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Author Topic: Healer's Inheritance- Chapter 3- The Sweetness of Hypocras.  (Read 3056 times)

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Offline Laurna

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Healer's Inheritance- Chapter 3- The Sweetness of Hypocras.
« on: October 14, 2014, 03:48:46 am »
Previous chapter: http://www.rhemuthcastle.com/index.php/topic,1312.0.html

985  December 24
Cynfyn Castle


Sir Washburn, my lord, do you hear me?

The contact came late, far past the appointed time. Concern had forced Washburn to hold the link open, reluctant to give up on the possibility of Dillon’s call coming through. The longer the Knight Captain waited, the greater his disquiet over his lieutenant’s tardiness. Dillon was not one to forgo his duty or lapse from overdrinking at a local tavern. So it was that Wash waited for two hours beyond the designated time, his thoughts wandering to what type of trouble his men had encountered on the road south.  The mental voice that finally established the link held a hint of exhaustion beneath an abrupt tone of irritation. Wash did not need a visual to see Dillon sitting before the campfire with tension creasing his brow and rigid fingers clenching the hilt of his dagger.  He knew his friend well enough to know when something had gone amiss.

Dillon, there you are! Tell me what’s happened! I got an impression that you were fiercely angry.  Was there a fight? Is that the cause for tonight’s delay?

Only if you call brawling with the deaf, dumb and blind of the clergy in this town fighting! came the lieutenant’s infuriated words. One more debasing comment toward my Earl over his rights to hold Lendour, and that man would have had my blade in his gut. Dillon barely contained his anger. I swear to you, Captain, if it wasn’t blasphemy to stick a priest, I…. Even so, the temptation to slam my hilt into that dolt’s chin was…. My God... anything to put an end to his blathering.

There was a tense moment of silence, leading the Knight Captain to ask, Did you… did you strike the id— priest? Wash almost wished his lieutenant would say yes, but then he conceded that Dillon had made the right choice when he responded No!.

Not even when their numbers multiplied and they advanced on us spouting the Statutes of Ramos. The disgust from the distant mind was hard to hide. Although you should have seen the fear in their faces when we four knights of Lendour, as one, unsheathed our swords in the name of honor. That should have intimidated anyone else with half a mind into shutting up!   But, my God, for a moment I swear I was sure these monks didn’t share half a mind between them.  Of course, that’s when the magistrate showed up and kept us from slaughtering the braggarts.  Dillon’s tone held no remorse for drawing swords upon the clergy, only frustration at his stalled mission.

Wash steadied his own irritation before commenting across the link. Stay your hand, the clergy's opinion of Lendour is nothing new.  Did you find our shipment? Can you tell me why it’s been delayed?  What can I do from here to get our grain back on the road? The captain’s inquiry was diplomatic, his personal disgust pushed behind tight shields. 

At this moment, the monastery of New Argoed believes they have rightfully confiscated our grain. I love how they preach against the sin of theft, and yet they are quick to steal when the gain is in their favor. Dillon spat into the fire, then fell silent. When his Mind-Speech resumed, his tone had noticeably calmed. He returned to his usual manner of giving a formal report, passing across the link a full account of the last two days.

He and his men had arrived at the Abbeyford Ferry to cross the Lendour River at the noon hour the day before. The ferry was anchored securely to the opposite bank. It was apparent it had not moved for some time.  A traveler confirmed their fears. The ferry remained closed presumably due to the high water and strong current.  To my way of thinking, the river didn’t look overly swift, but there was no means to test this theory.  Without the ferry, we had no choice but to go west—five hours west before we found a ford the locals claimed was shallow enough to cross. I think they thought it’d be entertaining to see us drown. At the notion, Sir Dillon sniggered. 

It was deep, he admitted. Fortunately, the waters were not as swift as everyone seemed to believe. We crossed this morning then rode back east to the ferry landing on the south bank, where I had a few choice words with the ferryman.

To sum it all up. The monastery at New Argoed has been reclaimed by a new abbot, a Human abbot.  Dillon paused, once more unable to hide his opinion.  I’m repulsed by the notion that such a man as Father Alan Darby has laid claim to what once was a sacred Deryni house of worship. They did not even change the name. A loathsome curse finished Dillon’s thoughts.

During that big storm a few weeks back, this new abbot ordered the ferry closed. All travel north was halted at the river.  As recompense, the town offered hospitality in the reclaimed buildings until the weather passed.  Many merchants including our men with the grain wagons accepted the shelter. Which is where our Coroth shipment can still be found, stored in a building adjacent to the east gates of the abbey.

The trouble came after the weather cleared. The abbot declared the river too swift for safe travel and the ferry remained closed.  The magistrate of the town then demanded proof of ownership for all goods in the shelters before they would be released. Thereby, Sir Kass presented our bill of sale from Corwyn. That is when the magistrate declared the document illegal! Dillon cursed in disgust. That bedamned Statutes of Ramos! Forgive me for repeating this insanity, but the magistrate has translated this Ramos nonsense to mean that Duke Jernian and Earl Muir are disallowed from conducting business between their two houses without signed permission from the King. He named the goods on the wagons stolen and confiscated them. All such confiscated items are given to the Abbey, which has backed the magistrate in this theft.   

Infuriated with the audacity of the Church, Wash nearly lost his level of focus required to keep the link open.  The Knight Captain forcibly relaxed the tension across his chest and shoulders. He took in a breath and steadied his thoughts. The sweet lady in his arms stirred in her sleep as he drew energy from her, not more than she was willing to offer, but enough to keep the needed contact open. The side effect for her, which he regretted, was that she would require extra sleep in the morning.  He made a note to himself to tell Jessa’s waiting-maid that she was to let his lady sleep until she awoke on her own.

Ours weren’t the only goods the magistrate found fault with, Dillon was saying. Other travelers had their goods confiscated too. There was an unruly protest by the merchants. They took up swords in attempt to force the release of their property.  I’m afraid to say that Sir Kass and Sir Lambert joined them. The rebellion was short and was quickly quelled by the overwhelming numbers of the magistrate’s men.  For two weeks, our knights have been languishing in a locked cell under the magistrate's store rooms. I just spent the afternoon bargaining for their release.

Wash wasn't sure he wanted to know what that had cost. He did not ask. Instead, he quelled his anger and asked after the welfare of his men. Kass and Lambert, are they well?

Oh, aye.  Pissing mad at the dishonor and very hungry. The magistrate apparently saw little need to feed his prisoners little more than a daily lump of stale bread and a spoonful of foul stew.

Wash was sent the image of his two knights as they were released, their heads bowed low before their lieutenant and their fists white-knuckled as they walked past their jailers. And the grain? Wash forced himself to ask.

After our knights became locked away, the abbey sent monks to move our wagons.  Sergeant Daniels put a stop to that. He posted men about the building. They’ve been guarding it since. Short of breaking down the doors and fighting past the barricade built near the end of the way, Daniels could do nothing more to liberate the grain, but he damn well made certain no one else could, either. That is as we found the situation this morning.

And you say the river should be passable? That the ferry is purposely being held closed to enforce their claim?

Aye! It is.

Very well. In two days, I am escorting the Tralian Delegation south to meet their ship in Coroth.  I will send word to the steward of Carthmoor suggesting that the passage had best be open by the time we get there, or he will risk ill will between our two nations. I am sure the King would not look too kindly on Steward Barlum if this gets to his ears. Which is exactly what I intend for the king to hear. Trust me, the ferry will be running when we arrive.

Dillon made an appreciative laugh. I believe it will be, Captain.

Guard the grain well until then. I’ll see that the wagons get released into our possession from here.  Just be ready to move out when we get there, which should be on the Feast of the Holy Innocents.

I will look forward to Father Darby’s face when we drive the shipment north, Dillon announced with satisfaction.

Wash sighed, Hold steady, my friend.  I am sorry your Christmas will be spent in Abbeyford.

All in the line of duty, Captain. A brief pause. Give my regrets to your bride. I had promised her the Dance of the Hawk; you will have to take the dance in my name. I won’t call again unless there is need.

At the thought of his lady, Washburn was coaxed into a lighter mood. His face relaxed with a smile. Although, he would not let on to Dillon that his arms surrounded his sleeping bride. Just in case, I will open a link at each Compline until I can arrive at your location.

Very well, Captain. Dillon’s exhaustion came through in his last words.  Mind linking took its toll on even a strong man’s energy. Wash had a sense that Dillon used at least three of his hand picked men to aid him in the magic. Although those men slept through the contact, it was likely they could retain some of what had been said. Such were the risks and the reason Dillon had loyal men.

Wash had his pretty lass under his touch. She had agreed to help him with the contact, but with the waiting she had fallen asleep. What surprised him was how she stirred to wakefulness as the link came to an end.

“What, my lord? Has your lieutenant called?”

“Yes, angel, all will be well. I’ll tell you about it in the morning, so go back to sleep.”  She nestled deeper under his arm. Her head resting on his chest, her hand on his shoulder. Wash brushed his fingers over her eyes, momentarily feeling the joy she retained from both the past day’s discoveries and their early evening romance. Her desires for living and learning revitalized his soul. Too long had it been since either of them had known happiness; he’d been engrossed in the pure survival of war and she’d been restrained by the discipline of the convent. Like a bird freed from her cage, Jessa took ecstatic joy in testing her wings at every opportunity and Wash took his joy in watching her learn. In her abilities to learn, Wash realized he should have heeded her mother's warning when they first met.  He didn’t believe the baroness knew her own daughter well enough, not after twelve years of separation.  So he discounted her warning when she had told him how, of all her children, her youngest was the most adept at learning the arts. He should take care in what he taught her, and not teach her something only by half, for Jessamyn had a tendency to discover the other half on her own. Which, with the way of magic, could lead to trouble. 

Washburn still thought Baroness Elzia overprotective, but he was continually amazed by his young bride. However, it wasn’t her learning the arts that gave him concern. His greatest concern for her was fitting in with the gaggle of women that filled the halls of Cynfyn. He felt as the baroness felt, that she was too innocent for their ways, but it was part of her charm. Though he understood her mother wanting her to grow wiser, he resisted the need to teach her too fast. Therefore, when he’d heard trouble was brewing in the galleries, thinking his presence would be her best protection, he rescued her by calling her to join him on the archery range. Her mother had argued against it, but Jessa’s enthusiasm had countered that disagreement.  Truthfully, he had not expected Jessa to catch on so quickly. A young Deryni squire might take days to master the guidance, but by following what he did as he did it, she understood it in just a few tries. Her focus was amazing; likely a necessity for Healing. Only her endurance hindered her learning. She was young and tired easily. With time, practice would improve her strength. 

He embraced his beloved pulling her closer. Her hair had escaped its twist, and as she snuggled up to him, the strands tickled his chin. How she always managed to smell of flowers, even in the midst of winter, he did not know. Not a strong scent, not like the perfumes worn by other women he had known. No, his angel incorporated the fresh smell of spring with the soft skin of a newborn and waves of silken gold hair. He brushed her hair aside and kissed the softness of her neck.  Not truly awake, she stirred in his embrace, her lips parting in a soft smile. Her thoughts were of pure happiness.

It took all his will to slip out from under her. He tucked the blankets around her before he turned to the hearth, tossing in a new log to refuel the shimmering flame. He had letters to write that needed to be signed by the earl and then sent out with messengers to Steward Barlum and King Cluim at first light.  At his desk, across the room from the bed, he lit his handfire to illuminate the parchment that would carry his formal requests. His words were written in diplomacy, using the leverage of his guests to achieve his goals. The Steward would be hard placed to refuse Lendour’s petition once made so formally. At least so he hoped. His letter to the king requested the necessary signature required to make the earl’s purchase legal. It shamed his family name to suffer this contrivance of the Statues of Ramos. But the Cynfyn legacy of standing proud as Deryni in an anti-Deryni land often meant bowing to aggressors such as the abbot of New Argoed. To do otherwise would harm the very tenuous position of his people. For now, he would follow the Statutes; he would ask forgiveness from his King for conducting business without royal consent.  As he put ink to quill, he glanced over to the bed. His bride lay curled under the covers, hugging his pillow in her sleep.

*******

Jessa turned within the blankets, knowing long before she was fully aware that she lay alone in their bed. Instinctively, she had known when her beloved had retreated from her touch in the middle of the night; she knew when he had returned to her, bringing his chilled hands and feet into her warmth, and then again even as she slept, she had felt him leave sometime before dawn.  She knew the reason for it, and she knew she had missed an opportunity.  She could blame the playful bed games that he had enticed her with in the earlier parts of the evening before, but she could find no fault with those particular enjoyments. If only she had not been so exhausted as to be sound asleep when Sir Dillon’s contact came. Perhaps tonight she could stay more attentive. Then she remembered what day it was and all the activities planned for the day. She mulled over the likelihood of her stealing a nap around Compline to be ready to attend midnight Mass, and the likelihood of Wash letting her sleep through that contact too. 

Jessa hugged her husband’s pillow. His scent still lingered there. A deep breath and she willed herself to go back to sleep, preferring this dreamy state of bliss.  Then came the rustle of fabric and the warmth of sunlight across her cheek. 

“A merry Christmas Eve to you, Lady Jessamyn. How are you this fine morning?”  Lady Lisa’s inquiry was full of cheer. Unwillingly, Jessa opened an eye to the morning brightness and the silhouette of a woman at the window tying the curtains back with a heavy cord.

“How late is it?” Jessa asked as she scrunched her eyes and pulled herself up to the head of the bed. After a quick fluff of the pillow at her back, she looked around the room, this time seeing it more clearly.  Her cell at the convent had been small and dark, a room not much bigger than the bed she now slept in. The Knight Captain’s apartment was an extravagance of size with the luxury of morning sunlight, which still overwhelmed her senses.  His rooms, which she had to remind herself were now hers as well, were similar to the guest solar down the hall, though not so grand in decor.  Here a few dulled tapestries covered the more simply paneled walls. The furniture was sparse, more for function than comfort. Four rooms on the castle’s third floor had been dedicated to Washburn since his knighthood, although from the stories told, Jessa gathered that before this winter he had seldom found himself living here.  The years of war had him living in the field with his men, and before the war he had lived in Rhemuth. Jessa learned soon enough from the castle gossip that his first wife, Lady Camilla Claibourne de Cynfyn, preferred their rooms at Rhemuth Castle near the courtly society of the queen.  So it was that the only feminine touches that were found in these rooms were those that had once belonged to another lady, the Countess Lillian Ashburn de Cynfyn, his mother.  Jessa wished she had met the mother of the two lords of Cynfyn; from the embroideries about the room and private books on the shelf, Jessa could tell she had been a meticulous lady.

Jessa’s eyes adjusted to the daylight. From her position in bed, she could look out beyond the tall windows facing south and look over the castle’s curtain walls to the forested mountains beyond. She could not see the river below the wall, but she could just hear the faint rumbling of water dancing over the rocks in its course to the valley below the castle’s palisade. The city of Cynfyn was west, out of view of her vantage; however, looking south, she could just imagine seeing the ridge that hid the valley of Ashburn. Her husband had pointed out the watch tower at the top of the ridge that crested his inherited lands with a sweeping vista of vineyards.  Wash promised he would take her there come spring. The rebuilding of the manor house would begin then, and as promised by the earl, she could have her say in its decor. They said it would be two years before it would be done. Her own house. Imagine that! Nine weeks before, she could never have contemplated leaving the convent. Now she could never contemplate going back.

She loved the big bed, the open space, the tall windows, and warm hearth. Yet she had not become reconciled to the plethora of servants that came with the room and with her new rank in nobility. Even the smallest tasks that she started to do for herself would be taken over by one of a dozen women. One day, not so long ago, she had snuck down to the kitchens to find some hot soup, the way she had done when she had been a caregiver to the countess. As soon as she’d been discovered there, everyone tripped over themselves to see to her needs and usher her back out to the main hall. Afterward, she had learned that her personal waiting maid had been punished for not seeing to her mistress’s needs.  Ashamed, Jessa apologized to all involved, stating that she had not known her actions would create such an uproar. Her conscience was finding nobility far more restricting than she had imagined. She promised herself she would make no more work for others than that which was necessary.   Even as she thought the quiet moment of basking in the winter sunlight on her bed would be safe, she frowned as Lady Lisa called forth two women. One brought forth a hot beverage, and the other her red wool gown, which was laid across the foot of the bed.  With a grateful smile to both women, Jessa accepted the steaming mug, breathing in the aroma of cinnamon in mulled wine.  She took a sip and her insecurities fell away.

“What a lovely concoction! May I ask what it is?”  She relaxed as she took another sip, letting the sweet steam tickle her nose.

“Hypocras, my lady. Heated Ashburn wine with cinnamon and cloves, and I believe a dash of cardamom and ginger, all mixed with a good store of sugar.”

“Sugar? This has real sugar?” replied Jessa, amazed. She had never tasted the luxurious sweet salt before. Only the highest of lords could afford these crystals, which were brought into Gwynedd by spice traders.  Honey was the sweetener of choice, and in the convent, even that was used sparingly. Jessa took a deeper sip and knew real pleasure.

The expression on her face must have shown, for Lady Lisa began to laugh. “You and Master Cervus Dulcis are decidedly a match.”

“Who? Master Cervus Dulcissweet deer? I’m sorry, Lady Lisa, I don’t understand.” Jessa looked perplexed as she watched the older lady-in-waiting step to the side of her bed, her cheeks tightening, unsure how to explain.

“You have not heard that story? Well, no, I can see where you would not have. Perhaps it is best if old stories wither away to be replaced with fresher ones,” explained Lady Lisa, having decided to say no more.  Instead, she turned to the gown on the bed to fuss over the hem.

“Oh, no! You cannot compare me to this Sugared Deer and then not tell me why it brings mirth to your lips. If I’m to be made a fool, I’d like to understand why,” Jessa lightly quipped, attempting to encourage the tale.

“Lady Jessamyn, please, I meant no affront,” Lady Lisa replied while taking a step back to curtsy before the girl in bed.

Once again, Jessa felt an uncomfortable, heavy weight in the pit of her stomach.  “Forgive me, Lady Lisa, I am a fool. My manners once more appear lacking. In truth, I was only hoping to entice you to tell the story, but I see I should not ask this of you.”

There was empathy in the old woman’s eyes. “My lady, your manners are far from lacking and you are certainly not among the foolish. Just innocent, I’d say. That is why I asked to take you on.” As Jessa pondered those words, the older lady having changed her mind, waved her hand to excuse the two serving girls from the room. When the door closed, Lady Lisa came to sit on the side of the bed. “Let me tell you the tale of Cervus Dulcis from a Christmas Eve some twenty years ago.” A warm glow filled the older woman’s cheeks at the memory. 

“I remember it well. My husband, Baron Donneral, and I were often guests to the Earl and Countess’s feasts throughout the year. Lady Lillian and I shared a friendship; I was as loyal to my countess as my late baron was to his earl.” The older woman paused in reflection, her fingers touching the white work embroidery on the bed cover—Lady Cynfyn’s hand work.  “I remember Sir Washburn back then as a tall, gangly lad of six or seven, a few years younger than my own boys, always following the older boys fearlessly into all sorts of mischief.” Lady Lisa’s smile widened as her thoughts turned to the trouble her boys were often caught at.  “That Christmas Eve, just before the feast began, there came a great disturbance from the kitchens, followed by the bellowing voice of the cook. I recall a squire hastily making a request for the steward to make his presence known before the cook. Steward Ohlin looked none too pleased to go, and when he returned, the displeasure on his face was cause for everyone to fall silent to learn what had happened. As we all watched, the steward pulled forth the young master who’d followed by reprimand close behind. With his eyes downcast upon the empty platter that he held, the earl’s youngest was forced to admit that he had eaten his fill of the candied desserts that had at one time filled the dish. Confections that the kitchen staff had painstakingly shaped red candy into Cynfyn stags and then mounted them with decadent creams on shield-shaped baked meringues.  The cook was furious, and Stewart Ohlin was also, once he had learned the expense of the dessert’s main ingredient: sweet salt specially caravanned in from Bremagne.”  The older lady sadly shook her head, but could not hide the mirth behind her pursed lips. “That poor boy was punished, not so much for eating the candies, but more for not divulging who had helped him eat them.  Certainly no one could have eaten all those alone.”  Lady Lisa’s eyes widened, letting Jessa guess just who might have been his accomplices. Certainly Lady Lisa’s own sons had a part in the incident, but it seemed likely that the older son of the late earl had a hand in the desserts’ disappearance as well. “My Robert confessed on Christmas Day to his part in the theft, but it was already too late.  The young master had been sent to the kitchens to do as the cook commanded, scrubbing pots while everyone feasted. By morning he had earned the title Cervus Dulcis, the Castle’s Candied Hart; our very own Sweet Hart. The name stayed with him throughout the holiday court!” Lady Lisa suddenly blushed with a hand over her mouth, and her eyes widened.  “Oh dear! I should not have told you. Don’t tell him. Oh dear, please, that should have stayed buried with time.”

Jessa cheeks grew rosy as she tried to hide a laugh from the lady’s tale. Little things like that brought forth the real man from the hero whom she had married. “That’s the man I have fallen in love with: my loyal champion. Cervus Dulcis— Yes, I can see that—My Sweet Hart!”  Jessa laughed as she snuggled into the pillows, dreamily sipping more of her spiced wine. 

Several minutes passed before Jessa looked over at the woman who had wistfully returned to fussing with the hem of the red gown. “Baron Donneral— Baroness Lisa Donneral? My humblest apologies, my lady; all this time, no one told me. How foolish of me to think you were companion to the countess.” Jessa fell silent once more, ashamed that she had not known the noble rank of the woman who attended her.

“But I am the companion to the countess: to Countess Lillian before, and now to Countess Melina.”

“Then, Baroness, you should be at her side, not here in the rooms of a knight's wife.” Jessa climbed out of bed, too self-conscious to stay in bed within the presence of one of higher station.

“I am the dowager of Donneral. My son Robert and his wife oversee my late husband’s estate. When Robert brought his feisty young wife home, I knew it would be best to leave the manor to her. I chose to give my service to Lady Lillian.  She was a wonderful woman, the countess was. I never regretted moving here, and I do miss her so.”

“Then Robby is your—?”

“Grandson,” Lady Lisa answered as she smiled warmly and placed a shawl across Jessa’s shoulders. Jessa accepted the warmth of the wool with a curtsy to her better. “No, no, don’t start that,” the dowager baroness scolded. “I give my companionship freely, where I will. At the moment, I choose to give it to the young bride who has uplifted the heart of a knight who was brought too low by the events of the past.  You have no idea what joy you have brought to the dreary walls of this castle.”

“But I…”

“Don’t protest, it is Christmas Eve. Twelve days of joy are upon us and we have much to celebrate.” Lady Lisa clapped her hands and the two waiting girls reentered the room. “Time for your bath and dressing. There is much to do today.”

Next Chapter: http://www.rhemuthcastle.com/index.php/topic,1320.0.html
« Last Edit: December 28, 2014, 11:01:11 am by Laurna »

Offline Jerusha

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Re: Healer's Inheritance- Chapter 3- The Sweetness of Hypocras.
« Reply #1 on: October 14, 2014, 10:04:36 am »
Wonderful chapter!  From the growing tensions with the human clergy to Jessa finding a sensible mentor in Lady Lisa (at least we hope so.)

Write on, good Lady, write on!   :)
From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

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Offline Laurna

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Re: Healer's Inheritance- Chapter 3- The Sweetness of Hypocras.
« Reply #2 on: October 14, 2014, 12:25:59 pm »
Jerusha, I can not tell you how much I enjoy your responses. It gives me courage. Thank you!

I also want to thank Aerlys. Every time I have a question about Latin, she has been there to offer advice. I have a little Latin in this chapter and a large amount of Latin in chapter 5 where she has giving me some great info and advice.

And Evie.... Just so everyone knows, I would not be posting a thing without her invaluable assistance in content review and grammar editing. All done with a large jolt of humor. The editing sessions are as fun as the original writing.  Actually more so, because I get to share something I otherwise would never have dared to share with anyone before this website.

So if I am torturing all of you with this, you have only yourselves to blame.  ;D Your all too nice!


Offline Evie

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Re: Healer's Inheritance- Chapter 3- The Sweetness of Hypocras.
« Reply #3 on: October 14, 2014, 01:24:31 pm »
Keep on "torturing" us; I look forward to seeing more of Jessa's story unfold.   :)

And even with two sets of eyes reading the chapter before posting, the occasional error is bound to sneak through despite all precautions.  Statues of Ramos? 

* Evie imagines Weeping Angels stalking the Deryni in Ramos   

Now there's an odd idea for a Deryni/Doctor Who fanfic crossover!  ;D 
"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

--WARNING!!!--
I have a vocabulary in excess of 75,000 words, and I'm not afraid to use it!

Offline Laurna

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Re: Healer's Inheritance- Chapter 3- The Sweetness of Hypocras.
« Reply #4 on: October 14, 2014, 02:45:50 pm »
LOL!  Hunting for Statues....  still hunting... Don't Blink!... It might move!

Ahh- there it is. I'm correcting it now without taking my eyes off of it.

Seriously the Weeping Angels are the most freaky thing in the Dr Who series.  I will never look at a weeping angel statue in quite the same light.
I am a big Dr Who fan. Love the fun.

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Re: Healer's Inheritance- Chapter 3- The Sweetness of Hypocras.
« Reply #5 on: October 15, 2014, 01:18:18 pm »
Glad to be of some small assistance, Laurna. I am always happy to lend a hand...or a conjugation.

Such a delightful read, a lovely balance of tension and charm. I am looking forward to more, "sicut cervus desiderat ad fontes aquarum."    :)


Ok, now that this is stuck in my head, I need to share. Enjoy! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9mdmco61Htk

Viva Palestina!

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Offline Elkhound

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Re: Healer's Inheritance- Chapter 3- The Sweetness of Hypocras.
« Reply #6 on: October 15, 2014, 02:27:22 pm »
She's never going to let him live that down, now that she knows the story.

Offline Laurna

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Re: Healer's Inheritance- Chapter 3- The Sweetness of Hypocras.
« Reply #7 on: October 15, 2014, 02:55:41 pm »
Aerlys, the music is lovely, wonderful to share.


Elkhound, lol!  Could you keep a little tidbit like that under your hat? Personally, I have a horrible time keeping innocent secrets.

I was thinking about a Weeping Angle Deryni cross story. In the beginning the statues would have been spell cast to remove Deryni from danger during the Harrowing, the Deryni were thrown back in time to a place of safety. But a side effect was that the statues gained energy for every Deryni they displaced in time. and thereby they became entities of their own hunting more Deryni to gain more energy. I don't think I could make it work.  But it has been hunting me.


Offline revanne

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Re: Healer's Inheritance- Chapter 3- The Sweetness of Hypocras.
« Reply #8 on: October 15, 2014, 03:13:43 pm »
Lovely story, thank you Laurna. I love the way you bring the characters to life and remind us that even in the darkest of times there was still love and grace and laughter. And I can so imagine the incident with the sugar harts.

LOL!  Hunting for Statues....  still hunting... Don't Blink!... It might move!

Ahh- there it is. I'm correcting it now without taking my eyes off of it.

Seriously the Weeping Angels are the most freaky thing in the Dr Who series.  I will never look at a weeping angel statue in quite the same light.
I am a big Dr Who fan. Love the fun.

That episode really freaked my daughter. We live in a big Victorian rectory with no immediate neighbours except the Church and the Churchyard ( we always say that our neighbours are very quiet and well-behaved) with a fair number of weeping angel statues. DD did a very funny mime of herself going to the loo in the middle of the night along the dark upstairs hallway, keeping a wary eye out for lurking statues!
"All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts."
As You Like It.

 

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