|
Post by King Adam Aberdeen I on Dec 4, 2011 2:49:28 GMT -6
Upon the Season of Winter Solstice that moves them from 1334 to 1335…As another year passes, the King literally sat upon his throne, day in and day out, listening to men and women proclaim their undying loyalty to the Gaelic realm and the Griffin monarchs…, sat in Parliament listening to politicians making statements as to the will of the people, when half of them hardly ever got out of the capitol city to hear their constituents true concerns…, sat in the courts of the land hearing cases from petty squabbles, to molestations of men’s wives, to the blatant murders of Griffin citizens and passed judgement that could be fair as fair could be.
And as the end of that year quickly approaches, periods of reflection soon take hold. He and his beloved wife are fastly approaching their 4th decade of life, and their 6th year of reign. What tolls have they endured?
Reflections of life is the amalgamation of all events of our lives… all the things we have seen, done, choices made. Tis the mirror into your life… images and slices of life…. good times, bad times, sad times, and happy times… reflecting on the emotional highs and lows of your life and everything in between.
Adam considers himself and his family unique and wonderful individuals, whose lives are unique in their own way. But alas, one’s life and one’s reflections belong only to one’s self. His life is the only one exactly like it; only he, has done all of the things in the exact same way, at the exact same time, with the exact assortment of emotions, and his matchless sequence of thoughts about what he was doing and why he did it. He had his own distinctive way of reacting to what he had seen, what he heard, what he felt, and how he express himself about any given situation he encountered.
“Reflections !! Aye…. Wh’t if’n Ah ha’ dun thin’s differently, or react’d differently, or said things differently? Did Ah dae sum thin’s Ah should nay ‘ave dun? Did Ah nay dae sum thin’s Ah should ‘ave dun? Did Ah think thin’s that Ah should nay ‘ave thought? What if Ah ‘ad made decisions and choices opposite of the ones Ah really made? How unlike would mae life be..? Would the country bae as safe or prosperous as we all are? Would the dead be sastified that they gacve their lives for the reason they did? Would Ah ‘ave chosen the same woman tae marry mae… or ‘ave the same family?”
These are the questions that dominated his time now, knowing his life, in its entirety, was directly tied to the results of the choices he had made. Several times, Adam thought if only hye had hindsight, he would have not have made that choice… or that choice. But he knew, when one makes a choice, no one knows whether that choice will end up being a good one or an appalling one.
This time of year always provided Adam a reflection of life… to allow him to look back and make an unrestrained survey of his triumphs and of his failures… his love life, good, bad or indifferent… his mood or outlook on life.
Adam had never been afraid to venture out, to test himself. When it comes to dreams and ambitions, deep down he knew he had the ability to do more… but was afraid… afraid of the unknown. And in reality, it was Bess that urged him onward, when he paused in doubt… either by passive suggestion, or aggressive proposition. And this thought would make him smile and push the hair from his eyes.
The man walked to the hearth, and stood by it as he had so many times before… the flames capturing his mind… The worst possible thoughts and feelings one will ever experience, as one’s life is coming to an end, will be the doubts or regrets about how one lived your life and the things one wish one would have done. Was life what you wanted it to be or what you expected it to be? What if??
The remarkable thing is that it is the crowded life that is most easily remembered. A life full of turns, achievements, disappointments, surprises, and crises is a life full of landmarks. The empty life has even its few details blurred, and cannot be remembered with certainty. --Eric Hoffer (1902–1983), U.S. philosopher. Reflections on the Human Condition, aphorism 174 (1973). Once more Adam looked into the flames as they danced around the wood, he reflects upon some knowledge he once felt useless... Narcissus – the flowering of self-absorption… Tis said in a Greek myth that Narcissus would live forever unless he looked upon himself. And when he caught his image in a pool of water, he became enamored of his image. He became so self-absorbed that he withered and died by the water's edge. Later, at the water, a flower grew where he had died. In the beginning, that flower was considered poisonous, but later, with further examination, its medicinal properties were revealed.
He laughs at himself when he realizes the danger of looking so deeply is that one loses perspective. But in order to live, one must leave behind that image and discover one’s true identity. At first one may be shocked by what he finds, but like Narcissus, one may lose one’s life only to gain another and we find we can flower and grow. To develop a reverence for life… and in reflection upon one’s life, acknowledge all that has past – both good and bad. Respect it. Your past informs your present and gives hope for the future. We can’t control the outcome of our life but we can approach it with reverence, honoring our traditions and respecting the life we are given.
"Reverence begins in a deep understanding of human limitations; from this grows the capacity to be in awe of whatever we believe lies outside our control – God, truth, justice, nature, even death. The capacity for awe, as it grows, brings with it the capacity for respecting fellow human beings, flaws and all." Paul Woodruff "Ye are right," she ventured to say as she walked in and heard him talking to himself and the flames.
Adam simply chuckled at her. “Lass, Ah did nay hear yae…”
|
|
|
Post by Queen Beathag Aberdeen on Dec 20, 2011 0:21:41 GMT -6
"O'course ye did nay. Ye would nay hear me iffn I screamed, fer yer mind's tae full o' sounds already. Soft or loud, I dun nay know, but still tae full." Her shadow stretched in to the darkness to blend in. Her countenance , though, was as bright as the spun gold on her head, still without a touch of grey. From a distance it looked as if Time had a deal with Beathag Aberdeen. That she, like the myths her husband pondered, would be immortal in body as in story. Truth however touched itself in the lines by her eyes, or the deep crease in a smile. For the time they were long lived. Their blood had few members privy to a long life, but the best of it died young. If Time and Truth agreed on any measure, it was that they were in league with all that mattered to spare them many times over. A hard boot heel struck the stone in time with the sway of a layered wool gown. She was iron and silk. Always had, always would be. A bethorned thistle, a deep-from-the-thicket Scottish rose. His thistle, and his rose. Wrapped well together. This union presented itself to him with a palm that came across the middle of his back. She rubbed there in soothing circles until the fingers crested the line of his left shoulder. A kiss to his cheek was a reward for a reason he had no idea of. It could be said that for a man of such deep, pressing thoughts, an action unqualified with a reason was one to be doubted. Or it could only be that some things simply are; the fact that there was air to breathe, or that the sea always met the shore. Her presence and affections were that simple now.
"On wot thoughts does his majesty give such look n' silence tae consider?" Around them in Advent, the Christ followers were recalling the lessons of the holy birth before the recalling of the full glory. Of the Old Faith, they recalled the rebirth of the Sun turning toward longer days, and the eventual triumph of warmth over the cold. It gave many moments of pause even amidst all the celebrations. In the castle, the holy, ivy, were nestled in the sweet smell of evergreen boughs in every plausible corner. Trees were decorated in fruits, sweets, ribbons, natural adornments, and even glass. Soon Twelve Nights were to come. Yet, here stood the King. Away from the merriment that could be because he kept the peace, wondering if the peace he kept was a part of the life he should be leading. "For a boisterous man ye oft where the look o' one o' the old scholars these days."
If he did not question, he would not have a mind. If he had no mind, he would not be himself.
The flames in the hearth needed coaxing to come to life as they should, but she did not move yet. There was enough warmth in their togetherness to sustain. He could easily counter her words. For a woman so loud, she had learned to be so quiet. For a woman of so much action, she learned the true meaning of peace. For one unchanging in so many ways, she had learned to flow once more with the current of change. So many things in a life that lacked. So many things lacking in a full life. No one escaped the irony of juxtaposed circumstances while they lived. For all that was had, was it received in the right way? Was what they took truly theirs to take? As she leaned against him, her head now between his shoulder blades while hands lingered on his shoulders, she considered her own actions within the last year. Within the last many years. She roared as a Lion once. In the earlier times it was said she was either filled with a deep passion for her principles, or out to make every man a cuckold around her. She was too brash, too brazen, and too ungentle to make a good wife to begin with, let alone a companion for a Lord.
In the six years that lay before her, many things were done both good and bad. Yet what was her own legacy? Truly many things of knowledge or economy were of his doing. Even when her passion rose, it was to endorse his idealistic fever until it became the radical action shaping a new way of life. In the middling times, she found her voice again to present her own policy before the parliament. Yet it was not in the ways of outward policy, but the inner, that often raised the most conflict. Was she still too secretive? Was this way of women too much of a vice? Or had she become so much a piece of him that she was denied individuality all together. You see, Echo had come to love Narcissus, and was denied his love. She, like the Queen, was possessed of a want to speak. As punishment for distracting the goddess HERA with speech to allow Zeus to escape her presence, she was punished with a loss of voice. All she could say was what was said to her. When Narcissus did notice her, she could not tell him of her love. It seemed she was mocking him as all she said were the words from his mouth. She fled to the mountains to mourn after he spurned her. Grief was the cause of death. Her body became one with the stone, but her voice endures to this very day, telling the speaker what they already know. In fact, when Narcissus lay wasting beside his own reflection, the voice he believed to be that of his reflection was what remained of Echo.
There were scars inside and out of her throat that stole her voice on the worst of days all together.
She had touched the shadows in giving amnesty to an Egyptian once who could not give way to his full intentions, and to this day she wondered if all was done for the best. The bastard son of Robert Bruce had never spoken to Adam..but to her. Had she stolen respect from her husband by sharing a place that was equal with him? Was he weaker? It could be said instead that the one who moves within shadow finds the source of light faster than those who work against it all together. With this, a part of her knew that the Egyptian was honest, for she had lived a life of honesty among alleged dishonest men once. She saw in the dark what others denied; it was a part of the human condition, and there for, lived beside the light. The way to light in fact was sometimes through the blackest pitch.
Together they comprised the eldest matriarch and patriarch of their bloodline. Even in the family broadened by marriage, it was still so. Yet, how the family was assembled once more was as hard a tale to take in as how it was pulled apart. Even in these years, so long united with them, she wondered if it was not her memories, let alone her presence, that had stolen the father Eamonn knew from him only to cast light on a man who could not remember himself. They quarreled as much as they loved; she often told herself it was as much to preserve themselves as to have a future together. If it was not for want of her that Caldean and Brycean were left to die in the catacombs of the secret passages. It was a great deal to place on her shoulders. Was she, like all this, a heavy weight for Adam to carry? Did he carry her as so much was broken to be put back together, she wondered, and the pieces that couldn't fit still cut them before they could be refashioned in to something new. Outside the castle lived three people who were irrevokably a part of their lives, and because she helped a man to fufill the request of his mother. Because she could not let Aodhan be ignorant or herself forget the reason his skin was the color of fertile soil. Abdul-Alyii al Mazin was the only man who could tell Aodhan about a world that she could not. Him, along with his friend and servant Akram al-Hadin and his sister, Akilah-Kadejah, were now and forever a part of Aodhan. He had not wanted it at first. Yet she had rebuked him for his deceit of his father's kin, and told him for all that was in his heritage, for the deep loyalty to kin, and for the sake of hospitality he should accept them. She had even gone so far as to say that her will as both Queen and his matriarch were absolute in this, and it was her command and pleasure that he do so. He wore his first scar of battle because he would not see his Uncle laid low. His duty was one because his soul truly compelled his loyalty to kin, lineage, and the will of the Queen his mother.
There was a part of her, no matter how small, that wondered if she had never put Aodhan before al-Mazin, would her son never wear the mark that was now a mixture of soft pink fading down to an off color brown. He wore a mark not of his choosing because of the burden she had given him to carry. Same as all of his uncles. Same as his aunts, grandparents, and the man he called father. How many marks had she made Adam receive in his pursuit to give her a home?
He was not the only man who questioned a lifetime.
|
|
|
Post by Queen Beathag Aberdeen on Jan 19, 2012 1:13:13 GMT -6
Adam
To the accusations that his mind was full of thoughtful sounds, he could only chuckle… but the chuckle would subside with the affirmative hand upon his back as she sought to soothe and reassure. Was she reading his mind, or just knbow him that well? Did she now have the ability, or had she always had it? Either way, she, along with all other matters of familial and state concerns was always up[on his mind. “Oh my dearest Bess… yae know me… when dae Ah ever ‘ave a clear and thoughtless mind?” he chuckles abit and pulls her into his arms. “Maebe, the days as a landless knight… maebe the days afore Ah met yae… but nae since… faer yae ‘r always on me mind…” his hand, still rough from peaceful swordplay and age, caresses her face, his fingers exploring the threads of golden flux. “Yer ageless lass… beautiful as yer were the day Ah met yae…” With his hand upon her face, his fingers flicking golden strands, he smiles, then pauses and sea-green eyes take in her face… “I am a good man am Ah nay? All Ah dun has set right wit yae? Ah tried tae give yae a safe place tae live, a simple white picket fence ta let people know wot bae yers…” His eyes veered from her, only to take in the painting of the entire family that hung upon the stone wall of their bedroom. Quite a brood the pondered… the family portrait capturing for ever that one moment in the life of the Aberdeens… Matriach and Patriarch, aunts and uncles, and all the children there of… and a smile came to the still boyish face… Was that a tear in his eye? A tear of joy of all that had been… and what will be…? The King and Queen of a great Nation stood humbly in their room, looking out over the vastness that was theirs… Soon a new year would be upon them… but in the days to come would be the celebrations of Winters Solstice and Yuletide, both Pagan and Christian, and the royal pair would indulge in all of them. This was a busy time of year for them… but not in the manner they continually performed year-round… this was more pleasurable than professional. The sea-green eyes would engulf the woman’s face once more… and he gave her a wicked smirk as his hands began to wander her person… and soon ponderous thougths gave way to sensual desires. As they moved toward their fourth decade upon this world, one would swear they were still amourous teens exploring one another with curiosity; but undying passion accompanied such a deep love they shared... Adam smirked, and swooped her into his arms and moved toward the bed… tossing her upon it, an evil smirk upon his lips and a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Prepare to be molested, and pleased, lass…”
Beathag
Beathag was not a mystic woman by nature; woman's intuition allowed one to delve meaning from a dream, and if asked, she would say she had been given the prophetic visit within a dream of a parent, or even her father when near death. Yet she was not as some with visions that came from thin air. Her powers were by far more tangible, and as such more down to earth. "Yer kind. Ah feel older, much older. Sometimes naught at all but.lately. Seems we blink, n' our children grow. Aodhan is all but a man, n' Davina shall soon have cares ' more than a mere girl." Ah. Aodhan and Davina. One had been the only for many years, the other had been a gift where none thought it possible. Now the eldest was no longer the boy that Adam had found him to be so many years ago, and Davina was a girl all her own on the verge of many new discoveries. With them, the twins were moving towards their childhood's middling years, leaving only little Amy for them to remember what such youth was like. Not one, but four children of Adam's blood were in their family of five. This to Beathag, along with the family now grown, restored her to grace within. Not the achievements wrought by the sword, or any argued by the tongue. No. For a woman..it truly could be that simple, couldn't it?
No one truly understood, save Adam, how this was all she ever fought for. The right to exist..the right to see her family not perish before their time. She followed his eyes to the portrait that was in their chambers, one that held not merely them, but their family proper. Brothers,sisters, nieces and nephews. The painter had come on a recommendation from the guild of artisans; Master Collum was a fine visionary with his paints. He captured everything from intelligence to bravery, devotion to individualism, the modest to the outward in all of them. For all of the doubts that plagued a mind, for any guilt that could come, to say it wasn't worth it would be to lie. To have seen her mother laid to rest, and the desire of both Adam's mother and her own formed in their match..to have given the line new blood, and to restore the old..was all worth it.
"Why dae ye cry.." she sought to soothe him, but soon a moment of gentility gave rise to some healing, for his hands were still gentle. Yet they sought something; the curves of her body were softer now, but beneath the ample flesh was still enough muscle he could feel clench at his touch in reaction. She shut her eyes, pleased already. "Och, seems tae be answered later." she muttered, only to find herself laughing like a girl when he lifted her.
For any woman..her's was quite the achievement: she was the only one in the King's bed. Neither mistress nor whore ever lay where she lay. Despite the rampant rumors that the equality in the realm twixt the sexes was only for the King's own vanity or as an agreement with the Queen to mullify her complaints..none where she was had ever come to pass. She was not fool enough to believe his eyes did not look, for he had much to look upon. There was even a time she entertained the thought of a mistress..for she could not continue his lineage or it seemed he had more a need than of her, but it was a silly fear to have. For while others may garner his eye, or even his affection in the deepest realms of friendship..it was she who had his heart. For all the refinement he could have had in a bride when his rights were restored, for all he could have had of gentility when he were a humble knight, he picked for himself the heather blossoms with a myriad of thorns. It was the hard edges lined in the silk, weathered with life he fancied. Not unblemished things that told no stories. He may have many to look upon, but it was she he gave his banner to. It was for her he had done more than use his hands to build a house. He restored her to her own birthright as he claimed his.
It was because of this reason she was still fetching to him, among others no doubt. She was a score gentler than before. More humbled, and less apt to fit or moan. Yet, there was still fire in her veins. Purpose in her step. Steel in the silk edges. She was still, and always would be, only Bess to him. With the bed soft under her back, she sat up on her elbows. "Well then, ye dae take yer own good time comin' 'ere fer such dun ye now. Come, Adam. Yer wife has need o' ye.."
Adam In a relation, does passion fade as intimacy and commitment builds. Does the middle decades of life find him in a marriage typified by companionated love, which is both committed and intimate but not passionate? A far cry from it… he is a communicator… and his talent built a nation, so he surely could find effective ways of “communicating” to his beloved Bess… He spent endless hours in their lives ensuring the emotional intimacy, the rekindling the fires of passion, and the growing together, mentally, emotionally, and physically. Was that effort worth it? Most definitely !! Those thoughts crossed his mind as he lay atop her, still joined in consummated union; her golden strands amuss, albeit errant ones matted upon a sweated brow… and her husband’s arm muscle tightens as the opposite hand pushes aside those wayward strands of gold, a wicked smirk of pleasure upon his face. Outside of the most intimate scenarios such as this one, the pair both share several ideals. They both consider their relationship a long-term commitment; both verbally and physically express appreciation, admiration, and love to one another; both continue to offer emotional support and consider each other as a best friend. In performing a reflection upon himself, wondering if he made the right decisions, he involved his beloved wife… and in her, he found a deeper meaning… He had loved her truly and deeply… and in this sought to provide for her… and in doing that, he founded a nation. And in that building of a realm, found others who had thoughts, wants, and deep desires of freedom such as he and his beloved Bess had. And as they formed a union, from that union came a Gaelic Renaissance that the world had never seen… nor would see again. Medical standards were raised, sickness was researched and combating disease was propagated, people began to live healthier livesand in turn, lived longer. War machines were developed, capable of killing far more people and more efficiently doing so… but was this applicable to the answers he sought? Absolutely !! It became a deterant to war, thus promoting peaceful alternatives… World Trade set upon oceans and land routes to far reaches never before explored, where ideas of the places visited soon became advantages for the Gaelic Nations. Cards… those stackable gaming sheets… placed in the proper order could be a thing of beauty… but should one be pulled away, it could come tumbling down atop its maker. Oh yes, the Gaelic Nations was a powerful entity in the world, but what had been wrought from the turmoil and death now lay a road to freedom and prosperity for generations to come. There were still that percentage of have-nots;, those poor, those uneducated… but his percentage was much lower than anywhere else that one could evaluate. “One of the greatest moments in anybody's developing experience is when he no longer tries to hide from himself but determines to get acquainted with himself as he really is…” (Norman Vincent Peale) This is what he had been doing, ever so unconsciously… and beside him now was the one person that he desired to share all of his greatest moments… All he did was move to the side and smile at her with that boyish expression. “By three methods we may learn wisdom: First, by reflection, which is noblest; Second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third by experience, which is the bitterest.” (Confucius) He chuckled as his head sank into the pillow… Repeating outloud to her what had crossed his mind just then… “See, always ass backwards m’love… Imitation, then experience, then reflection… why did Ah nay dae th’ right order…” then they both laughed, and he began to tickle her, for the creation of thought now returned to the proliferation of physical contact and emotional outcry.
Beathag
When he sought his pleasure, it was a rare day he was refused. In fact, those times he could be refused were counted only the forty days beyond child bed, or the times mentioned hardly among the servants. A woman's indignation is the ruination of a home. When she had gone from their shared bed to reside in chambers of her own if the King were within, times were dire. Age brought with it a wisdom, though. The sea that lived inside the chest of the Aberdeenian churned only if it were a shared storm more than one the world sought to conjure. Like now, in her husband's arms; a tempest had crashed together until they lay in the quiet wait of another potential storm. The look in her eye toward him was peaceful. Not entirely satiated, but content enough to endure. With the rearing of so many children as a late gift, as her body was sure to undergo the changes soon it had rumored to years before, it would be entirely hers. The most sovereign of midwives had told her that the change upon a woman is not condemning, but freeing. She is wise. Seasoned, and no longer green. Her true freedom begins.
None could ever say that the Aberdeenian had no desire to live.
"Aye, tis backwards when a wife must try tae find wot her husband thought afore he said somewot..but..I be good at tha. We understand one another." Sticky, pliable pieces of hair were pushed away from her brow to join the dry spokes along the pillow, or melt back in to the center. Sadness was no where to be found. Neither was regret. As she considered what he must be thinking, her own thoughts began to flow from the unblocked damn. Every choice she'd ever made from the end of her innocence to the coming of magnificence. From the things that went unsaid, to the people that were lost. Nothing could be changed. If it were changed, it would not be as it was now. The magnificence surrounding them was a perpetual dawn in a world content in the twilight of its ancestors.
Turas Lan was filled with advancement, and the realm put together by war was now filled with a peace those who put down constant squabble found enviable. Whispers of indignation would always feed the beast of malice. What was a clansmen's feud, though, to a years long civil war? What were the trials of yesteryear but a stepping stone to a better ruling policy? Whatever it was the subjects felt for their rulers, at least it could be said they were free to feel it. Whatever the feeling, at least they had lost no respect even from the most staunch of opposition. It was by no miracle they accomplished by the seventh year what most fledling houses needed fifteen for, if not twenty. Each would seek to fix the imperfections where they could, but many people ate at the day's end. Many more could find education now in an open book, a tradesmen who would welcome them to the fold. What had been crushed of class induced or sexist attitudes made for a power that depended neither on heredity nor the stroke of being born a man. Blood, flesh, sweat, and tears accompanied enduring shows of wit on the parliament floors. It was a legend that she was priveleged to say was one of both ink-blood, and ink of the earth.
Nothing was to be undone. It took many years for her to realize even in the past she had separate from Adam should go unchanged. She kissed him to fix the truth in to them both of that. Not one lost life. Not one person harmed did she keep regretting. There was, after all, no sacrifice that was in vain.
Her first and second husbands, her mother, birth father, elder brother, and youngest sister sat among the great grandparents with pride. Caibre rested in the knowledge that the woman he'd loved carried his memory as a banner for many years. Their stillborn son sat upon his knee. Asad could see that his kindred were tied forever more through the best part of himself. Her beloved Edme had been given eyes to see through her sister Amy, and whispered to her sister of all the things that would be pleasing to know. Amy, in name, redeemed the man that reared her lady-mother to stand as the semblance of the sweet for what was so bitter. Einar bore no ill will, but found pride in his children born of two women, over two seas. Two humble women were now as Queens of Old. They were no longer the servants in the shadow of King, or the lost of an island. The Lordship was restored, and they were royal. The dead were honored and the living could endure. Her children would wear the titles of the oath-sworn and earn names of their own. The Gods had even so willed it that a child with black skin and emerald eyes would turn the banner of the Griffin to the world. With his sisters and brothers at his side, Aodhan would be the reason that the glow of the island settled if only for them to learn what beauty lay in a sky full of stars. His stars. In Adam's love of her, many things were made whole!
Together, they were beginning and the end.
"Ye ne'er grow up!" said of him who indulged in a childish past time to bring her to heel, "N' I ne'er wish it tae change. Ne'er a thing.." She let her voice fill with a calling for him to answer; a touch of the mouth, a lifting of parts, a twisting of limb.
The beginning, and the end.
|
|