3. Celia StClair

Celia StClair


  • Fall colors splashed the wooded glen in a kaleidoscope of colors, from bright orange through crimson rouge and on into a deep brooding burnt umber. The late morning sun had chased off the dew but the air still retained the crisp chill that hinted at an approaching frost. The calls of bluejays and crows echoing in the distance mixed with the sounds of small animals scurrying about in the fallen leaves to the sides of the old cobblestone pathway. A nearby stream gurgled the promise of cold refreshing water as it made it’s way to the sea.

    Sir Reginald Du Luc was at my arm, guiding me along the path to our destination. Rey’s father was subdued this morning, his few words carried in a soft solemn whisper. I could see he was deep in his thoughts, as I was with mine. It wasn’t hard to see where Rey got his quiet and reserved strength from. Father and son had a lot in common. I found my mind drifting over thoughts of family. I wondered what my own father had been like. How many traits did we mutually share? I had never met the man, and probably never would. The Abbey was my family, and they were gone now too. Rey would be my family now. What would life be like? Visions of a rose covered cottage with children running about in play leapt into my mind. Husband and wife becoming father and mother. My head spun and I stumbled, but monsieur Du Luc was there for support. He stopped and turned to me, a handkerchief appearing suddenly in his hand and he softly dabbed a tear running down my face that I didn’t know I shed.

    “Take care Milady, or you’ll have me doing the same.” He whispered with a reassuring smile.

    “Iz not what you think,” was my reply. I didn’t know myself. So many emotions pressed for my attention that it was hard to keep them straight.

    “They call this the Path of Reflection… Tears are no stranger here. Joy or sorrow, no one walks this road who’s life isn’t changed.”

    We continued on.

    The glen opened into a natural amphitheatre at the base of a cliff. Three small waterfalls plunged a hundred feet to the ground, leaving fine feathery trails of white like the falling feathers of a giant bird, sometimes drifting on the faintest of zephyrs that swirled about the place. Centuries of falling water had carved out a deep and broad plunge pool that rippled gently with the fine spray disturbing its surface. In the center, rising up forty feet from the water with shallow broad steps that wrapped around it as they climbed, was the Chapel of the Mists, where Rey, Lady Kathryn, and one of the Priests of Torm would be waiting for us.

    The awkward steps, too deep to take with single step, focused our attention. Sir Reginald and I matched each other’s pace as we ascended. I was happy I had kept my dress practical, as well as fashionable. In accordance with Caledon tradition, Rey had not seen it yet, and the little girl in me was waiting to surprise him. It was tailored in cream colored satin, it’s smooth silkiness broken only by the lilac embroidery that focused on the bodice and the long sleeves that ended in points over the back of my hands. While the bottom flowed smoothly, hovering just above the ground, the top was tight enough to occasionally take away my breath, which in a way left me feeling more reassured, as the tightness reminded me of the rigidity of the armor I wore so much more frequently than dresses. A ring of a collar encircled my neck, but left an open panel below, that dipped dangerously into the bust line. At first I had objected. Modesty has been a way of life, but the tailor had been insistent.

    “A wedding dress should speak of purity, but it should also whisper a few intimate promises.” he had said. In the end, he convinced me, and the final result was nothing less then stunning.

    There was a small train with the dress as well, and it was buttoned up at the moment for ease of travel, and to add volume. It would be lowered for the ceremony, and could be removed entirely for dancing. The dress had taken months to make, and at times I wondered if it wasn’t a bit of an extravagance. Love isn’t found in fancy clothes, it’s found in the heart and spirit.

    We crested the top of the stairs to the arched entrance of the chapel. It was simple, a large flat expanse with stone benches and a plain stone alter. Late season roses added color, and took away the hard edges. Three obelisks of dark granite stood behind the alter and mirrored the waterfalls behind them. They represented faith, honor, and courage. Despite the eddying mists that gave the chapel it’s name, it was remarkably dry. “Divine providence” Rey had said when he had first shown it to me. The Knights of Caledon had been coming here for decades for weddings and knighting ceremonies. It was also used for funerals on occasion.

    Lady Kathryn stood in the front row, on what could be termed my side of the aisle, watching for our entrance. Rey was standing by the alter, turned from me. His armor sparkled in the morning light, and his formal cloak flickered when the capricious breeze chose to play with it. His beard was trimmed shorter then usual and it had the effect of making his strawberry blonde hair seem longer by comparison. A fleeting thought passed over me. I wondered what color hair our children would have. Rey was wearing his father’s blade for the ceremony, a family tradition dating back generations. The priest waited next to Rey, facing back down the aisle towards me. He wore formal robes of deep azure and held a book of sacred texts

    My heart fluttered as Sir Reginald escorted me down the aisle, bringing me to stand next to his son, before joining his wife. I watched them long enough to see them hold hands and exchange glances. All those years together had not dulled their affections.

    “We are gathered here together in the sight of Torm…”

    Rey and I turned towards each other on cue, and I’ll never forget the look in his eyes when he saw me. Pride, love, admiration, surprise, respect, desire, relief, happiness… They were all enjoined together in an instant. He mouthed the words “I love you“ with a wink and his smile left me feeling warm and safe.

    The ceremony itself was a blur. I know the litanies well, but they were lost in my feelings and Rey’s eyes, which never left mine. Everything was surreal. Like some lost dream come back to memory. At last the priest fell silent and it was our turn. I trembled as the words came out.

    “Reynauld, I’m a believer,
    You came out of nowhere,
    When everyone else was passing by.”

    Rey’s eyes welled with emotion, his hands squeezing mine as we took turns with metered pauses. We had practiced the lines over and over, yet at that moment, it was like we were saying them for the very first time.

    “Celia, I am humbled,
    Your friendship is uplifting,
    And your love a blessing unexpected.”

    “Reynauld, I am faithful
    My heart is taking over
    I will hold your hand and never let go”

    “Celia, I am loyal,
    Your warmth has touched my heart,
    And I will always be at your side.”

    “Reynauld I am convinced that our love
    Is as strong as our beliefs and faith
    And we shall share that from now on and forever”

    “Celia, in each other we discover ourselves,
    Through love and faith we become whole,
    Together we will stand, from now on and forever.”

    The ring made by the elves felt warm and solid as he slid it onto my finger. We held each other close and the ceremony ended as I kissed my husband for the first time. It was a lingering kiss that held the promise of so many things to come.


  • Nothing brings with it the sense of home like the smells of baking. The aroma of ginger snaps and apple pies, or in this case lemon cake, mixed with wood smoke is the scent of family and friendship. My father and I sat at the dining room table polishing my armor with jeweler’s rouge, working extra hard to bring out the sparkle in the steel, and especially the silver inlays. It was long and tiresome work, but kept us busy while Celia and my mother were away.

    “Nervous yet?”

    I paused a moment to consider my father’s question. “No. I thought maybe I would be, but I’m not. I‘ve waited all my life to find Celia. I have no doubts”

    “Marriage has it’s challenges. It isn’t all rose petals and candlelight dinners.”

    “I know that.”

    Dad’s smile was a little disarming. “Not yet you don’t. But you’ll learn quickly. Let me give you my advice. Be there.”

    I blinked. Honestly, I had hoped for a little more. After years of listening to his little bits of wisdom and altruisms, two words seemed kind of thin for standing on the threshold of one of the most important moments of my life.

    “Be there?”

    He nodded. His inner sage would not be denied. “Be there when she needs you. Be there when she wants you. Most importantly, be there, because there is no where else you would rather be.”

    “Where you nervous before your wedding?”

    “I barely slept all week.”

    “Why’s that?”

    He stopped polishing for a moment to stare into the embers of the fireplace. “I was younger then you are back then… Didn’t have a lot of prospective on the world. I wondered how I’d support a family as a young cavalry officer.”

    “That isn’t going to be a problem for us.”

    “Well, yes, but there’s something about your Mother you should know.”

    “What’s that?”

    He leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. “She can be kind of scary at times.”

    My mother, of course, took that exact moment to burst in the door carrying a sack of finely powdered sugar. She dropped it on the butcher’s block in a small cloud of white. “Who can be kind of scary?”

    Dad did not miss a beat. “Your cousin Gertrude when she’s been drinking.”

    “Oh, well, when isn’t she?” Mom said matter of factly. “Rey, be a dear and get the milk cans out of the wagon, I need you to churn butter if I’m ever going to get this cake done.”

    I got up and headed for the door as my father asked the question that was apparently on both our minds. “Did you lose Lady Celia?”

    “She’s still at Lyonson’s having final alterations done on her dress… Reginald! How many times have I told you about putting armor on my table!”

    “You turned my workroom into a spare bedroom.”

    “We needed one, and there was plenty of room for that ratty workbench in your sanctuary. Now be gone with you.”

    Dad flashed me a wink and mouthed the words “rose petals” then tapped one of the candles on the table.”

    I think I heard my mother giggle.


  • @758184ec9b:

    Dear Celia,

    Gnarl has found a place where blue orchids grow in the Kuo Toa Cavern. He and I went there today and found the plant. It is whithered and contained no blooms, but perhaps more will come from time to time. I will take you and Reynauld there when I see you next. This is the item needed for the healer's dream that might help us find a cure for the pestilence.

    Romulus

    A letter left on the top of the stairs of the Legion Tower, sealed in blue wax with a fleur-de-lis imprint, addressed in neat precise handwriting to Romulus:

    @758184ec9b:

    Dear Romulus

    Tis' be good news. Lets us meet as soon as possible perhaps tomorrow and you can tell me all about it.

    Yours in faith

    Celia StClair


  • Celia walks silent and with great respect into the Glenn, she carefully looks about and spots Siril. She moves across the cold spring and bows her head as she leaves a letter with him.

    "Monsieur tiz letter is to ze one responsible over ze woodland pass. I 'ave a question."

    Then she takes her leave.

    @51909a6f8b:

    To whom it may concern
    Celia StClair and Reynauld du Luc both faithful of Torm seek the permisson to hold a wedding at the top of the waterfall in the woodland pass.

    We hope that this will be accepted as we see it be "the place" of serenity from which love can set root and grow.

    It will be a small wedding with only the closest of our friends.

    Please contact Celia StClair
    Mermaid Inn
    Peltarch


    • upon arriving back in Narfell, Arthur would smile to her promising to catch up with her soon and heads off to make his report back in to the members of the Order and to the Union. *

  • After a good rest Celia, Reynauld, Romulus and Arthur give their thanks and gratitude to the members of the Silver Chalice. Given the necessary provisions for the ship from coast of Cormyr, they were on their way back north again, strongly renewed in spirit, and sharing the bond of determination to see an end to this spirit of pestilence.


    • Arthur would smile to her when she wakes, his features calm and collected though his eyes would easily betray his worry for her *

    My dear, I told you in my letter if anything happened I would not hesitate to be here, the moment I knew you were seriously ill I headed out. I believe if we are to learn anything we need to contact a Temple to Kelemvor, the god of the dead. Explain to them what has occurred and perhaps have them come up and investigate the matters. You owe me nothing, nor do I deserve any profound gratitude for coming to the side of a soul sister in need of me. I have no doubt you would have done the same for me if the circumstances were reversed.

    • he would move a bowl of warm soup and wine over, helping her eat then drink, using a cloth he wipes the sweat from her face before making sure she is wrapped back under the blankets *

    Now you rest up, we will be right here when you wake, I promise you that.


  • Still reeling from weakness and vertigo, Celia tries to make sense of what’s befallen her in the last several days. Strange dreams and bouts of delusion have made it hard to differentiate between what was reality and what was… something else. Faces of the past and present seems to pass from day to day finally to settle on the three men keeping vigil by her bedside. While Reynauld’s presence is a given, she finds it almost overwhelming to see that Romulus and her new friend Arthur have also made the long journey to be by her side. Every fiber of her body aches from the fever’s grip, and her head pounds at the slightest of noises, yet her color seems to miraculously change to a normal hue, and her eyes regain their brightness and ice blue conviction. Her words come slowly, and the three men have to strain to hear them.

    "Messieurs, 'ow can I ever show gratitude enough? I am truly blezzed viz such companionship and friendship for my letter to bring you all zis far. I am forever in your debt. Torm 'as shown me mercy."

    She looks to each and everyone of them, noting the looks of concern etched on their faces. Clarity comes with the moment, things taking their proper place in her mind.

    "I vaz recovering, zen zis thing took a'old of me again, and itz been a battle for several dayz. Zis disease is unnatural, embodied and spread through a spirit of a zort. I believe before ve can do anything ve must underztand vat ve are up against. Vat it iz, why, and more importantly 'ow to destroy it. Ze priests 'ere have yet not found any remedy or prayer ztrong enough to banish it for good."

    A spasm wracks her body, painfully reminding her of her condition. Exhaustion, she knows, will soon overtake her again.

    "Lets us rest a few dayz and gather provision for our return. Back 'ome in ze north ve can per'apz find information and resources to come back and deztroy vat ever evil zis iz."

    A warm smile crosses her face in stark contrast to her hollow features.

    "You are my dear brothers, if not all in faith, zen by 'eart!"

    Sleep brings with it needed rest and recovery


    • smiles warmly to Romulus as he enters *

    Well then my lady Celia, its up to you, do we fight, or do we retreat? No matter your decision, we are all here to aid you.

  • A

    A few days later, Romulus appears as if out of nowhere. He greets the watching Arthur and then moves first to Celia's side, and then to Reynauld's.

    "Sorry I'm late. I didn't have a horse and had to do much of the journey on foot. I travel better that way because I use invisibility most of the time. Luckily, your map was good Rey, and I was able to hire a boat for part of the trip." He speaks lightly, and cheerfully as ever.

    "The priest told me what happened. I guess we need to either flee, or take on a demon. It sounds like you were attacked by some kind of Spirit of Pestelence. Whatever you decide, I want to help!"


    • having watched Sir Reynauld walk in Arthur silently follows behind him, standing guard as they pray together, his eyes watching over them as he waves away her keepers assuring them that Torm and now Helm watches over Celia, as things finally seems to calm he slowly walks to her bedside allowing his presence to be noticed as he smiles to them both *

    Lady Celia, so long as you keep your Faith and your Friends close, you will always have the strength to overcome this darkness.

    • Arthur would appear worn and tired from his travels though more then ready to press out when she is ready, he takes a chair on the opposite side of her bed from Reynauld minding them tiredly *

    When your ready to head home, Thunder can help…but until then, rest and if your serious to combat this darkness.....* pats the silver sword at his side * then expect my blade at your disposal.


  • Empty streets…

    Empty streets are never a good sign in a city, and neither are shuttered windows. Damorra looked like it was haunted. No children playing. No dogs barking. Not a soul to be seen anywhere, save myself, hobbling down a cobbled street, my saddle tucked under my left arm. The five day journey had been something I didn’t want to remember, even if I could have. There were people around. I could feel their eyes on my as I passed. The whole place reeked of fear.

    The building was right where the ship’s first mate said it would be. A squat little two story ugliness that one of my old instructors would have called “architecturally devoid.” It had the one door in the whole town that was open. I give them full credits for courage.

    My boots landed heavy on their stone floor, echoed by the jingle of one spur. I had lost the other somewhere along the way. Silver and a family heirloom of four generations… It was unimportant.

    A thin man in robes intercepted me. Good. I needed directions.

    “I am Sir Reynauld Du Luc, Knight Errant of Peltarch. I’ve come for Lady Celia StClair, my betrothed.”

    “I’m sorry you can’t…”

    I stepped around him.

    He was quick, I’ll give him that. In two steps he was back in front of me again.

    “… you can’t see her, she’s under quarantine.”

    This time I went to the other side and he caught my arm as I went by.

    “…it’s undead sickness Milord.”

    I lost a lot of things along the way, patience was one of the first. This was not one of my more knightly moments. So be it.

    “I swear, with Torm as my witness, if you get in my way one more time I will cut you in half! Now take me to her!”

    A second man in an elaborate robe and spectacles appeared down the hall as the first stepped off to the side. I took the occasion to continue on by.

    “Can I help you Sir?” His voice registered the kind of indignity one only gets from someone who is overly organized and thinks they’re in charge. I’m not in the mood.

    “Oh good, the porter.” I dumped my saddle into his arms and he took a step backwards from the weight of it. “Go put that somewhere.”

    I grabbed the man trailing me by the front of the robe, pulling him along with me.

    “Where?”

    “Upstairs, to the left, second door.”

    My pause at the stout oaken door let a few of the robed men catch up to me. The man carrying my saddle gave a slight nod and one of the brothers produced a key for the door, twisting it in the lock. As I pushed it open he spoke.

    “She’s stable now, but her improvement is very slow.”

    I stepped through the doorway into a very Spartan room. Cold stone walls, a single window, a small pine writing desk with a meager chair, and a bed that was little more then a pine box with a thin straw mattress. A shriveled little ghoul was wrapped up in a thin blanket laying on the bed, with barely a pillow to rest on. If it wasn’t for the hair, I’d have never guessed it was her.

    I fished some coins out of my pocket and handed them to the brother who unlocked the door. “I want pillows… good ones, and some blankets too. Make sure they’re… fluffy. Get some flowers too, this place needs some color.”

    The small raspy voice sent a spike of cold down my back. “Mon Rey.”

    “Celia…”

    I was at her side in a instant, holding her hand in mine. It felt cold and skeletal. Where was the strong and vibrant woman I’d come to know and love? Could this really be her? Torm has taught me to control my fear, and in doing so, bring calm and understanding to those around me. This takes every ounce of control I have. As my emotions calm I can feel it. Something malevolent. A vile wickedness in the room. I can’t help but think of all the lessons given to me by Lady Ashena that I failed at miserably. The ones where she could look and a person and know…

    I am not the most gifted of Torm’s servants. I’m not blessed with faith healing, or the ability to disrupt undead. I’m not strong enough for those things. My gift is the treating of disease, and I am truly blessed for it.

    “Lord Torm, cast out this pestilence, that your faithful servant Celia might recover fully in your grace…

    The thing consuming Celia leapt at me.

    Some moments become forever etched in the sandstone that time becomes when we look back at it in our later years. I’ve often believed that the mind will bend the things we see into that which we can better comprehend. Parts of what followed I remember vividly, while some moments seem surreal and out of context with anything other then flashes of my life up until then.

    I can see that exact second. The wispy dark fury leaving Celia, its claws and teeth biting into me. The look of pain and desperation from Celia’s shrunken face. The saddle falling half way to the floor while the high priest started his spell. Myself tumbling backwards under the sudden assault. Gasps of surprise and horror from the growing crowd at the door. A quill, blown off the desk, fluttering like gossamer wings to the floor, landing in darkness…

    _The barrows of Peltarch, dank and moldering. Celia chanting “Torm iz my father and ze Church is my Mother” over and over. She’s facing the wall, bound by smoky chains. Her back is bare save for the bleeding marks of the lash. A wraith on a flaming horse plies the whip, reveling in torment. He taunts her between strikes. His head turns as he sees me.

    “I have your love now as well my sweet.” It hisses. Cherry red hot chains shoot from the floor and wrap my wrists and ankles, they sizzle as they burn into my flesh. My scream is involuntary. “When I destroy him, you will break.”

    A voice in my head. Whispered hope. “Keep it busy son, I can prevent it from going back into Celia.” I don’t place it at first, but it’s the man with the saddle.

    I struggle against my bindings as the whip turns into a lance leveled at my heart. My armor and shield are hundreds of miles away. My horse is dead. I have to joust with my hands and feet anchored to the ground. If I don’t win, this creature takes us both. The Wraith starts its charge.

    Hoofbeats pounding the field of honor in time with the beat of my heart. The blackened lace of eternal death is leveled at my chest, its tip has become a venomous snake. The aim is true.

    A flash of light seers my eyes and I hear a chain fall from Celia. Her words carry over the thunder of hooves.

    “Torm’z compassion iz my armor!”

    The breastplate appears on me with a shimmer. I twist in my chains hoping for a glancing blow. The lance bites through the beastplate, ripping a furrow across my chest. I feel the burn as the poison enters my veins.

    Horse and rider turn for another pass. The Wraith cackles. “Resist if you must. Your fate is sealed all ready.”

    It charges.

    The rest of the chains fall from Celia. She has become radiant in her armor, glowing like a celestial being. “Torm’z righteousness iz my sword!”

    The blade appears in my hand. The chains keep me from swinging it, but I can move it enough to take the lance off target. I deflect the killing shot and take the hammer’s blow off my shoulder instead.

    The Wraith cries out in frustration. A glowing door appears, and I know it’s the way out.

    “Go Celia!” She shakes her head no. Her stubbornness is one of the things I love about her.

    “Torm’z love iz my Shield!”

    A shield appears on my arm and hers. I can’t bring it to bear. The lance comes straight for my heart. Celia dives, her shield extended to ward it off. Her shield meets mine and they become one. The lance shatters upon it. The rider howls.

    “You should have gone.” I whisper. “You’d have been safe.”

    “Safer zen by your side?” Her kiss catches me by surprise. “Ve are two ‘alves of ze same soul, you and I.”

    I’ve known it for a long time. I just never dared to say it.

    A hand landed on my shoulder, firm and reassuring. Spirits of knights long passed surrounded us. My fathers words echoed in my ears.

    “As long as you remember them for who they were, then they live on in your heart and spirit.”

    I recognized many. Grail knights. A multitude of others wore the colors of the Abby of St Clair. They took up positions as Celia sundered my chains.

    The Wraith snarled. “Another time then.” It vanished in a fit of manic laughter.

    Together, Celia and I crossed the glowing threshold._

    I lay on the floor bleeding profusely. Celia was sitting upright in bed, her ashen color slowly fading to a more normal hue. The glass window was shattered from the inside.

    “That thing needs to be stopped.” I grumbled.

    “Do ve ‘ave ze strength?” Celia answered. Her gaze lingered on me for a moment before asking, “Why are you smiling?”

    “I didn’t come alone.”

  • A

    Romulus sits on the edge of the bed shaking the sleep from his eyes.

    "It's like 3 AM?" He looks at the map that Reynauld handed him.

    "I promised to help him find Celia. I said I would do anything. But I meant to go with him, not follow alone. I've never been to Damorra and I don't even have a horse." He gets up and starts packing.

    "Oh well. I've always liked exploring new places."

    He remembered going with Celia, Reynauld, Cecil and Ashena to find the sacred chalice of St Clair. That was so long ago. There had been many undead. Luckily, he was prepared for undead. He had gone to the Temple of Kelemvore yesterday to purchase divine bullets and eternal rest arrows. Hopefully, it would be enough.

    Leaving a note for Gnarl and another for Mystic, silently he left the inn.

    Login: AubreyMaturin
    Character: Romulus Grey


  • Vigilant eyes on the door for days… Nothing… A letter half written… A pile of dirty glasses… Questions, so many questions… A lone figure leaves the night behind the door. A tired druid with a message… Four days by the crow… One answer… Regret. Time wasted waiting. Why? Because honor has meaning… A map with a course all ready plotted. For another… A sorceress pulled from the inn…

    “Your Lady?”

    He nods. “I need those spells you promised. Now.” He heads for the door.

    “Wait.” She starts to cast but he stops her hands.

    “Not for me, for my horse.”

    She follows to the stable, barely keeping with his determined pace.

    “How far do you have to travel?”

    “Four hundred miles, and I have to be there in a day and a half to catch the boat.”

    “You’ll kill him.”

    “You don‘t think I know that?”

    The smell of horses and leather. Worn wooden stalls… Ghosts in the moonlight… One horse, half ready… A saddle strapped down… Sacks of grain… Barding left unused… Spell crystals…

    “I can leave these unfinished. The magic will bleed out over time, it will not make him stronger or faster, but it will keep him sustained. For a while.”

    “How long?”

    “I don’t know. A day at best.”

    “It will do.”

    “There is a price to be paid when they wear off…”

    He’s gone into the darkness before she says it, leaving her alone with the horse.

    Misty souls wander the heath… A tower challenges the moon… Limestone steps… A chirp of crickets… Determined footfalls… Silence shattered by a fist on a door. Impatience… A man in blue. Surprise creasing his face… A map. The druids letter…

    “You offered your help.”

    “I did.”

    “This is the route I’m taking. Avoid the circled areas.”

    He turns and leaves. The man in blue stands in the doorway as the night returns to normal.

    “Good luck.”

    Cold foreboding walls… Dripping water… A stable in the darkness… She still waits… A horse lead out… Spurs jingle… A soft knicker in the night… A foot in a stirrup… The creak of leather… A pat on the neck… Whispers to twitching ears…

    “I’m sorry old friend. It’s time to walk in the fire.”

    The sorceress’s hand brushes his arm. “You aren’t taking your armor?”

    “It will only slow me down.”

    _Raw power in the horse’s flanks… Acceleration through the gates… A curse of guards diving for safety… Iron shod hooves on cobblestone… The rush of wind… Branches whipping by in the darkness… Night vanishing into the distance… Wolves chase but are out run… The sky opens to rain… A road unused, choked with brambles and mud… The splash of a stream forded… Sunlight beating down… Foam flying from drawn back lips… Thundering hooves on the plain… Miles passed at a gallop… Down a muddy slope… Wheezing… A stop at the edge of a swamp. Water, oats… Fresh piles of troll dung… A fleeting path through the swamp… The smell of swamp cabbage and pitcher plants… Slimy mud thrown in all directions… Snakes in the water. A splash in the distance… Safety needs speed, speed causes missteps… The horse disappears in the hole. The rider claws his way to firmer ground with a rope. Frantic pulling… Troll hunger… Narrow escape… old ruins… A road bridge in disrepair… The red glow of the setting sun. Flickering lights in the darkness. Scattered trees… Foothills… A rocky trail, slippery with running water… Narrows… A thousand foot drop waiting. Lungs burning for lack of air… bitter cold… The cry of a huge bird… A hanging valley… Pools of water… A stop for food… Ridge after ridge… Orcs in furs… hunting worgs released… Miles traveled to evade… Bruises from the saddle… A woods with low branches… A smoking village… Fog… A river with a burned out ferry… the ford… Alligators slowed by the chill of the night… Dusty road… Moonlight on water… Sand on an ocean beach giving way to rocky coast… A road… The wheezing gets worse… Travelers in the night sailed past… A town approaching… Arguments at the gate… A shaft of light from the rising sun… Ten more steps at a hobble, then collapse… Tears as a friend dies… More when he is left in the street… Gold pieces… Another doomed horse picks up the pace… Four hours later, another… Boats in a port… a gangplank too steep to walk… The roll of the open ocean…

    Tormented sleep.

    OOC: Rey’s horse Northstar has always been a homage to my favorite writer, Roger Zelazny, who passed a few years back. I credit his work with being a strong influence in my own. This one is for you Roger. Thanks for all the stories and characters…_


  • Sitting at the pine desk, her hand holding a quill for a moment as her eyes stare at the almost transparent claw that marks what remains of her left hand. She coughs violently, a horrid rustling noise erupting from her chest as she struggles to regain her breath. Lights dance before her eyes as the world spins hard to the left…

    Awaking from her bed, she doggedly returns to the desk and the quill, her weak trembling hand slowly putting words to paper.

    @050f03bc14:

    My dearest Rey,

    I hope the squire Arthur has let you know by now that I am indeed in Damorra with the Order of the Silver Chalice. They treat me well. I have been told I’ve been close to death a number of times, and the clerics here have been watching over me with their prayers. Knights brought me here, I slep for about two days then I was fine. I thought. I have been running a fever, and were you to look at me you would not recognize me. There are only bones left to me, and dark veins cover my body like the webs of a spider. They tell me that it is an undead sickness that they do not know how to cure. Some have survived it where others have perished. I’ve heard them whisper that a few have walked forever in a rotten body as undead.

    The Knights found me as they patrolled the southwest part of the river, as they have, ever since the mist settled on the ruins of the Abbey. They found me on the river bank with the old steed I purchased standing guard over me. They’ve tried to save those that they can, so they took me into Damorra.

    I did not understand at first their silent unwillingness to talk, but now I see why they did, not knowing if I would live through this. They have kept me in quarantine, behind a locked door. Apparently some of the stages of this disease can be quite violent.

    All I can say for now is as soon as I have the strength to move, I will begin my journey back home. I will confer with the clerics here to find out what kind of prayers and herbal remedies they use to ease the pain and to rid the evil that consumes the innocent bodies of the stricken.

    I miss you, and I am sorry I left you alone to deal with the Order and the confusion of not knowing if our commitment was as truly welcomed as we had hoped. I should have stayed by your side. Now it will probably be two weeks before I have the strength to move about enough to mount a horse, but I can read and talk now, so I will try to go into depth about this foul cloud of disease hovering over the StClair area. Hopefully I can provide some insights that the others who have not suffered through this may have overlooked.

    I grow weary now, and as much as I would like to continue this letter, I think I should stop here and get some rest. Please do not worry too much for me. I will see you again when I can.

    Yours truly,

    Celia

    Knowing that the letter will take several days to reach him, and that her fate will have been decided by then, she drops the quill and clasps her hands in prayer:

    I thank you Father Torm, I worship you in all your splendor,
    for you are great and worthy of all praise.
    I remember all of your benefits,
    you have forgiven me for all my iniquities,
    and you healed me from disease.
    You redeemed my life from destruction,
    and you crowned me with loving kindness and tender mercies.
    I will always walk in your presence with thanksgiving,
    honor, praise and a loving heart.
    I love you with all that’s within me.


  • A letter left with Sir Galin, sealed in blue wax with a fleur-de-lis imprint, addressed in neat precisehandwriting to Reynauld du Luc:

    @31f76a4698:

    Dearest Rey,

    You are at the moment on longer patrol route and I have not had the opportunity to speak with you. First I will say do not worry!

    I have decided, after a long and honest conversation with Sir Arthur Forge, to journey home to visit with what is left of convent StClair. I would like to visit with my sisters in faith. To know that the retrival of the sacred chalice did not destroy the whole of the congregation. With hope Mère D'Avignon is still alive.

    On this journey there will be time for me to think things through not only about the matters regarding the Order, which I find less of an issue to me, but also whats ahead for me in terms of you and I and a union.

    Please do not despair. It is certainly not fair to leave you like this, you have every right to feel abandoned and angry. If you wish, any correspondence can be sent to the region of Tethyr, city of Darromar, convent StClair.

    My love for you is as great as my love for father Torm

    Yours in faith

    Celia StClair.


  • With my eyes closed, I listen to the quiet, trying to find the inner calm that seems to have eluded me in the last few weeks. I’m alone, and the only sound comes from the flickering flames of the torches illuminating the small round chamber that is the shrine in the knights quarters. As I kneel before my god, I find peace at last.

    I take a deep breath and focus. My thoughts as I exhale. The relief of being back floods me as I contemplate the smiles of my friends that have always brought me so much comfort. The trip to Caladon had been exhausting. Everything happening between myself and monsieur Reynauld seems like a blurring whirlwind in comparison.

    It had all happened so fast to me, although to some it might seem otherwise. I’ve known him for years, but never seen him as more than a dear and close friend. Has it been almost a year since he asked to court me? The way my thoughts and feeling still spin, it may as well have been yesterday.

    I didn’t understand at first, or maybe I did. There was an odd sort of humor to it at the time, since I believed that most of my friends and acquaintances see me as a bit strange, perhaps even cold and reserved, oblivious to most everything around me except the world of Torm and the Church. I never thought that someone would look at me the way he does. I’m just not prepared. My life never intended this. My duty is to Torm, and nothing more. Isn’t it?

    I had met a man a few years ago… Walter. I was not prepared then either. How strange was it that my deep friendship to him would prove so devastating to my understanding of friendship, affection, and love? The accusations and the jealousy stung. We never touched each other more then a gentle hug, or squeeze of the hand. It was so confusing, so offensive to my very being, so… hurt filled. Torm would never accuse me of such… But Torm would never hold me in his arms either… I promised myself to never again show any emotions that could be mistaken for affection.

    I’ve spent a great deal of time with Reynauld since those early days of seeing him compete on the field of honor. He was a self professed tournament gypsy, out to make a name for himself and Peltach was just another stop on the tour. Or friendship grew out of a few patrols. We’d talk. Sharing stories and memories from our past, sometimes over dinner. I expected him to be gone with the tournament. Just another passing acquaintance. For some reason he stayed. He’s been by my side the last few years, through everything that has happened. A concerned friend. A shield bearer. A man who’s faith has grown along with his skills. From out of nowhere he tells me he loves me and then barely into our courtship, asks me to marry him.

    Was I a fool to say yes?

    Without equivocation I can say he is indeed the finest man I know, and he is also faithful to Torm. I know I love him… as I love Torm, but yet I wonder what he wants with me. He has not shown me any affection to me more then what a dear friend does, or what a parent does to a child. He’s never touched me the way I’ve seen men and women openly do.

    What kind of love is that? What is the love Knight Ashena and Monsieur Cecil shared? What is the love the ladies whisper about in the dark alleys as I walk the streets of Peltarch? I do not know what he expects of me.

    I love you monsieur Reynauld, as I love my father Torm and the church. Is it the same? Is it enough?

    “Celia my love.”

    I startle at the voice eavesdropping in my thoughts. Rey stands, leaning against the door frame watching me. Lost in my contemplation I did not hear him come in. I find myself wondering how long he was there.

    “Mon Rey.” He closes the distance between us, taking me into his arms. “I’m quite 'appy to be back”

    “As am I. I’m happy to have you to myself again.”

    I looked around the small prayer room. “Oh zis… iz hardly private.”

    He cast a quick look over his shoulder for show. “Maybe not. But I’m not afraid for the world to know how I feel about you.”

    “I know.”

    We walk to the common room holding hands, before Rey tuns back to me. He is so tall and has such a quiet strength and steady confidence to him.

    “I love you very much.” he said.

    “I know zis as well. I love you too, although I’m not sure vat that meanz.”

    I’ve startled him with the statement. I can feel him pull back ever so slightly.

    “I know vat it meanz… but… never mind… it izn’t important…”

    He softly whispers, “Can I say something?” as I continue on

    “… itz you and I and Torm and ze knights…” It’s his smile that stops me. “Yez?”

    “You are the most desirable woman I have ever met.”

    “Now you make me a bit embarrazed.” I glance around the room. No one is there. For now.

    “Not just in spirit, but as a… woman.”

    He waits, watching me, wondering how I’m going to react. It’s almost an awkward moment, and it shouldn’t be. I don’t know if I should laugh or cry. My humor wins out as I reply with teasing to cover the conflicts in my feelings.

    “Vell Monsieur Reynauld… Either zere iz something wrong with you… or you like cold and reserved vomen. No one vould care about me but you.” I know what others think about me, but Rey can’t see it.

    “Is that so wrong?” His voice carries a certain concerned patience, giving me the impression he’s waiting for something.

    “No? I am 'appy zomeone takez pity on me.”

    Is it a hint of exasperation that cracks his patience? “I see so many things in you Celia. Wonderful things.”

    “You are too kind..”

    “I’m truthful.” He swiftly interjects.

    “Oh, I know”

    “But there are things I keep to myself…”

    Why is it we are afraid of things we can’t see? Is it because the mind can imagine far worse things then the eye can percieve? Are we conditioned to expect the worst, or unable to believe that things that are good can last? Is it experience that jades us, or just human nature?

    “…like how much I enjoy your simplest touch.”

    “I am your friend and vife to be… you… I do not understand. Vhy would you keep that to yourself?”

    “Because I don’t want you to think that physical attraction is the only reason I care about you.”

    I had to laugh. Where does he get these notions? I’ve been more inclined to believe its our shared faith that brought us closer together.

    “Az if anyone 'ad physical attraction to me?”

    His soft whisper has hints of a confession about them. “You caught my eye the very first day we met.”

    A warmth passes through me like a wave of vertigo. My feelings rebel against my authority, refusing to march in the neat organized file I think they should. It isn’t confusion, but it leaves me wondering how well I know myself, let alone this man standing so close in front of me. Somehow, my smile just feels right.

    “You are kind… and your wordz make me feel appreciated… az a woman.”

    I can feel tension release from him as he breaths again. His voice is soft and he speaks with a slow tenderness meant only for me to hear.

    “Honor and duty have been my life. Desire isn’t something I’ve had to deal with often…”

    “No?”

    “…and I question sometimes how to balance honor and desire when it comes to what I feel in my heart for you.”

    “Vell I may not 'ave experience myself, but young men and men in general do feel desire. It’z commonly known.” He laughs as I blush. “… but it’z not a world I’ve been expozed to. I’ve lived a sheltered life… in duty, Viz only one purpose and that iz to serve Torm.”

    “I feel sometimes like we’re walking a tight wire… afraid to take a misstep…”

    “'ow do you mean? I do not valk a tight wire, not zat I’m aware of.”

    He takes a step back away from me, keeping my hand in his. Why is he pulling away? He raises my hand to his lips and gently kisses it.

    “A simple kiss… well within the norms of gentility.”

    I don’t understand what he’s getting at. Is this all he wants? A gentleman’s wife? One that greets him at the door then cooks dinner and keeps the house?

    “Honor and duty do not think twice of it.”

    He pulls me gently to him and I follow like an awkward schoolgirl. We stand close we’re almost touching. I can feel the heat radiating out from him. His scent carries the hints of horses and leather on him in a pleasant sort of way. His arms encircle me, but he does not take me closer, instead he kisses me lightly on the forehead. It is a familiar kiss from him. It strikes me as paternal.

    “A kiss with declared love, like a father to a daughter, or a man to a close friend… Again… Honor and duty might raise a few eyebrows.”

    I have to blink a few times. “You zink? Zere is no more honor zen a father’s love for 's daughter.”

    “Yes, indeed, but you are no more my daughter then I am your father…”

    “erm… no”

    “… but I love you and that’s the part that means something.”

    I nod. This I understand. “I know.”

    I start to laugh as his silliness strikes me as funny, then he brushes back my hair with his hand and suddenly frames my face gently with his other hand, leaning in until his lips are almost touching mine. I can feel his breathing, and I have little doubt he can feel mine as well. The move startles me. We’ve been here once before and he stopped, as he does so now. Why?

    His whisper is soft. My heart quickens.

    “A lover’s kiss…”

    I wait for it, but it doesn’t come.

    “… and this is where we walk the tight wire.”

    I can barely breath, let alone speak, but the words barely make it out. “Oh… I zee now… vat you mean.”

    He tips his head forward until his forehead rests against mine.

    “Were that I could steal this kiss Milady… Because with Torm as my witness, I very much want to, but it would mean all the more to me if it were freely given.”

    The dawn of understanding brings with it my answer. It’s me he’s been waiting for. He needs me to come the rest of the way on my own, because it’s what I want.

    “Uhm… If you 'ave a desire to kiss me Mon Rey, and az you’ve all ready expressed your wishes to marry me, I do not zink Torm would mind.”

    I feel awkward as I lean in. Our lips touch for the first time, a soft kiss like the brush of a butterfly, matching the ones flying around in my stomach and the flutter of my heart.

    Thoughts fill my head. Thoughts my duties have kept from me. Thoughts I was never destined to have, and perhaps shouldn’t have. My face goes flush as our kiss lingers.

    I break away from his embrace, regretting only a little that he lets me.

    “I need to pray.” is all I can say before I turn and rush back to Torm’s shrine. I can hear him say something behind me. Barely.

    “Mine has just been answered.”


  • In my morning prayers I find myself a bit unfocused and my thoughts wander…

    I see a woman in desperate need of closure. She is relentless in her pursuit of a dead man, this Olenin. It seems to me she chase ghosts, one on the field, and one in her heart, hoping that by conquering the first, she might exorcise the other.

    It must be hard on her. Not only is she waiting for someone who may never return, but she also has to live up to the promise she made to him and everyone around her. So much time has passed now, she needs closure so she can move on with life. Must she wait forever? Does it prove your love to faithfully wait a lifetime for someone, never to feel it again yourself? Does one make a life with another, to have their true love return faithful, only to be devastated by finding you’ve moved on? What price does one pay for love?

    If only she knew what happened to him. If she knew he was dead, she could morn for him and move on with her life. If she knew he ran off with another, then she could deal with the pain and continue with clear conscience. To not know has to be the worst of tortures. Is he locked up somewhere, kept from her by forces so vile that they would use him to get to her? Could she be the one thought that keeps him going?

    I do not think her life was like mine, bound only to holy service to one. She is a noble and a knight, but not least a woman who is not as young as she was when I first met her. She has a heart, let it give love and feel it returned.

    I have seen her and Allestor Hollins together, and they give me the sense that there is more there then what one sees, so it was surprising to me the day I saw him holding hands with Talindra. All of this confused me very much. It seems to me the best match is between Allestor and Ashena under the circumstances. Perhaps it is not my business anyways, but I cannot help but feel that this situation isn’t right. Torm forgive me for these thoughts, but I cannot help it.

    Something inside my heart tells me Allistor needs to make a decision. I will speak with him the next time I see him.

    It is also clear to me Ashena needs some sort of closure. Maybe she is afraid of what everyone will think of her, or just what she’ll think of herself.


  • Aside from having to relive a few embarrassing moments from my youth, dinner had gone well. My mother's culinary talents were a very welcome change from the food cooked in a ship's galley by men with hairy knuckles. Although the conversation was slow and guarded to start, it picked up after the first bottle of wine had been shared. Even Celia sampled some despite her normal reluctance to imbibe. Thoughts on the similarities between Caladon's and Peltarch's weather turned to the duties of priestesses and inquisitors, then on to the antics of foolish young boys involving large dogs, broomsticks and a flock of angry chickens. Completely exaggerated I assure you.

    Celia was laughing so hard she had to lean on my shoulder to keep from falling out of her chair. After all the tension leading up to our visit, it was good to hear. I have to give my father credit, he's a wily story teller, even I almost found this year's embellishments funny. I could live with the story, it's the painting of the event that gives me fits.

    “I have a friend who paints that did a rendition of it.”

    Thanks Dad, right on cue.

    “I keep it in my study. Would you like to see it?”

    Dear Torm no… I could feel my face flush. “The historical inaccuracies are astonishing,” I added dryly.

    Celia looked up at me, her incredible blue eyes pleading to go have a look. When I nodded, she reached up and ran a hand across my face.

    “Monsieur, you ‘ave been drinking too much, even your beard iz turning red.”

    Giggle.

    I was under the impression I wasn't drinking enough. I poured another glass as my father got up from the table and offered Celia his hand. She stood and the two of them walked off to the study arm in arm. My mother wasted no time in stealing Celia's chair next to me.

    “I like her Rey, although she seems a bit on the shy side.” She whispered in a conspiratorial tone.

    I kept my eyes on Celia and my father. I could hear Celia ask about some of the items he kept in there. Some people think my father keeps trophies. To him, they aren't trophies, they are reminders. Each item contains a lesson learned or a point to be made. Even the position of his old jousting awards have a symbolism to them.

    “You've been taking good care of her?” My mother continued.

    “I've been a perfect gentleman.”

    “That's what I'm afraid of.”

    “Are zese all jousting trophies?” I heard Celia ask from the other room. My father taught me everything I know about the sport. He was good at it. Very good, but he keeps the trophies for perspective, not narcissism.

    “What?” My attention turned back to my mother.

    “That's what I'm afraid of.”

    “I'm not sure I follow”

    “Rey, if you always treat her like a lady, that's what she'll always be.”

    There are times my mother makes no sense whatsoever. “How do you think I should treat her?”

    “Let her know you see her as a woman, that she's attractive and desirable. Make it clear she's someone you want to share your bed with. I haven't even seen the two of you kiss since you've been here.”

    “Mother!”

    Heads turned in the other room.

    My father shot mom a look that left know doubt in my mind that they planned this all along, and that we needed to keep it down so he could keep Celia occupied. Celia's interest in seeing the painting brought her attention back to Dad's study full of treasures.

    “You haven't even kissed yet, have you?”

    “Yes, no... uhm... not on... not as such... uhm... I didn't want to rush her into anything.” I finally managed to spit out. So many thoughts went through my mind. Why hadn't we? I had a few answers. Nothing I particularly cared to discuss.

    “You asked her to marry you.”

    “She's… the one.”

    I heard Celia's question from the other room clear as a bell. Mom did too.

    “What iz this plaque with all ze names on it?”

    My father's jousting trophies sit below the plaque for a reason. It's to remind him that duty ranks above sport, and there are things that one doesn't earn trophies for. Every morning he after he wakes, he reads every name on it. It's not something he talks about. When I left, there were forty-seven names. There were fifty-three when I counted them a few short hours ago.

    My mother's look of concern shifted away from me and over to my father. His face looked like he was wrestling with ghosts. They exchanged glances, giving me the impression they were having a silent conversation, two people who had been through so many things together over the years they no longer needed words. It was a bond I could feel hints of with Celia.

    Mom gave him an almost imperceptible nod before he turned back to Celia. His voice was slow and faltering... haunted even. Words that were spoken from his heart, even before his mind could think of what he was saying.

    “These are the names of the men who've died under my command...”

    Celia's sharp intake of breath was unmistakable. “Mon dieu!”

    “Good men all. Some were friends of my youth. We thought we were invincible back then... Most of these men I trained personally. A few were even sons of my friends.”

    He took the plaque off the wall, tracing the edge of it with his fingers like he could connect to them through the carved wood.

    “We lost seventeen the day we stopped the Green Death. I thought we stood a better chance fighting it in the cavern it was using as a lair. The tight space would keep it in reach, keep it from using it's flight to it's advantage... It only made things worse.”

    “The lich killed another eight. We were better prepare, but not enough. Mordred's knights have taken another dozen over the years. Mostly through trickery and ambush. We paid him back, but all of his men were not worth one of ours...”

    Celia reached out and gently took the plaque from his hands. She read some names out loud, but they weren't the ones on the plaque. By the third name I knew who they were. The expedition to bring the chalice to Peltach had met with disaster. Celia had lost people who were the only family she had. There were more names then I would have guessed.

    “You can still see them when you close your eyes.” There wasn't the slightest hint of a question in my father's voice.

    “Oui,” she whispered, “’ow do I make it ztop?”

    “You don't.”

    He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, considering his words.

    “You remember them for how they lived, not how they died. Remember what they stood for, what they did that made you smile, what their strengths were, things you learned from them, the moments they shared with you... As long as you remember them for who they were, then they live on in your heart and spirit. If you listen closely they may even speak to you.”

    “I miss zem greatly.”

    “Morn their loss, and when you do, remember to cherish those you still have.”

    As I got up from my chair, Celia looked over her shoulder in my direction and once again touched my heart, like she has so many times before.

    My mother stopped me briefly by putting her hand on my arm, whispering softly.

    “She needs you Rey. Find a way.”


  • Madame du Luc's home was modest without being Spartan. A large table dominated the main room. The eight well worn chairs surrounded it, giving the impression they entertained frequently. It was set elegantly for four.

    I let my eyes wander. Several tapestries hung on the walls, adding warmth to the stonework. Two were in wide green and gold vertical stripes, while the third depicted two warriors with their swords stuck in the ground, one in gold and green, the other in black and red, shaking hands on a battlefield whilst the chaos of men in similar colors swirled around them.

    A small fire burned in a large hearth that was central to the cottage, on the far end of the room. A iron tripod held a cast iron pot high over the coals, and the smell of cooking wafted about the room. A kettle on it’s own legs was tighter to the fire, and steamed lightly.

    Two comfortable looking chairs, positioned to catch the morning sun, sat to the side of the hearth, with a small end table between them. A pair of books sat on it, with a velvety red marker half way through one. An alcove to the room held a small area for food preparation and featured a trio of stained glass windows fashioned in simple kaleidoscope images that let dappled colors play about the kitchen.

    Two archways and a door lead out of the room Through one I could see bookshelves and a stand with a well used suit of green and gold plate armor resting on it. The other arch led down a short hall with closed doors.

    “This way my dear.”

    My hands clasped tight as I nervously followed her further through what seemd to be a very well kept home, feeling not like a woman soon to be their sons wife, but more like a naughty little girl that done something terribly wrong.

    She opened door in the main room and led me into a large bath. The room had the feel of a private sanctum. Dark rich walnut panels covered the walls and ceiling. Open shelves lined one wall and were filled with glass jars and linens. Two wash basins were along the wall near a heavy door that likely lead outside. Light filtered in through panes of thick amber window glass. A changing screen painted in purple and blue wildflowers sat in the corner to the left of the door. The tub sat in the center of the room. It was made of beaten copper, and had sides high enough that a set of wooden steps lead up to it to assist with getting in. Steam drifted invitingly out of tub.

    “Your 'ome iz very beautiful, Madame du Luc.”

    A smile and thoughtful look crossed her face. “It took us years to get it this way. Times were difficult in Caladon when the regent sat on the throne. There’s a lot of shared memories here, that’s what makes it a home. Oh… I have more hot water ready should you need it. You really should get in before this gets cold”

    I thought for a moment she was turning to leave, but as I ran my hand across the curled edges of the tub, she went to the glass jars on the shelf opening one and making a face after smelling it.

    “Dreadful.” She put the jar back. “Don’t be shy my dear. I’m just getting bath salts. You can use the partition if you like.”

    This was turning into far more of an introduction then I had envisioned. She had me pinned in behind a wall of courtesy. I found myself looking to the exit outside. I thought maybe I could slip out the door.

    It was locked with a key.

    I descreetly cleared my throat and maybe she would get the hint I needed some privacy, but no. I needed to wait her out. Surely she had to check on dinner or something… Very Awkward. I felt myself blushing. What do you talk about with someone you just met? Especially when that person is soon to be your mother-in-law. Especially when being in a bathroom in their home?

    “From ze way Rey zpeaks of 'ome, I was almozt expecting to see a big estate.” I blurted out. Regretted it almost immediately. Sometimes things just don’t sound right after they are spoken out loud.

    She took another jar down off the shelf. “The family estates are back in the old country. Sir Reginald’s father came here when Regg was a boy. They brought almost nothing with them but the family honor. Sandlewood and seafoam? She looked at me for a moment. “You’ve probably had enough seafoam for a while…”

    “Was zis after ze incident with Rey’s great uncle Lance and the Queen?”

    Madame du Luc froze in mid reach for another jar. I could suddenly hear the distant sounds of an ax cutting wood outside the door. She wasn’t even breathing. Neither did I… Oh Torm please help me... I thought. After what seemed like a short eternity, she slowly and deliberately brought down a jar, opened it, and sniffed the contents. “Hints of lavender… This will do.”

    She emptied the contents into the bath, swirling it around with her hand, then got a towel and a bathrobe from the shelves.

    “I’m zorry… Madame du Luc. I did not wish to offend…”

    “Rey must trust you a great deal to tell you that story.” she replied softly.

    I nodded, “and I 'im.”

    She sat on the edge of the tub.

    “Rey is my only son. Sir Reginald and I wanted a large family, but after Rey was born,” she traced a line across her abdomen in a pattern I‘ve seen many times at the temple hospital, “I was no longer able to have children.” Madame du Luc looked up at me, a soft pain in her eyes. “I’ve always looked to the day when I would have a daughter, and when Rey introduced you, I didn’t know what to make of the ring on your left hand. It seems that day has come, hasn’t it?”

    As a reflex I covered my left hand with the ring. “Madame.. I do not know vat to zay 'onestly. Rey didn’t want to tell you by letter.”

    “I’ve ruined your surprise.”

    “Not the zurprise, just ze timing. I had 'oped zat you might get know me better first.” Somehow I felt as if I had been left out on something... and

    “We all ready do my dear. Rey’s spoken of you so often in his letters of the last few years that we’ve come to think of you part of the family.”

    Again I blurted out “'ow well can you know zomeone you’ve never met?” Rey had told me at some point as he had written home he had mentioned me in his letter

    Madame du Luc pushed up from the edge of the tub. “Sometimes better then you might think.”

    She closed the distance between us and gave me a hug that spoke volumes. “Trust in yourselves, and each other. If you can do that, everything else will work out.”

    She turned back to the door to the dining room. “Dinner will be ready in an hour. I’ll have Rey put your things in the guest room. If you need anything, just ask.”

    “Merci beaucoup Madame... I am grateful Madame”

    “Just Kathryn… Enjoy the bath, that tub is a godsend.”

    She eased herself out the door, closing it quietly leaving me alone to cleanse body and mind. After this I really needed it.