Maubrey's Head {Closed}

[Queen Beathag Aberdeen]

The death of William Maubrey had not torn the city in half or cause an outcry. What was done to seal those same passages he knew too well while preserving the most important pieces of hidden place was done in quiet. The herald was ordered not to raise an alarm lest the people think that some tide of horror would rain upon their heads. Fire. It had fallen from the sky in the winter of 1329. From the sea, her family had watched as coast line erupted to spew flame from heaven and earth alike. That imaged seered inside of the mind of the royal woman. It was never forgotten; from that day to this one, longer yet, there was a vile wish supressed to the place where dark things go to die.


William Maubrey was like a wraith that crept up behind her on some days. On others he was no more than the pebble causing irratation lodged in her boot. With a scuffle, it could be made to go astray. It was the wraith that manifested, harder to be rid of. He had heated her blood until it ran frozen with ice clots. His crime was constant; the brother, the nephew, he had throne into stone sarcophagi below to die. Those in old catacombs he had already killed, leaving no MacRauri to speak of. Two Queens who now lay in the church in the final days of time suspended repose. A bolt scar on Eamonn. He was a gross violator. Men had robbed her of her voice, scarred her throat. They had broken her body until there was hardly anything left to maime. Maubrey was the name of the man who was the cause of it all. A path years long.

Now the secret would be uncovered for the people to observe for themselves. No herald announced what was being done off of the ends of the market square, before the product was escorted to be pulled up on the wall. It could have been a butcher she watched cleave the body into pieces. Still, it was amazing to see how stark the Lady was as the head of the great adversary was placed on a pike.

Shock rang out from the passerby then as rotting, gray skinned head of William Maubrey sat aloft. Cheeks puffing, the mouth was lulled open. The eyes were half closed, picked at by flies seeking a meal. Blowflies would soon inhabit the open place on his neck. Maggots would feast. The head of Gerard was no better in condition. Curiously, men and women gathered closer to the place of Beathag's supervision. "Quarter the bodies, place two pieces in an unmarked grave, the other two off in the sea."

Hushed voices whispered better than the herald ever could, and unless one was blind they would see the severered remnants being taken off by wagon. No church would take them, of that she made sure. No hallowed earth would hold the contents of the demon. Nor did tears spill from her eyes for what was being done. Kendrew was the one to place the pike of Maubrey's head on the wall above the market where it would remain for some days before it, too, was offered up to the creatures of the sea. For now she looked up at it in complete silence.


On the day the pike was prepared, an observer would make this note:

"Vengence was not the aim, but a message was surely taken of it. The Griffin's claws were sharp. Let any who came with the intent to defeat them know that even the Lady still had fight in her. I saw it. As if the form of Maubrey were still alive, she would have cleaved him in twain."


Adam had been his own father's executioner. Beathag had taken the life, and head, of Gerard. It was silent now but if steel could talk the sword on her person would tell the story of that battle with a startling clarity. Eamonn's gift to keep intact what once had divided them now were the two things that had saved her again.

[Queen Beathag Aberdeen]

Opinions


"A pox 'pon it!"
"Taint be pon it now, blowflies. Maggots."
"There be nothin' left tae pox, I suppose."

Two vendors come out of the small, unmarked villages that did not make the cartographer's mapping spoke about the head of the man they were under. The stench would have been too much if it weren't for the breeze off the coast. God favored the good, and the living. Up the cobbled path just on the left one of the washer women was having a talk with her fellow laundress:


"What wrong did the other one do?"
"With that one, no doubt. Griffin has a heavy hand. It's a little much, barbaric if ye ask me."


Opinions differed but no one really could say either way that they wished the head of either man was alive. Let the maggots curl into the white of the eye to sup on the now dried out object, let them make short work of his pupil. May the flies lay their offspring in the throat where he once spouted his words of hate. None of them cared, lest of all the woman to whom attached heads bowed forward in respect. Next came there bodies, if not exchanged glances. It had been no less than two years since the lady was prone to daily wanderings of the streets. Her business was once on the route of idle's passage. She took hold of life by the hand with the people that lived it, but it was a common thought that a woman whom now had done so much might retire to the comfort of posistion. She might rear her children, make appereance of national import. Before black remnants she wore a dress of near virgin white pale. Silver and gold chording stretched their way about the center of her figure, beneath the breasts, and in the crook of her arm. Beside her to one side rode Brom, whilst to the back no less than two men watched. To her right? The Father of the Cathedral, Father Donovan.

"Had you a care to have prayer uttered over him? It is the way that things are done. Earth vile or no."

"Twas nay thought o'er. M'husband issued an edict, n' I came with the Lord Campbell tae see it done. While the body was bein' severed, Father, twas nay crossin' mah mind. Tae that end, Ah also be nay Christian."

"That is true, m'lady. What of those within the Cathedral. Lore says your mother was not either, only in face, not in full figure. But we bless her. I'd like to think that you are so blessed. I can give no blasphemy to denying remnants of such men possesed with devil sanction, but my mind agrees with you. Have you addressed the people?"

"Nay, Father. Ah haven't. They are nay blind, n' if sae someone will tell them. They are nay deaf tae the gossip, and if sae they have way tae ken. Wot dae the people want to hear on anythin tae dae with the, pardon my tongue, bastard's head? Were tha' England had done it years agae, we would nay enjoy the 'scenery' now."

"You're a strange woman. If not morbid. Still, I wed you in the cathedral before the people. We speak oft of spiritual matters if few know, now they do. It is no lacking thing for you to move about with a man of God."

"Sae long as none fathom we share a bed, ye may be a man o' wot ye please. Tis yer wisdom n' good countenance tha' serve meh, amuse, if nay heal me. Adam has little use for the Church, though he is practicin by prayer. Tha' much Ah know. Ah could care less fer it but it seems tae have a few folk such as ye there. I did right by m'mother, and her kin. They must be taegether. Ah can nay dae tae them in death wot was done tae them in life."



A man doffed his cap, but the party road on out of sight. He watched as she vanished with them. He cared nothing for the head on the pike. Only his wife, in the Cathedral in repose.

Murieal.

[King Adam Aberdeen I]

Adam and Maahes

Discussion Amongst Men[/center][/b][/size]

The turn of events of recent days found Adam pacing the parapets of the Castle on a regular basis. It was a way of finding seclusion in a crowd. No one would suspect the Mo’r Triath of brooding in public. The cordial greetings offered on both sides, Adam would look out over the city, become entranced in thought, and only brought out of it if only someone passing by submitting due respect.

One particular day, he looked out over the horizon deep in thought, his whereabouts by the Mo’r Okesula and other Parliamentarians unknown... It would be one large man, of dark skin and milder temperment who would find him.

There was much going on in the heart of the nation, he felt it then; this rhythm, a beat so furious as daily lives met the reality of a workforce. The city was in its grind, moving before him like bodies in a river, swaying and bending through the waters to only keep their heads above. The air they breathed was of the same air, he, and the thoughts in their minds could very well echo across the man of the distant sun.

A pull to the center, Maahes found himself wandering the same path, until he did find Mo'r Triath at the edge of reason...or was that sanity? A man of silence, so very few words, he found himself staring at his reflection...a shorter, paler, blonde reflection. Why was it so strange to see him standing there? He felt so lost, from himself, and the world; Maahes had almost wanted to reach out and touch his shoulder just to make sure Adam was truly there, and it was not some ghost cast from its shell.

"My Lord..." A voice broke the silence, of a thick heritage that could be traced to golden suns of a burning land, but from that he had little to say. Though so many questions etched the inside of his mouth with his tongue.

Snapped back to reality, his trek thru reason... sanity... or the inner sanctum of insanity... for that he was unsure. A smile crossed his face as he looked up to the large man... “Maahes... my brother of arms...” his hand lifted to Maahes arm, just above the elbow, for it was too far to reach his shoulder for even a man of over 6 foot... “What bring yu to the parapets?”

Adam looked at the man briefly, then back to the horizon, if only for a few moments to clear his eyes. “Beautiful isn’t it?” The sun was soon to set beyond the western hotrizon; and Adam did not give Maahes time to answer, before asking his next question. “The people are free... and none too many are without food, and a livelihood... We have done well, have we not?”

Would it be apparent to the Brother of the Sun and Desert that his liege was both offensive and defensive in the conversation? Would the politician allow the General to speak?

“Maahes? Does yer Father live?” ...came the off-the-wall question.

Never did he speak unless spoken to, out right conversations lasted if only for a short while, and the need was unnecessary. Yet, it was so easy to fall in beside this man. To listen, with the knowledge of a nation there behind his eyes, this Adam; Lord of the Isle. There was a lightness to Adam's words, but a darkness all in the same right. Questions asked, to not be answered, to have questions returned--he was sure of this

Maahes would take his stance then, a squared way motion of his feet with his shoulders, while his arms still remained crossed over his chest. A big man, would build fine army's, closed off to the world, but what would they think of him if they knew?

"My father lives yes..." He spoke without emotion, a solid mountain speaking to the sky, "For how long, this I can not know." Though somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt himself pulled to the answer. It was a fate he could not resist any longer. Maahes spoke as if he knew the date his sire would leave this world, but it was a fate the man had coming.

Well rehearsed manners would have him ask the same, it was tradition was it not? This question and answer. Adam asked him a question, and now...

"Yours?" Such a wise man, this Arabic brute... one of such passionate words.

Adam never looked at the man, he just looked out over the city, his dark red patches of blood-stained hands now behind his back at he listened. Then was asked the magical question; Adam replied, his tone much more sullen than before. “No Maahes, he died today... by my hand.” Sea-green eyes scanned the horizon for answers... answers to his feelings, feelings so confused it bewildered him. “...and your father, a man of good standing?”

His conversation was not the usual flurry of words of a King, nor a Parliamentarian, nor anything that he was usually called, but a man sullen. A man with much ado upon his mind... and yet, he wanted to talk... but he could not talk to his beloved wife as there was too much emotion on both sides of that conversation...

Over the years he had learned of this puzzle, this family of his Lord and Lady's. His first year in the service of their army, he sat beside Adam's wife at her feet listening to the harp, and a worn sullen voice of the faces on the tapestries. He knew her story, she told it so well; delicate yet deadly hands, long fingers pulling the silver strings. Those nights had been the start of a rumor born, of the Ebony prince, but Bess had never strayed from this man before him. She loved him with a fierceness that even Maahes had to admire. Yet, standing before him was the only to put together the pieces, close the spaces.

It was the blood he first noticed, the blood on his hands, the stiffness in his stance, and the darkness there in his eyes. Perhaps, Adam had expected Maahes to understand, or had he thought to turn him away? Would he be surprised to learn there wasn't anything in his darkened times to relate? He had never touched his father, let alone end his life. He had only ever known his father from the balcony of the ring, the look of pride as his spawn always stood victorious at the end of every fight. It was enough.

Maahes had held Bess when she cried, the only tears he had ever known to touch her face; the feel of failure to protect Adam's daughter pulled through her into him, but now.....

"No, he was not a good man, but he did not kill so many innocent." Words that fell so easy from his lips, were ones he could understand. Maahes would see justice behind Adam no matter the cause, he would raise an army well enough to defend any who came to rise by words of either lips. In the heart of another nation, Maahes would never murder his father, no matter the desire..it was the ultimate sin, but he knew best of this nation. This man was not... man, but demon. How could he have such a son?

For a good moment there was silence between them, the blood on his Lord's hands bothered him, for part of the first healing was to wash away his sin. It was his heart's desire to pull any into him that hurt, to take the pain upon his shoulders; his was a strong back. From here he did not know what to say, but his words were not needed... Adam needed to release them. Maahes would let his hand fall to Adam's shoulder, and in a silent voice 'let it go'.

Adam glanced over his shoulder at Maahes... “Then yu have much to bear with a Father that is not good...” relating the Egyptian’s father with his own... He shook his head and looked out over the horizon... “My Father killed many... innocent people...” Maahes could hear his teeth grind. “Yu know he eventually killed my Mother... He had turned me out and left me for dead... He also killed Lord Alan MacRauri, my grandfather... and my aunts... all of them... and when he found out that Beathag and I were alive, he tried to kill us... and Eamonn...” he shook his head... “Was it a sin to kill him?” Adam never did look at Maahes... Was he ashamed? Or did bear all this upon his own...

“Let it go???” Once again he glanced over his shoulder at the large man, then returned to looking over the horizon... “Beautiful isn’t it?”

"No... do not hold it in. This suffering you feel, Adam... do not keep it in. You will not let go of your father's death... your mother's. You will carry this burden until someday the God will call you home." He took a deep breath squeezing the man's shoulder once more before coming to stand at his side looking out. "I was there, when he came, your father. I sat across from him, and he knew you would not give such an easy fight."

Maahes did wonder how it was done, how had Adam taken his father's life?

"My father is a coward, who hides behind his empire... yours..a bad man, but think of this... Your life, happened because of him. Your children, share his blood." Maahes struggled between this, as to him it was, but he would never think Adam to burn in hell. "This man got what he deserved, but you suffer because of his death. You did right, Adam, but now you suffer." He could tell. "It is over... his death, will release you, but you can not carry this burden alone."

Glancing to Maahes, the man would see his eyes filled with tears, though he would not cry. He would simply sigh, take in a bated breath, then shrug his shoulders. But the strong hand that then squeezed his shoulder made him feel better... if even a little bit. “The sins of the Father has visited upon the Son far too many times my brother... and this time, he tread too far. He avoided being arrested for 3 years, but his temptation to exact revenge upon those he deemd as enemies was too strong... by all reports, he attacked young Jonathan Verigs, and his wife Eryn...”

He glanced to Maahes... “Yu know her, the Lady Anwen of Connacht... former wife of Maubrey...” Adam would continue to explain how Anwen was tortured, brought to Skye for medical help, and thru mental ordeals, her true self finally came out in the form of Eryn, formerly of Argania, and cousin to Kaelyn and Dmitrii. “William wanted to kill Jonathan and Eryn... and in doing so made his way thru the labrynith, or what we thought had been closed... anyways, William and his henchman made it into the castle and threatened me and Bess...” his head drooped a bit... Looking to Maahes... “Threaten me, but nay Beathag...” Maahes had opened a doorway... one that Adam took advantage of to speak to someone... Adam said more now than he had to any one person, save Bess.

“He was stronger than me... his aim not as sharp, and his agility was stiffer than mine...” he shrugged... “I hope I am that agile at six and fifty...” Finally Adam chuckled... but strained as it was, it was one in the right direction. Adam finally turned and looked at Maahes... He was shorter than the Egyptian by almost a head... “Yu know yu are taller than I ever realized...” he offered a faint smile... another indicator of the right direction...

“And this Anwen, who goes by Eryn..She is safe? She is home?" Home. It had not taken him long to feel so welcome to Skye that this was indeed his home. A brother had come from distant lands, to call him 'home' but Maahes had turned him away. This was his home now. In many ways the Lord and Lady were as much as a family as he had, a right handed father, and a loving mother; for they took care of their lands much the same. Maahes had been the bastard child all his life, and mused at the thought.

"I should be angry this is the first I have heard of this, Adam." He spoke with a small smile looking down to the man, as he did so often. "Next time I threaten you." He shook his head, and laughed lightly, "But not Beathag." Of that he did know better.

It would be hard to expect life to live past even the coming year, when you held the position of General. How many had fallen before his arrival? Even in Avaria where he was first given a title, the man before him had let his life at the age of 30, Maahes was not far from that number.

"I should think at the age of your father Adam, you will be even better. He was plagued with demons, you...you have a good head on your shoulders, and walk right with God." Be it Allah, or which ever he lived under. Though... a woman God? Ha. That was just ludicrous. There was a prayer to his Lord in that moment, with the other man in tears that would not fall. Maahes wished not for Adam to cry... he was not certain how he would act. It hurt him to see another suffer so.

Adam nodded his head at Maahes’ question about Eryn... “Aye, she is alright... though her husband lies in the Infirmary from a blade... But knowing Aislin and her Physicians, he is in the best hands available.” He paused, his hand going to the Lion’s arm. “Next shall I see the Lady Eryn, I shall tell her the General inquired about her...” then he smiled followed by a squeeze to his arm. This mountain of a man... a hellion on a battlefield, or a champion in an arena... was caring of those around him; odd but a flavor that Skye, and her sister countries could use more of.

Adam laughed... “Be angry my brother... for this happened only moments ago... Upon the morrow, ye shall see my Father’s head upon a pike at the city gates...” then a sort of hushed chuckle... “I have my head upon his shoulders, he doth nay and is no longer plagued by demons... and if I walk with God, I feel he doth push me ahead sometimes.” Adam smiled, patted Maahes back, and canted his head. He was being sarcastic now and Maahes had broken the mood of depression, bringing him to his usual forefront.

“My brother... I shall always love yu... for yu are just what Skye needs. I thank God, Allah, or the Pagan gods that yu are with us...” The tone of words changed from sarcasism to sincerity as he looked up at the man he nicknamed Lion... Adam would not cry, but he would laugh... joyously at the freedom of his soul that his Father’s death did bring... it just took a man of the desert to shake the half-blooded Scot-Englishman out of a stupor. “I am free of the Maubrey shadow... for the threat is dead... Long live Skye...”

Yes, William Maubrey was dead... and the threat was extinguished... or was it?

A great deal of regret washed over him, that he had not known. There was a large part of him that would argue the display of Maubrey's head, it was disrespectful, and in his country, a father was a father. His own father, he would not care about, but never would allow his head to be torn apart by ravens.

[King Adam Aberdeen I]

Adam and Maahes

Drinks, Vows, and Curses[/center][/b][/size]

"I am thankful for Skye, and I am thankful for you..." Maahes could not understand what Adam was going through, deep enough to relate, but he still hurt for his King. He would have happily took all of this blow, shield him from the force, but part of the path to healing was coming to grips with it was indeed over. A man's head on a pike, would be Adam's closer, but was that the last image he wished to have? Had the man never loved his son?

"Long live Skye... Let us go get a drink. Celebrate." He would smile putting his hand on the other's shoulder to lead him out into the open, back into the world that loved him most.

Adam finally laughed at Maahes comments in closing... Patting the giant on the back and guiding him toward the stairs of the parapets... Out into the castle, away into the streets of the city, until they reached a tavern... Adam ordered a meade... or two... or three... and the day passed with one tavern visit after another...

Finally at the Bannockburn Tavern, the pair walked... or staggered... into the busy, and loud, tavern. People hushed as the Lord and General entered... a meade waiting on them as they entered... Had rumor announced their infamous path thru the city? The tavern wenches soon offered the pair a table, to which they sat... the drinks quickly brought to them... “A toast... a toast to Skye and the freedom she endures...” Adam started this session off with a toast to the people...and as he looked around, while waiting on Maahes to join in the toast, a once private toast soon went public, as it seemed that everyone in the tavern had joined in...

James du’Chere, now in Turas Lan for a business trip, walked thru the Market... and his stomach churned as he looked up and saw the heads of his Father, and his Uncle upon pikes... and silently he cursed his half-brother... and as he looked upon the Mo’r Okesula in the square, he loathed her very existence, for she even appeared pleased to overwatch the effort to raise the piked heads.

James was born a Maubrey... and under the guise of a Frenchman, he was still a Maubrey... and to see his Father, despite the odds they often endured, he felt bile rise to his tongue. He loved his Father regardless... His Father taught him to be all he could...and to get what he wanted by all means possible. He had taken a bastard son and raised him to be true blood kin... and now his step-brother had killed his beloved Father.

People were not laughing and singing nor were they weeping for the man who had lost his head. Many would come and spit upon the pike that held the head high... some would curse the head praying the soul would burn in hell... but none would praise the man nor weep on his behalf... and James felt a hatred for his half-brother that he never ever deemed possible. James looked around the square... and vowed silently to see the city enslaved... Sea-green eyes now filled with tears as he covered his head with the blue robe of a merchant and walked away in silence, only to see his brother and a large man staggering, laughing, and rejoicuing Maubrey’s death. He grit his teeth... “Vengence is mine brother...” he softly uttered and walked away.

From the Tavern, the two men walked, or stumbled... and into the market they walked... seeing people staring upwards, they too looked... and Adam smiled, patting the large brown man upon his back. “Mae br’ther, Ah know yae dun approve... and maybe Ah shall burn in hell fer it... but this day, Ah bae joyous... one chapter o’mae life is thru... and another starts, without William Maubrey behind mae wit a blade...” then he takes a hefty drink of the ale.

[Queen Beathag Aberdeen]

What Matters the Most to Us


Incense smoke curled out in gray twists from the hole of the swinging brazier that was suspended on a long, thin silver chain. Prayers for the dead helped to circumvent the aroma with the air from muttered speech. Beathag took note of one stray wisp that rose in a thick white-gray to take residence in the stained glass window. More of it made a haze over the top of the glass sarcophogai that held one woman each inside. She viewed her mother, and Adam's, through a sweet, heady haze of frankincense. Holy water was splashed out, one droplet of it rolling on the hand. Like a river over mountains it slid between the knuckles before the heat of the landscape dried it up. Her eyes produced water, too. Only the incense coaxed out the sheen to waver infront of green iris, because there was no sorrow in the ritual that she was charged to do. Honored to do.

She wondered what her mother would say about the ritual. Her preserved body given to the hands of Christ keepers for tokens of rememberance, for the blessings of a journey her spirit had taken years before. Was the body then late?

"The name o' the God nor the rite in act means little tae me, daughter."

Nothing came past the mute, pink lips that should have been ashen. The throat of her mother didn't make the action of swallowing, nor the nostrils intake breath to make the words. It only was in her own head that the sentence took root from an imagined place. The occasion was still too solemn for laughter, so she didn't. Neither did Beathag. Davina's deathbed beauty too, was unresponsive. She imagined that if the spirit looked down at the remnants of a shell it shrugged, it would be aghast with horror. Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust.

If ever between the pair of women a devout Christ keeper lived, it was Davina. What the mind lacked for years now it conjured with the same clarity that cast reflections of the rite out over the glass case. She was the only one who had ever sought to show Beathag how to pray the rosary, or what saints to keep at the foot of her bed. Memories she hadn't shared with Adam recounted a woman who had affection for a baptized child with a parents willful astray. Pretty sin was held by unjudgemental arms that told her of miracles such as water of wine, or fish and loaves that fed masses. Davina never loved her for what she was not. So it was in this way that she was able to love Murieall, and by some extent her own mother's stranger ways.

Murieall could care little on whether she was fabled for heaven or hell. Life had always taught her that she would be taken in by her ancestors to the great feast that would await those who came at long last to be reunited. She would become but one more link in a chain that stretched on for hundreds of years. She spied her mother once showing Adam the way of a scrying trick. The boy was frightened of demons, but one sought laugh chased them away. Why seek out a heaven when it was beside you, or hell when the world was always afire with a cause? The years had turned one on another to find that she at last could remember them both as they deserved to be remembered.

Irony would have it that the desecrated remnants of the murderer would be more lauded than the his victims. Fifteen years had elapsed since death was dealt and he, Maubrey, fixed them in sickening tribute to defile what nature decreed. This would be the only place she found any inkling of shared idea. Who does not want to perserve what is pleasing? The thought alone was what any who were confronted with mortality wanted; that beyond the life of one, loved ones and themselves would be known. It was only the thought alone that was shared. The act that rendered the flesh from decay was sickening to those who rendered everything to fire. Fire to ash, ash to dust. Ash to ash, dust to dust. One by pyre, one by burial. Yet what was done to them in life would not be done in the over-due right of death. Both were blessed, both were to be put on dragonships to burn.

What matters the most to us will not matter to another. No one came to line the streets by herald's word when the women were brought out of the grotto. No one came on bended knee to show a sign of homage. The city held few who would remember like she did what they were in life. Maybe those who had been here when Turas Lan was still a foundling dream, or the streets were packed earth. The descendants from the loins of MacRauri believers and the aged Templar. Other than that, only their children would care. Today, it was her duty to be the sole witness to the rite. Privacy was a luxury. Today, she wanted the stillness that had once haunted her by being the opposite of what was known. It mocked her pain by suggesting with one sound to breech it the many that once did. Now, her life was full of sounds. Children that she thought to never have. A husband, who lived. Brothers of flesh, sisters who were of the heart. Nieces and nephews that would go on to renew the family when it was their time to create again.

Other sounds were made around her happiness, but at times detracted. To be tended upon, to be waited on, and to be viewed as a relic of strength with no place to excersise it at times made her wonder if she had gone too far back behond the shadow of a great man.


The bell bell rang out a crisp, long dong that was deep and full of bravado. She thought the brass instrument deserved what ego a human could give to music. A sign of the cross was made, and the ritual concluded. The laymen filed out down the center of the cathedral two by two, leaving her to stand at the head of the altar alone. Only Father Donvan remained. He lingered, away from the place where death and life made full circles. The woman he joined to the Mo'r Triath, whom he said was the Mo'r Oukselo, wondered if endings were beginnings.

[Queen Beathag Aberdeen]

Embrace it All: The Makings of a King and Queen

Adam: Adam and Bess walked along the busy streets of Turas Lan after the ceremony. Hand in hand they strode, the Talon guards not far behind. "That was beautiful Lass, simply beautiful..." :::

Beathag:: "Thank ye, husband. Ah tried. It seemed a fittin thing, one shall beh touched by the others way afore final rest. In truth tis an honor long o'erdue them. Things will be set to right." Long fingers intertwined with his, so much softer now on both parts. No longer thick, the old calluses lent themselves to the pristine work of the servants whom kept their hands. Tartan kept the body warm on a day of blustery winds; the colors of Aberdeen, taken from what was once MacRauri, now no more save in them, their children. (d)

Adam: Looking at her, his voice is soft... "Yae knaew there much left tae dae... amore is stirring than we realize..." he looks back to the path he walked. "Much time have Ah spent with Claramae..." he glances to her, then back straight.."Ah have learned much of the under-dealings of our reign.... baet know this, there is nothing Ah must be ashamed of with her... Ah been true tae yae... heart and body..."He scuff a rock with his toe... "We have much tae fear where we stand naew... much power we wield in this world... and many seek tae destroy it..."He stops and looks at her face to face. "Have we coom sae far as be distant than we started? Have Ah ever let yae down lass?" His seagreen eyes seek hers::::::

Beathag:: The wife of a powerful man often becomes the presence behind him, letting him into the light while she is content in the halo of his splendor. Beathag without thinking because such a figure, but felt the expense now. What had she not spoken to him of that now drove policy, or not given thought of, that would have mattered? "As ye should, she beh one o' yer Govenors and elect tae deal in things tae which our understandin' beh limited. Husband, yer body n' heart," brogue softened as the outer hand brushed the outside of his face, tenderly, "'Ave always been mine. Nay matter how many women ye place in power, or draw about ye, Ah know tha'. But tis yer mind yer wife misses. Yer mindwhich ye seek nay tae burden me with Ah've noticed." She looked out at Turas Lan; it was the foundation for a vast many things, some of which was even their own lives, from infancy until now. She adored it as much as him, their world, as much as him. "Tis only m'voice tha' be scarred now, nay the rest o' meh, nay especially m'head. Ah would wish ye'd speak tae me o' these things, like ye used tae. There are days Ah've wondered if ye've thought meh tae simple tae understand. Power though..the more ye have, the more ye need tae settle it. The more ye get, the more someone wants. Like dogs fightin' er scraps, ne'er seems nogh tae gae round. M'compare sorts may be rough, but m'sense is well intact." Her eyes narrowed as the sea was viewed at a distance, as infinite as all points. "Ye dun fail me Ahdam, but ye dun let me be proud o' ye nor disagree with ye either. I miss tha'." (d)

Adam: Adam chuckled a bit... shaking his head... "aw lass, Ah ne'r meant tae leave yae out... Ah just did nay wish tae burden yae sae..." He kissed her forehead and turned to walk further... Along the way, the people would move from theirpath as if they were king and queen... pausing only to boiw or curtsy, offering greetings and respect. Adam would bow his head, but never diverted his full attention from his beloved wife... "Aye lass, tis Skye has grown much over the years... Ah bae afraid mabbe too big faer mae own breeches..." He looks at her and smiles. "According to Claramae... Spain and others seek tae choke us from the trades... and Ah been communicating with Morocco..." one slight glance at her... "shall ah burden yae wit this??" :::::

Beathag: "Burden meh husband, fer ye are put'upon." She half smiled, closing her eyes as he kissed her brow. One touch was all that mattered, one gesture that made the years of life prior seem as nothing to the sanctity rewarded of now. Yet still, she wished not to see him alone in it, for to be alone was to be vunerable. "Yer Govenor is dual in 'er speech. She came tae me, she told meh a few things tha' have 'er concerned, but ye tell them tae me first. Husband, ah've m'ways of findin things out just fer awhile I...have nay fer want of ye tellin meh. Gae on. Morocco is a rich tradin' place, gateway tae others, how are ye dealin' with the differences?" (d)

Adam: Adam canted his head... his eyes flickering a bit... "Nay well m'luv... Lady Janice did a translation in Berber... next AH knaew, she is attacked... Sir Marius spends much time with her, as tis well, fore her saved her hide... seems much ado b'tween Spain and Fez... and Ah bae in the middle... and AH 'ave heard rumor the Papacy is angered wit mae..." Adam squeezed her hand. "Ah think Ah ,may have swatted a hornet';s nest Ah cannae fix..." ::::::


Beathag: "Aye, ye 'ave. Ah could've told ye tha'. Tis like walkin out intae a road n' ye have a cow, another has a prized bull, n' ye expect 'em tae mate but they be such different breed wot would come out o' it could be a mess. N' as far as merchants gae..well, the Moor countries beh rich n' good n' rich in particulars. Vera rich. Ye 'ave tae at once appease e'ery angle while watchin' tae make sure ye keep yer ass, many beh honest, some are always look tae take it. Called the Crusades, wot did tha'. Ahdam... ye are in deep, are ye nay." The voice lowered while more people lowered themselves before them as if God had ordained them. Perhaps he, or some other had. Divine right was the order of the day, and Skye was his by birthright, hers, by marriage. By kindred shared. What the world wanted of it was the riches it emassed in such a short time. "Claramae told meh, she told me a great deal n' ye are in a ring o' fire.We..are in a ring o' fire. Tha' little translator o' yers n' her brothed horseman are a bit more n' than now. England is a hornest nest tae, n' yer Govenor wants nothin more than tae fortify it n' come home.They want the Spanish king as their king. Tha' defies a hatred worse than Celts had fer Ainglish, Aingland in Spainish always at odds.but this? Ah know the Plantagenet children are about, two o' em. Ah've nothin against tha'. Goes tae show wot family means tae the She-Wolf. Nothin. But if the church, same wot sanctioned us grows angry...Ahdam. " She shook her head softly. "A battle in trade, ye know ah speak a few things better than Scotts er Viking talk. boat n' trade. They are gaein tae start cripplin ye at the knees, ruinin ye report with yer allies, trade may begin tae diminish if ye hurry nay tae right it, ye will need to firm up yer own n' deminish Spain. There's much against it but tha' Fez..N' the translator..well now we'll 'ave tae guard her well, and all of them. As fer Aingland..and all else. Aye..ne'er thought tae say it but Ah agree with Claramae. Near the only advisor ye've got these days, n' Shaden e'en cleared the way fer it, the Bruce deemed ye it. Become King, husband." Once afraid of such title to him when power ran rampant, now she told him to seize the ring firmly and wield what it meant (d

Adam:His head was spinning as he squeezed her hand for support, and caught a light pole to steady himself... his eyes seem to water from the thought of being called King... Now his stomach lurched and twisted inside. He looked at Bess inbewilderment. "King? Mae? Baet Ah bae no King... Ah coom from nae blue bloodline?" His knees went weak and he slumped against the pole, releasing her hand... Only his hand raised stopped the Talons from coming forward. His knees now cupped his head. "Ah Bessie Eve, wot did Ah dae.... Ah messed our lives up wit all this...." Odd sight to see the royals out ont eh street, and the Mo'r Triath leaning against a light pole, his head betwixt his knees.... and hewas not even drunk::::::

Beathag: The power in one little word could undo the alleged great man of the Isles. She turned in shock to see him stumble, weakened by the power in one word! Once it had been her that grew afraid of where they were going, but had they notalready made the journey? A thing was what it was called, what it should be called. She was at once mortified on his behalf, and empathetic. A lesson of too far flung ambition now came down hard. Reaching out for his hands she took them from his face, kneeling in the street. "Now ye listen tae me, Adam Aberdeen. Stop tha' foolish shyte." She snapped, taking his hands in a firm grasp "Ye are of the MacRauri, chosen tae be the Lords of the Isles by the Kings themselvers o'er MacDonald! Ye are the descendant o' rulers n' Norse jarls! Ye are now the Griffin, n' this is yer land, from Skye, tae Scotland n' Orkney, down untae all those tha' would have you fer they believ do this now! Ye ARE royal. We ARE royal. We can nay hide tha'fer it has haunted our steps all our lives but we did nay know it, or seek tae embrace it. Mo'r Triath, High Lord. Ye may as well call it wot it truly means. His Majesty, the Mo'r Triath, the King of Scotland, Lord of All Isles, the Protector of the Celts. Ye are those things without it said n' nothin changes with tha' word in it!" She helped him up, cautioning the guards away as she took his face in hand, "Ah love you. Rich or poor, and always. But if tha' one word gives ye tha' much more a firm hold on a shakin world, grasp it! Take it! Let them look on you as you are, as Ah know ye tae be Ahdam. Everyone is beatin' n' broken fer this..n' they see ye as wot ye won't see. Title means sae little in the end..here. But they will still call ye wot rings true. Ah love you more than ye can devise lad." People moved on, leaving the pair alone. Unable to hear their words, a concern still worried. Was his lordship ill, or hurt? Aye, in ways he was. Each had been (d)

Adam: Her words stung... like the hornets from the next he had swatted. He looked up at her, shaking his head... "When Ah listen tae yae, I go the right path... when Ah dun... Ah fall inta piles o'shyte..." he could not help but feel a bit giddy... "Damn lass, wot Ah do naew... shall Ah bend a knee before the Pope...? Dae Ah proclaim... or have others proclaim me King... How dae I do wots right and nay have people say..." he paused. "Fook 'em... Fook what people say... AH ne'r let it bother mae b'fore... We, yae n Ah, do wots right... wjhat we feel... Parliament listens tae me or argues and gets nuttin done anyways..." he chuckled. ::::

Beathag:"Ye will dae well by actually listenin ate yer wife, n' at least discussin with 'er things! Ah nearly died when this all became real, but we all broke ourselves fer it, n' m'body is this Isle, as yours n' Ah would break it tae pieces for our people. Show them yer strength, n' yer goodness, but give yer family yer heart, n' soul, n' all else fer safe keepin'. When it comes tae the realm ye can nay quake at wot ye made..Ahdam." She leaned in touch his faceagain, even to put her head to his chest, "Let us dae right by them wot argue or nay, by all of them. N' let me love ye..completely. Ye aren't alone. Our children are royal, our family is royal..there's nay faultin wot we are." Shechuckled softly, "N' wot we will always be, before all else. Is ye n' I." Do nay neal afore the pope, but it is nay as if he does nay have representation upon the isle wot agree with ye.

Adam: Adam stood up... taking a deep breath, he cleared his head... all of Bess' words soaked in like a sponge. "Let us walk..." he tugged upon her hand and once again they walked as if nothing happened. "When is the ceremony for Mother and Murieall? Ah think then would bae a goodt time tae announce it..." he seemed of a different nature... as if an aura of sorts surrounded him. Nine and Thirty he was, but now he apppeared older, wiser, yet with a boyish face...No longer would be just 'Lead" his people... he would command them... and the clans would be stronger, with no quibbling about who should accept the royal kingship... Adam smiled as he looked upon his beloved Bess. :::

Beathag: "The ceremony be later on in this day er the next..think it best tae be done of it soon as possible. The state o' them has never done much but tae unsettle meh." Beautiful, permanent shells of what should have been living women, frozen in time for well over a decade. It was disparing to witness, but she loved each of them for the spirit that once housed those shells, not what they were now. But all deserve a final rest. "Let me tell m'brothers n' sister, With Eamonn first, afore tis announced aloud. N' nay matter wot ye be called, ye are always husband tae me. N' just Ahdam." They walked down the lane, younger than their years. Beside the small boy was a young girl who had always been brash against her counterpart, boisterous. With the Beltane would come her 40th birthday, and she still wore the face of a woman ten, if not more years younger. "Ter yer children ye will be Da." (d)

Adam: Adam just smiled at the thoughts of their children... one by heart alone, that was as strong as blood itself... the rest from a woman deemed barren... "Aye lass...aye..." and they walked down the land toward home. ::::

[Lady Aislin Creed of Eohmark]

The News Of Vengeance
A LETTER FROM TURAS LAN

LADY AISLIN CREED OF EOHMARK

[/color] He gave a sleepy nod. Just as Aislin had laid upon her side, she heard the click of the door latch and saw it opened to show Eamonn coming into the room. His large frame was still donned in armor and hair looked wildly mussed about his head which meant he had been riding for some time throughout the day and part of the night. Aislin turned her head to look at him as her hand rubbed Diarmid's stomach. Her hand held her head up while her elbow propped her so she could see over the lad at her husband. Shifting to sit, her hand moved from Diarmid's stomach as the lad smiled at Eamonn and tried to turn his head to fully see his father. A letter lingered in the gloved hands of her husband as he closed the door. "Evening Husband. What be that in yer hands?" She asked curiously. When he handed it to her, Aislin took it without hesitation before seeing the griffin seal upon the back. "From Adam and Bess." Aislin did not ask Eamonn if he wanted her to read it aloud, she already knew that was the purpose as to why he bought it to her. Shifting her night tunic about, she sat up more so she could use both hands and keep her balance. The tunic was nearly see through and the added dampness did not help to shield the outline of Aislin's thinning body. [/ul]

LORD EAMONN OF EOHMARK

[/color] Eamonn commented, his back to Aislin as he placed the helm on the stand. Turning to the side partly, Eamonn rested more weight on one leg as he removed the vambraces. Keen eyes glanced her way; even as one vambrace was removed and then the other.[/ul]

LADY AISLIN CREED OF EOHMARK

[/color] As Aislin read on, she would tell the tale that Bess weaved for them. Adam had finally captured his father, Maubrey and had carried out his execution by his own hands. Bess had fought and carried out her on Gerard, then both men were beheaded and their bodies were damaged so no church would take their remains and bless them to the heavens by orders of Bess herself. Adam had ordered their heads to be placed upon spikes and placed in the near the market. Bess wrote of the preparation of her mother's body or as she deemed them as the "queens" and went into detail about how she would carry out the old tradition of a dragon encased ship to be lit aflame. As Aislin read on, her tone held nothing in it of her thoughts on the matters that she were reading on. She simply finished, noting that Bess had not asked them to come to the funeral. When Aislin finished the parchment, she lowered it and looked to Eamonn. "That be all Eamonn. She sends her love to the children and to us." Aislin waited to see what her husband would say to such a letter.[/ul]

LORD EAMONN OF EOHMARK

[/color] Eamonn glanced to the window again and stared hard into the night sky; his jaw clenched again. Much pain Maubrey had caused him personally, yet Adam found reason to let him leave the shores of Skye one peace. "And now that is that; he is dead and foul deeds along with him." Eamonn commented tersely before turning to his wife again. "What say you to such news, wife?" He asked, for Eamonn was torn between elation at the fact Maubrey was dead, and anger in the delay of the execution.[/ul]

LADY AISLIN CREED OF EOHMARK

[/color] Ocean eyes lifted to see his expression as her other hand rose to touch his chest. Reaching lower, she tried to slide her fingers under the material to touch his flesh and feel the warmth. Not for sexual means, but for comfort that he was still here.[/ul]

LORD EAMONN OF EOHMARK

[/color] Eamonn even offered to kill the man if Adam could not; still Beathag and Adam stayed his blade. His hands rubbed her backside as eyes narrowed somewhat. "I wonder, now, if Adam would delay again to end the life of an oppressor of Skye. Mercy has limits, and while I do not scorn Adam's ability to spare lives when some do not...I fear he is far too merciful. Adam had every reason in the world to slay Maubrey...the man was here in Skye and ripe for the taking. Adam hesitated. This hesitation will leave more victims in its wake. It could have been finished far sooner...years later, his head freshly rots upon the spike." Eamonn shook his head and clenched his jaw in mild frustration.[/ul]

LADY AISLIN CREED OF EOHMARK

[/color] She worried that this tension would leak out between Eamonn and Adam. The last thing Aislin wanted was to see her husband in jail again. His children could barely sleep without him coming to say goodnight as it was. Moving backwards, Aislin lured Eamonn to the bed with her where their son was sound asleep and curled up onto his side. "Do ye think that having his head on a pike will make better what years of his poison has done to the people? Would ye have done the same?"[/ul]

LORD EAMONN OF EOHMARK

[/color] Eamonn sneered softly. Aislin asked a good question: what would happen if he ever saw Adam delay in such actions again when it was clearly necessary? Eamonn face became suddenly cold and yet eeriely calm. "I will do what need be done and suffer the disapproval of Adam once the deed is done." If he had to defy Adam, Beathag, or anyone else to save more lives, Eamonn would do just that. Before he sat by idly, begrudged of the opportunity to evoke justice; his payment for such was a bolt in the chest. If taking the fall would save the lives of his family and the people of Skye, so be it. Aislin moved backward and Eamonn moved forward with her; following her toward the bed. His boots were still on, but Eamonn paid it no mind presently. "It is a shame that Adam did not post his head upon the port and short of Skye, where any ship who dare invade the shores would be warned of the last tyrant. I would have pitted his head upon a spear...but in a place far more publics than a market square." To which Eamonn meant. On the cliffs that overlooked the waters of Skye, Maubrey's head would be a warning to all passing ships; death to the oppressors of liberty and preservation of life. Lying down, his arms encircled Aislin and pulled her frame close to his. "Does my wife think me a vengeful beast for such thoughts?" He asked; part in humour and part in somber inquisition.[/ul]

LADY AISLIN CREED OF EOHMARK

[/color] Leaning over more, she pressed her wide thing lips against his pert ones to kiss him harder than normal. Eyes closed and she enjoyed the feeling of his warm lips against her own, before she pulled back and slowly opened them to show the blue shining through the green. "Ye be having every right to want the vengeance. While it be late, ye now have it." Aislin shifted from him so she could stand by the bed and remove his boots. It was a slight struggle, but she got them off and set them aside. Reaching her hands up, she undid his breeches and pulled them down his legs to bare himself to her and make him more comfortable. They were placed at the floor for now. "Ah will stand behind ye, should that day ever come Eamonn. While ah hope ye never have to go around Bess and Adam to make sure we be safe, ye know ah will never turn my back on ye. Ye have never turned yers on me." Hands reached out as she gestured to their sleeping son. "Hand me our son so ah may put him in his own bed. Ah wish to give my husband womanly comforts tonight. If he be nay too tired from his day or the news?"[/ul]

LORD EAMONN OF EOHMARK

[/color] He teased in return, before she came close for a kiss. Pursing lips, Eamonn kissed her back harder than normal; he loved his wife and never showed otherwise. In every sense of the meaning, Aislin was his first, his last, his always and forever. Unfortunately, it ended, and inhaling deeply, he watched her shift from the bed and pull off his boots. Eamonn learned well not to argue with Aislin or insist he could do it himself; she had her own stubborn ways. Once his feet were free, Eamonn sat up partly. His heart skipped a beat and a rush of heat coursed through his body as hands pressed against his soft member in the task of unlacing breeches. She pulled them down his long legs, baring dark blond dusted limbs lined in muscle. "If I must bear the wrath to save many, including you and our children...so be it. I pray that day never comes, though, for I do not openly seek to defy my brother-in-law, my sister, and Sovereign." Eamonn admitted, before eyes turned to their sleeping child. Womanly comforts? Eamonn had difficulty hiding the grin. "A poor husband and lover I would be, if I refused a gift from my loving wife." He replied, reaching for Diarmid; careful not to wake the boy. He stirred, but did not wake from his sleep. Slowly, Eamonn kissed the boy's forehead again and handed him to Aislin. "After I visit our eldest children, of course." No matter how tired he might have been or how late it became, Eamonn always kissed his children goodnight. Rising from the bed, the tunic fell to mid-thigh, covering the phallus and sac between legs. Following Aislin into the room of their children, Eamonn used the time she took to put Diarmid to bed to kiss Sorcha and Kieran goodnight. Neither child woke, of course, but both unconsciously smiled and shifted under cover. Eamonn tucked both in before leaving the room and his children to sleep.[/ul]

LADY AISLIN CREED OF EOHMARK

[/color] She said with a slight tease at his comment of being a poor husband. When he gave her their son, she cradled his frame close to her and looked at her husband as he rose. Leading the way, she waited for him to open the door so she could slip in and head to Diarmid's bed. Placing him down gently, she tucked him in and while Eamonn was kissing his other goodnight, Aislin went to put more wood on the fire. Her tunic was removed and instead of lying in bed, she took her place by it to face the door so when her husband moved inside, she would be the first he saw. Aislin would inspire Eamonn to take out his joy and slight aggression on her should he have any. When their breaths came back to them and they were tangled in each other's arms, Aislin looked to him to speak on wanting to go to Turas lan to see the head with her own eyes. No doubt Eamonn would find it strange, but she knew he would not allow her to go without him. They made plans and would be leaving soon to pay a visit to the lands...and Maubrey's head.[/ul][/font]

LIGHTS DIM ON STAGE

[Earl of Warwick]

In the mind of one man, who sat poised upon horse with pale blue gaze focused on two rotting heads, none had suffered more than the family. While venom had been spread throughout many parts of the world it was those closest that had suffered the worst. Wife and child in constant company of the Devil's Imp, and former even so far as having to suffer his company betwixt thighs!

Despicable man was William Maubrey and likely not even to change even in death. Instead the Devil would embrace him with arms as one does cherished friend and offer him seat beside throne. Aye, it'd been many years ago that this man called William Maubrey...

"Friend," Word was spat out with disgust. To even think it felt as though foul poison would seep through and finish the destruction already taking place inside mind.

Francis Cedric Laurence Atherton III, better known as the Earl of Warwick, had once idolized and envied the man that was William Maubrey. His power, his wealth, his wife...

Davina. That woman had been quite lovely. There'd only been few times that Cedric had had the distinct pleasure to be in her company. It always had the effect of making him feel as though wrapped in a cocoon of light. It'd been sight of this very woman one day that had changed William Maubrey from friend to enemy. There'd been such sorrow in eyes that had once only held joy and her face- Lord above her face. Even now behind lids did the image flash so vividly it was as though he stood within her presence...and saw it again.

Ah, now though- had he known- both hands would have reached out then to embrace lovely form and cart her to safety. Though none could question Cedric's love of his sweet Caroline including him, but Davina held some part of his heart. It'd not been love like that. There'd not been any lust behind its gentle warmth though Davina was an exceptionally beautiful woman. Instead the love felt for Davina was a pure, innocent kind. All that Cedric had wanted to do on that day was take her, protect her from Maubrey, somewhere safe.

Davina would not allow him to though, had never given a reason, and he had left with only words that all she need do was send him word...and he'd come. Never had she before her death. It'd not been murder foul or so was said. Yet some part of Cedric had always wondered, but it was not until recent years- and after talking to the right people- that answer had been given.

Rage darkened pale blue eyes to something darker, lids lifting rapidly to let them lock on the man, as he muttered darkly,"Know, William, that if you do not suffer already in Hell then when I come you shall pay for what you did. And dearly..." Some that were superstitious would say that the hard wind that blew then, setting horse to prancing before strong hands got it under control, was filled with challenge as it blew russet curls into Cedric's face. Perhaps even in his own demented mind...he thought the same. Yet it was a challenge that brought proud smirk upon firm lips as one hand idly brushed hair off face,"Aye, friend,I accept your challenge and will watch you lose."

So would he linger even after...silently observing the further decay of his enemy.

[Dora Lynch]

To Teach a Lesson

Dora Lynch was a good parent, according to the customs of her day. She had two young boys to teach and guide in the ways of becoming a good responsible citizen and she knew this was they needed, especially Liam, after his brush with the law. So she took them on an educational field trip to see heads on pikes on the market place wall. The three stood and looked up at the now well into decay heads, cheeks sunken in and the bones starting to show through.

“They scare me, Ma! " Loomis looked up at the decomposing heads displayed at the city wall and hung onto Dora’s skirts with both hands. “ How come they got their bodies cut off?”

“Tis the custom. To show what becomes o’ the bad men who do not repent and change their ways.”

“I bet I could hit one of them flies on the eyebrow up there! See on the left side?” Liam was drawing the sling Dora made for him, so long ago and few pebbles. “Kill or stun? “ The child was good with his weapon, and a choice between kill or not was well within his capabilities. He aimed.

“Stay ! No shots at the dead; respect their peace." Dora held her hand forth, blocking his aim.

“Have they made peace with the Lord and gone to Heaven, Ma?” Loomis stared at the now empty eye sockets of the en-piked criminals. “Do they bury the bodies in the Church yard? Or sling ‘em in the knacker’s yard. Liam telled me they end up in the boneyard.”

“Now, Loomis, son. It do not matter where yer body goes all that much. It is where do the soul go, all that count big time. A man sorry for his wrongs, well I have no idea how the Almighty decides how sorry they must be, but sorry enough and they get forgive. “ Dora tried to ebb the tide of fearfulness that she saw begin in Loomis’ eyes. Oh, the cut off heads were guaranteed to give the child nightmares for weeks. What she did not want was for him to be in dread of how long eternal suffering was. It was so like this particular little boy to imagine that. Was she a good mother if she did not educate her sons in the teachings of the church? Dora herself, was not sure she even knew what the teachings were on this subject.

The three turned back home after this particular educational expedition, wiser and in awe of the power a head on a pike had to frighten children into good behavior. Except Liam. He had seen far worse back in Ulster.

He pulled his over large brown lindsey –woolsey shirt up over his red curly hair and extended his arms forward to tap Loomis on the shoulders. “I be the headless man.” He made a weird hollow voice. ” Come to get me a new head. And I think I want yours!” he howled, grasping Loomis’ skinny neck with both hands.

“Ma!” the shriek was ear piercing. Loomis stood stock still, making Dora have to turn back and see exactly what mischief the boys were up to now. “ The bodies want new heads! They are gonna get me!”

“Liam Tremayne Lynch! That will be enough of that!”

Two eyeless heads on their pikes faced away from the city,in vacant stares into the beyond . Into the bad dreams of children and into the scarring of their spirits. Where do they put the bodies? That was the question haunting Dora, when she could not sleep that night. She prayed for their immortal souls, where ever they be.

“Rest in peace.”

At night, Loomis too prayed for the souls of the dead. His honest direct prayers this night were the seeds of his religious life in the future.

Liam thought about those heads, heads of men who did not change their ways. He knew how difficult a task that was, trying to be other than what your true nature dictated. He knew from this young age, if he remained in this city, this land, one day his red curly Irish head was going to be up there on a pike, too. He glared into the dark of the room he shared with his little brother, all orderly, safe and clean. He longed for the fields of back home. The excitement of not knowing what big thing was going to happen the next day. He had seen the outcome of combat, first hand and up close. The flies and maggots did not make his blood crawl, not like sitting those endless hours in school. He was all energy and impatience, ready to take his place in this world. School was not that place. He burned to run free and jump a ship back to Ulster. He was ten on March tenth, old enough to become a drummer boy in the army. To be a powder monkey or maybe a cabin boy. He loved the sea and the waivering uncertanity of each step on deck, like walking atop thick clouds. There was but one answer to his question. And that word was "runaway."

(To be continued in the story Liam and the Long Arm of the Law.)

[fiannaofdunluce]

Having been here for a few weeks, now, Fianna had ventured beyond the castle. She had no trouble making acquaintances and friends, even considering her timid nature, but she had heard of the beheading on the lips of folk in passing.

Resting in her bed at night, modest Fianna pulled the covers over herself. Wearing many blankets and a shift, she was doing her best to keep warm--and found herself too lazy to stir the fire. She did what she always did when she found herself lonely at night--she thought of home. Not the confines of the convent, but the rocky coastline of Ulster.

The memory was not familiar to her, but it forced herself upon her like a rape of the mind. Whispered prayers to her savior did nothing to stop the recollection--or was it a vision? She knew it was the past, and she felt as though trapped in glass looking upon it.

Red on the rock. Red on the soil. It was like dye, only darker, thicker, and spilling onto her small feet. She was so young. A warrior's hand turned her and pushed her back in the direction of the town. "Ye go to the church and stay there!" Carrick Tuatha'an hadn't meant to yell, but he'd needed to frighten her.

Fianna turned back before she ran. She took in the expansive warrior wielding an axe, a hound of war at his heels--and where her foot had been, a head. Carrick rested his foot on it as though it were a rock before he felt his eyes on the girl--and then heard her shriek as she stared at the head-corpse, mouth squinched in under the weight of the warrior's foot.

"Ye go! Now! Else the Anglish will do as much to ye!" Carrick pointed that axe at her as sounds of battle approached--and as instructed, she ran back to town. To the church. To her safety. Into the arms of Father Declan who cleaned off her shoe and blessed her and talked to her parents (involved in the war) and gave her to the nuns for good care.

As the recollection ended, Fianna found herself cold no more. She was in Turas Lan, in the castle--in her bed. Quickly she jumped up and listened at her door, hearing no movement but the faint sound of jovial bards perhaps down the hallway. There were no soldiers here or Anglo-Norman assassins looking to rape to pieces any woman bearing the O'Neill moniker--she was safe.

Crumpling to the ground in tears, her new-found confidence sank to the floor. She took the rosary from her neck and held it in her fingers, pressing it to her lips as she rocked, mindlessly repeating a prayer and then a personal plea:

"O Jesu, will ye protect me?"

[Queen Beathag Aberdeen]

The End

"Jesu protect you, your majesty."
"Iffn he has a mind tae, Father."
"He does, for all, e'en those who hold him nay as close as ye hold your ancestors or their tales."
"If he does tha', then he remains a good man among many."

It was a comedy of dueling faiths and a misinterpretation of ritual between the two. The Father of the Cathedral oft kept council with a Queen who had as much use for Christ as he had for her pagan ways. Each were devout to something, but not the right thing, as one would say to the other. One kept council with a woman whom was baptized for the sake of church record keeping but who's feet had never been kissed by sanctioned flame for her heathenry. Either the Devil kept close hold, or God loved Beathag so much he shared her in company with the other Gods. She often jested the New Jerusalem and lands of the Undying were as neighbors. Saints and famous warriors drank of the same mead cups.

It was a hearty, humerous vision.

On this day the heads of Maubrey and Gerrard, near rotted to gelatin slipping from pikes, were removed from display. The stench of the maggot ridden items was often washed away by the heavy perfume of spring flowers. How strange! Life would always find way to conquer the hold of death, wouldn't it? The question moved from side to side in her thoughts as the horse made her body lull in the same fashion. The priest was riding his mount beside the queen-to-be on an errand of importance. The bodies of the Two Queens that Were at last were going to be made unto ash and dust. Fire would consume the unnatural state of their ever beauty to release the deeds of the past. With them, too, would go the bones of their kin uncovered in hidden places of stone. With them would go the last pieces of the past that would bring bane. As the past went to its rest so the future would arise anew.

{{End Thread}}