fire…

"Nae more." Adam spoke and it caused her to lift her head. He continued on to say that he sought to be rid of the grip that held them for so long, so many years earlier wasted on trying to aspire to be what was fashioned in the generations that bore them. Tears streaked her face. She cried from fear, she cried to be free of it. She cried because as he gave release to himself, he issued her a bid to freedom as well. He spoke of those who held him sway; for her part she became almost lost to the reality of it all. She sought, more than anything, to love what was here, now.

Three years… three years had William lived the life of what he had considered a pauper… a warrior, a noble, without a realm… His own son had titled him a wanted criminal. His youngest son proclaimed his useless and a hinderance. Now, William and Gerard had made their way into Turas Lan unseen, for the city had grown into a world of its own… William’s main concern was Anwen… Gerard’s main concern was his Lord and Master… and when William found that Anwen had changed and married another....

(( continued from the attack on Jonathan and Eryn ))

Now the men made their way thru the labrynith of the castleworks… thru the underground… and in their trek, William had seen the sarcophici that once held the women… “So that’s where they were hidden all these years…” William proclaimed in an odd, evil –laden voice… Gerard said nothing but stayed close to his Lord. Every word that he did say was in an attempt to forego their venture into the castle.

Through the corridors of cobwebs that hid a history, William pushed aside, just as history was pushed aside by his very actions. Up the stairs he crept, the sword now withdrawn, the anger filled his heart… Pushing a loose stone, the wall loosened… and a doorway once hidden now opened to the room… Across the room, Beathag sat upon a stool… Adam before the hearth…

William and Gerard burst in, swords raised… the intent was to kill whatever lie between his son and his intent…

Adam turned around and saw the men emerge from nowhere… his first glance was to Bess… then at the charging men. Above the mantle held a sword from battles long since ended but not forgotten… The Mo’r Triath spinning just in time to deflect his Father’s death strike… More agile, but not as strong… experience equaled, the men fought before a hearth that had seen both of them facing its flames at one time or another…

To the other side of the room, Gerard hesitated his task… and that action in its self allowed Beathag to find her own weapon…

The private place was suddenly invaded by intruders. Where they came from was like tracking the place of ghosts, but one thing was for certain. No one else knew, or would even dare. It would have taken grand observation to know that a great many other passages had been sealed after the events that once saw the Ebony Prince captured and the royal family too many times harmed. The King's Way passages were sealed after the areas ruined by the Lord Guardian and Lucius MacLeod's great adventure that unearthed the hidden women in the first place. Her brow furrowed in disbelief, but she did not ask questions. Already she was moving for the weapon effiency. Eamonn had gifted Beathag with a sword from Eohmark, made expressly for her use. It was meant for her body, her hands. Its weight was for a woman of substance, height. He was among those viewed a shieldmaiden's skill ought not fall to ill use, but remain honed should it ever be needed again.

Gerard was more experienced and stronger than the once White Hound, but found her agility better equipping her for what she needed to do.

He came at her with hesitance, and it allowed her the first strike at him. He countered quickly, realizing that his strength would give him advantage where age might have failed him. No longer in the throngs of battle, Beathag was not the woman of constant power years of battle had made her. Strong sinew had indeed lengthened to be more grace of body than bulk of form. While she was still one for both the sword and archery, it was in recreation's way that her skills stayed honed. None sought to rouse old angers, aggravate hurts. None sought to draw out the hound in a woman who was a mother who's youngest was still at the teet. Yet he did. Gerard was met with eyes so sharp a gaze could have cut him. "How dare ye, disturb m'chamber," she growled. Perfect peace disrupted by the devil, the murders who'd taken from them so much? Oh aye, it would end here. If she could not take Maubrey's head than the body of his man would do well. She choked on rich hostility, letting it harden her when a cut to the shoulder would have crippled a normal woman. They pair danced on their end of the room, blade to blade, word to word. "Join your kin in death. Join yer master in hell."

With a graceful spin… and the ferocity of a lioness protecting her den, she fought with a prowess that could still live any spellbound. The hound, the banshee had gone to sleep. But the shieldmaiden? Oh, how well she lived! She stuck out her foot, using it to kick Gerard in the stomach when he placed her against a wall. The weight of his blade coming down was reversed by the well placed foot. For having the lighter metal, it made her form more effective, concise. Blood would soon be spilled upon a new carpet at the foot of her ber, her sword deep into the old man chest. The sword had never killed before, it was only used in practice. It was a weapon of peace, until the moment it proved her brother's keen knowledge quite useful. Gerard looked down at himself in shock, watching as she drove the blade in to the hilt before drawing it out. Even in his last breath, she sought to steal from him what he had from others. The heel of her boot was brought down across the bridge of his nose, sending the fragments into the brain.

Adam looked at Bess, and saw her situation… which was well handled he was sure… but that moment of inattentiveness would allow his Father’s sword to cut across his chest… not deep but enough to leave yet another scar…one across the chest wound of old…

She turned in time to see the swipe that cut him. Her world hung so precarious already with secrets. If the Gods were kind at all, they would not take Adam from her. "Adam!"

A loud scream from his beloved, and a stumble backwards was soon countered by steel upon steel as the two men fought… The door burst open as guards entered, alerted by the Mo’r Okesula’s scream… A pause in the parrying of swords only gave Adam time to stop his guards… “Care for the Mo’r Okesula… nay stop this…” His sea greens eyes looked at ones identical as he spoke… His hand held out as a stop sign for the guards and his wife…

"No!" She cried out. The men recalled this state, at least the more senior among them. It would be them that would draw the Mo'r Oukselo back, knowing full well in a passion or anger induced rage what she could do. She mellowed, better than her prior self. Still, tensed muscle was under their fingers. The want to spring out, to do anything but remain motionless.

“I know I will not leave this room alive my son… but at least know I will send yu to yer mother… My life is complete… full circle it has come… but I will know that Scotland and her Isles will be free of the MacRauri’s and the Aberdeens…” His words would offer no hope and less as cold eyes of the sea stared at a son long ago abandoned…

Adam listened and smirked at his Father’s words… “Nay Father, tis yae Ah shall send tae hell…” he invoked the Gaelic accent at will, moreso to aggitate his Father, who despised it so... then Adam attacked his Father with a ferocity not seen since the freedom fight of Skye… In the words marred by clashes of steel, the two continued to fight, whilst others watched in horror at the possibility of a King’s death.

Beathag could do nothing but remain in their hold, at their attentions. She could only remain tensed as she had not in years as her husband went against his greatest adversary: his own flesh and blood.

Lamps broken, chairs over turned, the bedposts now marred by the blade strikes, Father and Son fought to end the other’s life… “Yer Mother was weak… and she produced a weak offspring… and her family did not deserve these lands… Nor do yu or that whore of a harper…” He saw a weak spot in his son’s offense, and one he considered plausible in his defense and he struck at the opportunity…

Adam could defend against the blade strikes, he could withstand, the words of and against his Mother… but now his Father made a vital mistake… the man spoke of his wife and that formed a resolve stronger than any wall of Turas Lan… and when William attempted, Adam countered… and something as simple as a counterstrike, followed by a spin and a dagger withdrawn was his undoing…

William stood swaying, a dagger handle sticking out of his throat… the long blade penetrating down into the chest cavity… and Adam stepped back as William looked at him, the identical sea-green eyes, blurring, life seeping quickly from him… words were gurgled as blood filled his throat and chest… falling forward to his knees… he looked up at Adam…

Adam shook his head… “No forgiveness… Mother and Murieall bid yu farewell…” with that Adam raised his sword and swung down hard…a full clean cut, and strong follow-thru... his fathers head rolling from its shoulders… almost to the feet of the Mo’r Okesula… the body falling forward to its end.

Adam looked at the sword he held in his hand… the ornamental sword of the MacRauri, Lord of the Isles, now sought justice in its own mysterious way… He walked to his beloved Bess, who looked at the wounds on his chest, arm, and thigh… “I am alright my luv… and it is done… the Maubrey are done…”

It was by sheer happenstance he came upon the castle to visit his trusted leiges, his oldest friends. It was by happenstance that the reason for his elevation took hold as he heard the screams coming from the royal rooms. "Out of the way!" He bellowed, following in Brom's footsteps as they charged into the room. How was this possible! He himself had done away with so many areas of the secrets of his regents, whom he well considered to be his King. For his Queen, he held her back as he all but watched her move mountains. "Do as he says," he emphasized the instruction, moving the guard aside. The veteran speculated, but unlike speculation he knew the full extent of the Mo'r Oukselo's angered force first hand. He caught hold of her in the last instant before the end. Brom came to the other side, moving her back with them to turn her head as not to bare witness.

"Let me gae, let me gae!" In the end she could no longer contain herself. When the head of Maubrey was severed from the body her arm flew out of the grasp of the man at her left only to be taken in by Brom, her eyes hidden by Kendrew's shoulder. He gasped in shock, while the others shared Kendrew's expression of merely knowing.

As they were escorted from the room, Adam stopped and looked to Brom… “See the Mo’r Okesula is cared for…” then to the faithful Kendrew… “Kendrew, take the heads… post them in the market, high on pikes, so William can see what he has lost… burn the bodies with the trash…”

"A fitting thing, My Lord." Kendrew said, leaving Beathag to Brom to see that what sullied the chambers could begin to be removed. Upon his first chance, he would speak with all of the men of Turas Lan. As he once had done, he would send word to Eamonn to tell him of these tidings even before the pair in the room could think to do so. It was a red-letter day. It was a banner day, despite what injury had come. As men followed him he would give one specific request: "Have a part ready for my return, ten strong men. A source the Engineer trusts as well. We are going below to finish what we began. Save for those that would allow the court escape, we are going to block the passages to this castle. Look you for any who may be apart of this plot. We take no chances."

Adam grabbed two guards and gave them orders… “Prepare the Lady Davina and Murieall for funeral pyres… destroy the grotto… replace it with honors of men who died saving Skye from tyranny… Go to the sarcophici below… and destroy any legacy of its existence… Take as many men as necessary…..” The men responded sharply and moved away quickly… “Aye MiLord… by yer leave…”

"P... please." After several moments of silence her words cut through the guards as they had Adam. "Touch them, nay yet. It must be done with care... utmost care. If we are tae send them to final rest... let it not be after this. Let us... gae... to them, with them tae witness...please."

Beathag had hesitated being carted off, she remained to hear his commands… Seeing she had not left, he neared her, his blood stained hand caressing her face… “It is done…” and the adrenaline of what had just occurred left him weak… and tears formed in his eyes… “No future shall guided by a dead and harmfull past… we make our own now…” he was not only referring to what had occurred… but to the information kept in the leather tube that now lie in cinders and ashes.

She remained now, free of any hands to hold her. The sword had since fallen to the floor beside its kill, her hands wanting to be full of only Adam. Tears spilled from her face as she nodded, her core shaken by what had occurred.

Out of breath... bleeding from wounds on his arm, chest and thigh, his bloodstained hands held the sword in one hand, her in the other... There was a haze in his eyes... as if something had been ripped from his chest and mind... with sea-green eyes tht now were tear-filled, he looked at his beloved wife... and sighed...

From violation to victory. From invasion, to an end. The true end.

Or so it seemed.