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Author Topic: Balance of Power--Chapter Thirteen  (Read 7071 times)

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Online Evie

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Balance of Power--Chapter Thirteen
« on: October 07, 2015, 09:37:56 pm »
Previous chapter:  http://www.rhemuthcastle.com/index.php/topic,1589.0.html

Chapter Thirteen

Afternoon
Eirian House
Her Majesty’s personal suite
December 19, 2021


“Are you absolutely certain?” Sophia asked quietly, feeling slightly faint. “I’m Gran-- I’m Nigel’s daughter, not Araxelle’s?”

“I’m afraid so,” Eilonwy said. “Patrick says the evidence looks quite conclusive.”

Jen, noticing her sudden pallor, asked, “Are you OK?  Maybe you should put your feet up or something.”

That surprised a startled laugh from the Queen--or was she even still the Queen? Jen wasn’t entirely sure how to think of Sophia’s role now, given the precarious position the circumstances of her birth had placed her in. “Jen, I’m the medical doctor here. I’m shocked, yes, but not that shocky.” Sophia gave her friends a tremulous smile. “If I think I’m about to pass out, I’ll try to do the courteous thing and let you know first.” She took a deep breath.  “Eilonwy, you’re Deryni, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Eilonwy answered, glancing at Jen. “We both are.”

“Then would you Mind-Share with me that actual conversation between your husband and Lady Alicia? I would like to See the evidence myself, if I might.”

“Yes, Ma’am.  Patrick or Lady Alicia would be better at explaining the more technical details that led to their conclusions, but I can show you our conversation last night, at least.”

There was a knock at the door, and a concerned voice on the other side said, “Your Majesty? Is everything all right?”

Sophia gestured to Jen to let her armsman in. “That will be Michael checking on me. He’s probably picked up on my distress.” As Jen opened the door, Sophia assured her guard, “I’m all right, I just received some disturbing news. Would you please arrange for the Duke of Corwyn to attend me?” After a moment’s thought, she added, “And Father Devlin as well.”

Her armsman gave a quick glance around the room, still looking uneasy, his sidearm at the ready, but perceiving no immediate threat he holstered the weapon, inclining his head in acknowledgement of Her Majesty’s request. “Yes, Ma’am,” he told her, closing the door behind him as he left to carry out her wishes.

“Well, that was exciting,” Jen murmured as the man left. “Shades of ‘don’t shoot the messenger’!”

Sophia chuckled, thankful for a bit of levity to ease the strain of the moment. “That’s a very expensive, hand-knotted carpet you’re standing on, Jen. Michael knows better than to get it blood-stained unless that’s strictly necessary.”  Turning more serious again, she offered her hand to Eilonwy. “Show me.”

Eilonwy took Sophia’s hand with an apologetic smile, establishing a shallow level of rapport to begin the Mind-Sharing.



“Is anyone else with Her Majesty just now?” the Duke of Corwyn asked Sophia’s armsman once he arrived at her private suite.

“Just the two new ladies-in-waiting, Your Grace,” Michael answered, reaching for the door to admit the Duke into the Queen’s presence.

A hint of mischief lit up Morgan’s eyes. “In that case, would you please announce me as ‘the Duck of Corwyn’?”

Michael looked hesitant. “I’m not sure this would be the appropriate time, Your Grace. Her Majesty seems quite distressed.”

Morgan sobered at once. “In that case, I’d better see what’s up.”

Nodding, Michael opened the suite door, announcing “The Duke of Corwyn, Your Majesty” as he ushered Morgan in, closing the door discreetly behind the duke after he had entered the room.

Morgan was astonished to see his cousin rise, only to sink into a deep curtsey before him. “There is some important news you need to hear, Your Majesty.”

He looked at the faces turned towards him, searching for some hint that this was a practical joke, perhaps one instigated by the pretty Americian scholar. They all looked perfectly solemn. Even worse, his Deryni senses could pick up no trace of suppressed amusement. If anything, he was picking up on suppressed agitation as the other women followed Sophia’s example.

“Khadasa!  No, you can’t do this to me!  No!” He all but snatched his cousin up from her curtsey, shaking his head, bewildered. “This is not . . . What is going on here?” A surge of fury mingled with panic swept through him. He focused in on Dr DeLisle. “Did you put her up to this?” He knew it was an unfair accusation, but his mind refused to comprehend what was happening. He stared at the two ladies-in-waiting flanking Sophia. “Get up, damn it!”

Eilonwy held out her hand very hesitantly. “Your Majesty, it might be easiest if I just Mind-Share with you what we’ve just recently learned.”

“Will you stop calling me that!”

“My Prince?” Still holding out her hand to him, Eilonwy met his gaze with a determined look of her own.

He reached out, pulling her upright while lowering his shields just enough to allow her limited rapport. She Mind-Shared with him the same information she had shared with Sophia earlier, her Sharing tinged with a hint of unspoken apology.

He absorbed the scene unfolding in his mind, tried to make sense of the words and visions flooding his consciousness. The implications of the detective’s and the geneticist’s discovery hit him like a swift kick in the gut. His knees felt shaky, and he fumbled for a chair. It belatedly occurred to him that he’d left the Americian woman in mid-curtsey, looking at him quite uncertainly, and he gave her an impatient gesture to rise.

There was a quiet knock on the door, and Morgan waited for a brief moment for Sophia to respond before it hit him that she was probably waiting on him. “Enter!” he growled, and the door opened. “Father Devlin O’Shiele, Ma’ . . . Your Grace?” Michael’s confused look reflected how Morgan felt about the entire scenario. He made no attempt to explain the situation. Hopefully this was all a nightmare, and he would wake up soon.

“Thank you,” Sophia said, dismissing her armsman to his profound relief. Devlin approached, sensing the undercurrents in the room but with no knowledge of their cause. He started to bow to Sophia, but she stopped him, gesturing towards Morgan instead.

“I think His Majesty may need you right now,” she told him, gesturing to her ladies to follow her as she discreetly left the room.



Afternoon
Marbury Police Headquarters
DI Hamilton’s office
December 19, 2021


“There, that’s sorted!” Captain Lady Alicia Coris of the Royal Army Military Police Forensics Unit told DI MacGregor as she got off the phone with Marbury’s Forensics lab, her voice just a shade too polite. “You’ll have your lab results first thing in the morning. And now . . . .” Her voice rose meaningfully on the word. “Where would you keep your maps?”

Judging by her tone, MacGregor decided it would be in his best interests to respond swiftly, lest the superior officer be tempted to tell him where he might stick said maps if he didn’t comply. He ushered her to the precinct’s small library, nervously indicating the shelf holding the requested resources.

“Will these do, Lady Maureen? Mr Astari?” Her exaggerated courtesy seemed uncomfortably directed at him rather than at the two visiting Deryni, as if to underscore her disapproval of his previous actions.  MacGregor wondered how much either of them had shared with Lady Alicia via private Mind-Speech about his interrogation of them. Not that he would have changed his line of questioning even if she’d have been present--in his view, it had been necessary--although he might have followed up with Mr Astari a little more tactfully. He wondered if Lady Alicia was aware that Astari had a police record, albeit one with no charges on it from the past three decades. Still, whether that meant he’d keep his hands clean since his misspent youth or whether he’d simply been clever enough not to be caught in a crime since his juvenile years, MacGregor couldn’t say. Could Lady Alicia? Given her current mood, he certainly didn’t plan on being the one to ask her! Not unless it came to prove necessary, at any rate.

Lady Maureen selected an atlas that looked much like the one she had seen in DI Montague’s office in Rhemuth, flipping through it until she found the page that showed the Iomaire area. Looking up, she asked, “Do you happen to have a ruler handy?”

DI Hamilton retrieved one from a desk drawer and handed it over, watching Maureen curiously. Peter asked, “Do you have something of Colin’s that Maureen could use for this?”

Hamilton nodded, leaving the room briefly and returning a short time later with a well worn teddy bear. “Colin was playing with this on the morning when he was abducted. It was found on the side of the road outside of his home.” She offered it to Peter, but he shook his head, waving her toward Maureen instead.

“Perfect,” Maureen said, bracing herself for the psychic impressions that she felt sure were imprinted in the toy from that emotionally charged experience before reaching for the bear. Once it was in her hand, she closed her eyes as DI Montague had demonstrated, placing the ruler at the edge of the map, then lowered her shields.

A surge of fear nearly overwhelmed her, and she faltered, but then she sensed Peter’s calming touch on her shoulder, giving her the strength to continue. Slowly she moved the ruler up the page, waiting for her inner sense to tell her when to stop its steady progress. Marking that line as she’d seen Montague do, she tried again from a side edge of the map. Opening her eyes and comparing where the lines crossed to the points dotted on the scanned map Montague had sent over, Maureen was heartened to find out that her mark had ended up in the same general area of Iomaire, in a spot that was centered neatly between two of Montague’s dots.

“Do you have a street map of this area?” she asked.

“Not that many streets in that part of the country,” MacGregor observed. “It’s mostly open range there. But I’ll see what we’ve got.”

He pulled out the Ordnance Survey map for the section of Iomaire that Maureen’s and Montague’s triangulation had indicated and placed it in front of Maureen. She glanced at Peter. “Would you like a go?”

He shook his head. “No, you look like you’ve got it well in hand.”

Maureen used Montague’s map dowsing technique again, narrowing down the field several times until the crossed lines were narrowed down to a small area perhaps the size of a Rhemuth city block. She looked up at DI Hamilton. “Would you mind if we search here?”

Hamilton shrugged. “It’s certainly worth a shot.” She looked at MacGregor. “If these two are no longer suspects in your homicide investigation, are they free to go?”

DI MacGregor took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “Yes. Although there is one thing they might be able to sort out for me before they leave. One moment.”  He left the room, returning a few moments later with an evidence bag. Leaving it sealed, he tossed it abruptly at Peter, who caught it out of instinct.

Peter dropped the bag with a blistering curse. “You mangy little gobshite!” he blurted, still reeling from the initial shock. “What the hell was that for?”

“What can you tell me about the man who was wearing this?” MacGregor asked.

Peter reached for the bag again, touching it tentatively. Even through the plastic encasing the small scrap of black fabric, he could sense quite a bit about the wearer’s last moments of life. The secondhand experience of a man’s death brought up some unwelcome memories for him, which he ruthlessly shoved down. Focus on the ruddy bastard’s case, that’s the important thing here, he reminded himself.

“Death came as a surprise,” he told MacGregor, halfway in a trance state as he relayed the impressions received from the remnant of garment. “He thought he was about to receive help, some sort of rescue, but then pain--unspeakable pain . . . .” He drew his hand back, all but writhing in the shared memory before forcing himself to continue on. “It was a betrayal from a man he trusted, a man from his homeland.”

“Who betrayed him? And where was that homeland?” MacGregor asked quietly.

Peter saw what appeared to be a semi-tropical paradise of lushly forested slopes forming a geographical bowl, luxurious homes dotting the landscape here and there under a brilliant sun. A sense of sharp longing came over him, even though Peter knew he’d never been to that place before. “Camberia,” he whispered. “I’m pretty sure that’s Camberia.” A deep sense of anguish came over him, and he added, “Why did you kill me, Your Grace?”



Afternoon
Outside the Whitfield residence
A suburb just outside Concaradine
December 19, 2021


The sleeper agent sent by Malcolm Atherton-Haldane to determine why Alisandra/Caroline had not yet checked in with him slowly approached the door to the stately Whitfield residence, his keen eyes taking in the details of his surroundings. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary thus far, but then again it had only been two days since his master had last heard from the lady of the house. Even if she had not been home since that time (and that seemed unlikely, although one could not rule out the possibility), the place would hardly have fallen into disrepair in so short a time.

As he walked up the front steps, a neighbor stepped out onto her front porch, studying him curiously. “Are the Whitfields on holiday?” she asked.

Are they?” he replied, wondering who the busybody was and if he might glean anything useful from her. “I had assumed they’d be in today, but have they been gone for a while?” He pretended to nothing more than a casual interest.

“Well, they’ve said nothing to me if they are on holiday,” the woman replied, “but they’ve not picked up their mail in three days, and yesterday a parcel was left on their porch most of the morning. I finally brought it in here; I was afraid it might get rained on, you see.”

Considering it hadn’t rained in Concaradine over the past week, that seemed unlikely, but the man knew better than to alienate the nosy neighbor by revealing his skepticism. “I suppose they must be on holiday, then,” he said. “I don’t suppose you have any idea of where they’ve gone or when they might return?”

“No idea, and if anyone would know, you’d think I would. Mr Whitfield would normally tell me, see, given that I normally feed his cat when they go off for one of their hiking expeditions.”

“Ah. Well, I suppose they must have left someone else the key this time around.” He’d learned all he was likely to from the biddy; it was time he was going now. “If Mrs Whitfield returns soon, would you please tell her that McMaster stopped by? From the workplace.” There, that catchphrase ought to have Alisandra scurrying to check in as soon as she was able.

The neighbor sniffed. “If I see her, I’ll tell her, though the young missus rarely gives me the time of day. And I don’t think they’ve given a key to anyone else either; at least I’ve not seen anyone else turn up here besides you.” She frowned, looking suddenly uncertain. “Do you think I ought to check on the cat?”

He froze halfway back to his car. “You have a key to their house?”

“Well, yes--as I said, I normally watch over the place and feed the cat when they’re off for a weekend or on hols, so Mr Whitfield gave me a copy a while back. But I figured, since they never asked this time, maybe they brought the beastie with them this time around.” She looked suddenly unconvinced.

He deliberated. Might Alisandra and her prey been holed up in the home the entire time, or was it possible that neither had actually returned since setting forth on the master’s mission on the 17th? He needed to find out, and the easiest way to accomplish that would be to have a look inside. If this woman had a key, perhaps that would give him the pretext he needed to have a quick look around. “Maybe we should peek in on the place and just make sure the poor animal is all right,” he suggested. “After all, I suppose it’s possible the Whitfields might have had some emergency come up, and in the excitement forgot to call you--or perhaps each of them assumed the other one had taken care of it already.”

She pursed her lips, considering the matter for what seemed like half of eternity before deciding. “I suppose that would be all right. I’ll have a quick peek then.” She headed across the street towards him, and as she passed, he discreetly fell in step behind her, remaining a few paces back as she turned the key in the lock. She swung open the door and stepped in just as a furry black streak ran past her and into the front garden. The neighbor woman didn’t seem to notice, so engrossed was she in the sight before her.

“Hello, what’s all this?”

The agent entered quietly behind her, taking note of the weapons and poison stash that Alisandra had left carelessly lying out before she left. No, she’d definitely not been home since leaving for her mission, and something must have happened to prevent her return, because he felt sure she would have come back for her precious supplies if nothing else before leaving Gwynedd. They were far too incriminating, left lying out like this, or even hidden on the premises at all. No, she and her husband had simply disappeared without a trace, and now this nosy parker would need to be silenced as well.

Would it be best to simply blur her memories, or did she need to be eliminated altogether? There were pros and cons to each option. Killing her would certainly silence her for good, yet a neighbor’s death occurring within mere days of the Whitfields’ disappearance might raise questions from Gwyneddan law enforcement that could lead to complications for his master somehow--he wasn’t entirely sure how they might trace either occurrence back to him, but why take the chance? Blurring her memories would probably be safer. A close examination of her mind might reveal his tampering, but why would anyone think to take so close a look at her memories in the first place? And there wouldn’t be the bother of needing to hide a body. Blurring it was, then.

He placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder, insinuating a tendril of psychic influence into her unshielded mind as he did so. “Let’s have a peek in the kitchen, shall we? Here, kitty kitty!”  As they walked through the house and out the rear door, he deftly erased all memories of his visit and of what she’d seen in the Whitfield’s home from her mind.



Late evening
Eirian House
Sophia’s personal suite
December 19, 2021


“There has got to be some way of fixing this mess,” Morgan Haldane, the legitimate monarch of Gwynedd, groused. “Trust Nigel to get the succession this FUBARed! The man should have had his zippers spot-welded shut!”

“Fubarred?” Eilonwy inquired quietly of no one in particular.

Father Devlin leaned toward her and whispered, “Fouled up beyond all recognition.”

“To be fair, he had a bit of help from Grandmother Sybilla in that also,” Sophia added, “since Moth--I mean Araxelle wasn’t Nigel’s daughter either.” After a moment’s thought, she added, “I suppose that means my adoptive mother was actually my step-sister, since we didn’t actually share either parent. That seems so odd!”

“I suppose if you don’t want to be King, Sir, you could always abdicate,” Jen mused. “After all, there is precedent. When King Jarran began showing symptoms of the falling sickness, back in 1696, he abdicated the throne in favor of his younger brother Joram. Later, Joram died without issue, and the succession reverted back to Jarran briefly, but by that time he had a son to inherit the throne when he died a year later.”

“Hm.” Morgan considered the idea. “That’s a thought. Thank you.”

“I’m not sure that would work in this particular case,” Sophia said, looking dubious. “After all, Joram was a legitimate claimant.”

“You’re just as much a Haldane as Joram was!” Morgan protested.

“Yes, but not a legitimate one,” Sophia countered.

“We all know now that Joram was a legitimate claimant,” Jen reminded her, “since genetic research has shown that the Haldane lineage has continued unbroken for as far back as we’ve been able to obtain DNA samples from the Cathedral crypts to trace--not to say there weren’t ever any cuckoos hiding in the family nest, but there were none who actually inherited the throne and passed the Crown on to his or her heirs. But remember, despite his father’s acknowledgement of him as a Haldane, Joram’s legitimacy was at least quietly questioned by many back in the day. His mother, Agnietta of Autun, was executed just a couple of years after his birth for treason because of her lack of skirt weights.”

Morgan raised a brow at that. “Lack of skirt weights?”

“Yes. Her skirts kept flying up in the presence of certain lords of the Court.”

Despite the gravity of the situation he found himself in, Morgan found himself fighting a losing battle against the urge to smirk at the mental image that popped into his head. “How does a Kelsonian scholar happen to know so much about late 17th Century court politics?” he asked.

“I read, Sire.”

“I’m glad you’re so well read on my family history.”

“Mainly the earlier centuries, though I’ve read some of the more interesting bits from later generations as well. Your 17th Century progenitors were a randy lot. It’s astonishing half the continent isn’t Haldane. You probably have the Great Sweat to thank for that.”

“Hm. Yes, speaking of potential pretenders to the throne, if I abdicate in favor of Sophia, there’s a good chance that the Atherton-Haldanes might attempt to make a claim, being heirs male. How do we get around that?” Morgan glanced at Sophia.

“The original Act of Attainder from 1792 barring Prince Halbert and his descendants from the Gwyneddan succession ought to still be in force, although Princess Adelia marrying into the Atherton-Haldane line around a century ago might give our Camberian cousins some ideas that they could claim a birthright through her instead,” Sophia reflected. “While that may seem almost like ancient history to us, it’s actually not; the current King and Heir of Camberia are Princess Adelia’s sons, so that’s only one generation between them and the Haldane line on the maternal side. Under present circumstances, it might be a good idea to reaffirm the attainder in any case, since neither of us has any heirs yet to secure the succession, and I can’t imagine the Atherton-Haldanes have lost their aspirations to the throne of Gwynedd in recent years.”

“Right,” said Morgan. “So we need more Haldane heirs. When do you plan to get on that, Sophia?”

Sophia laughed. “You’re the legitimate Haldane here, cousin, not to mention still Duke of Corwyn as well. When do you plan to ‘get on that’?”

“If the two of you were to marry each other and produce heirs, that would eliminate any questions of rightful succession,” Eilonwy offered. “Your degree of kinship is distant enough, I don’t think you’d even need a dispensation from the Archbishop, and your second child could inherit Corwyn.”

Morgan Haldane looked like he’d swallowed a bug, causing Sophia to laugh even harder.



Next chapter:  http://www.rhemuthcastle.com/index.php/topic,1593.0.html
« Last Edit: October 12, 2015, 04:51:19 pm by Evie »
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Offline drakensis

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Re: Balance of Power--Chapter Thirteen
« Reply #1 on: October 08, 2015, 02:15:51 am »
Ah Morgan, you were braced to troll but not to be trolled yourself.

The Haldane family tree must have developed some very strange branches over the years.

Offline Jerusha

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Re: Balance of Power--Chapter Thirteen
« Reply #2 on: October 08, 2015, 05:57:41 am »
You have got to love Morgan - no matter what generation he is or what century he's in.  :D

Sophia may actually end up favouring this turn of events.  She wasn't prepared to be Queen and now could go back to her career as a doctor.

I am looking forward to Malcolm's reaction if/when he learns his plot may have put the rightful King on the throne of Gwynedd!
From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

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Re: Balance of Power--Chapter Thirteen
« Reply #3 on: October 08, 2015, 06:48:00 am »
Ah Morgan, you were braced to troll but not to be trolled yourself.

The Haldane family tree must have developed some very strange branches over the years.

I think that Jen would relish Morgan's teasing and would readily give as good as she gets (providing she can control that strange fluttering in her middle). Suddenly discovering he is king is a different matter and one can hardly blame him for hoping desperately that this is some sort of set up however bizarre that may seem.
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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.

Offline Demercia

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Re: Balance of Power--Chapter Thirteen
« Reply #4 on: October 08, 2015, 07:07:00 am »
I am now operating a different calendar, so many days before the next BoP posting :)
The light shineth in darkness and the darkness comprehendeth it not.

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Re: Balance of Power--Chapter Thirteen
« Reply #5 on: October 08, 2015, 09:18:12 am »
Good morning!

Ah Morgan, you were braced to troll but not to be trolled yourself.

The Haldane family tree must have developed some very strange branches over the years.

Yep, some are stranger than others....  ;)

You have got to love Morgan - no matter what generation he is or what century he's in.  :D

Sophia may actually end up favouring this turn of events.  She wasn't prepared to be Queen and now could go back to her career as a doctor.

I am looking forward to Malcolm's reaction if/when he learns his plot may have put the rightful King on the throne of Gwynedd!

I loved writing Morgan's scenes throughout this story. No, wait, that implies I had some control over the process, so change that to I loved taking dictation from Morgan throughout his scenes in this story.  He's just so very ... um... Morganesque!  ;D

I am sure Malcolm would have a lot to say, and not all of it printable, if he had a bug in this room. Fortunately he doesn't.  As to what he'll eventually find out, well, we'll just have to wait and see.

Ah Morgan, you were braced to troll but not to be trolled yourself.

The Haldane family tree must have developed some very strange branches over the years.

I think that Jen would relish Morgan's teasing and would readily give as good as she gets (providing she can control that strange fluttering in her middle). Suddenly discovering he is king is a different matter and one can hardly blame him for hoping desperately that this is some sort of set up however bizarre that may seem.

Yes, under less serious circumstances at least, Jen doesn't mind a bit of sassy banter back-and-forth between herself and His Dishyness at all! And this is pretty much Morgan's worst nightmare, so I think he can be excused a bit of shock and desperate denial as the bombshell hits.

I am now operating a different calendar, so many days before the next BoP posting :)

LOL!  So what calendar are you on now, the Chinese?  ;-)  Still only five days until the next chapter, although from your perspective it might seem much longer.  Maybe you're on the Venusian calendar; I think there are 5,832 hours to every day on Venus, so 5 days on Venus would be a much longer wait.   ;D
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Offline Laurna

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Re: Balance of Power--Chapter Thirteen
« Reply #6 on: October 09, 2015, 02:06:46 pm »
Quote
“Khadasa!  No, you can’t do this to me!  No!” He all but snatched his cousin up from her curtsey, shaking his head, bewildered. “This is not . . . What is going on here?” A surge of fury mingled with panic swept through him.
Quote
“There has got to be some way of fixing this mess,” Morgan Haldane, the legitimate monarch of Gwynedd, groused. “Trust Nigel to get the succession this FUBARed! The man should have had his zippers spot-welded shut!”

I am so loving His Dishyness/Majesty's reaction to all this. Topping that off with his reaction that he could marry Sophia, whom he thought of as his sister.
Now I am wondering if she really is his sister.
I have reread nearly every chapter looking for clues to Sophia's mother. I am surprised that wasn't the first question Sophia asked. All that we know at this moment, was that Nigel III liked the court ladies. I hope I can count on Sophia's mom being a court lady and not one of the house keepers. So which court lady would give up a daughter? One who was betrothed to another? Or one that was married with her husband out of the country for more than a year? Or a widow perhaps? Or did the dear lady die in childbirth?  Speculations, speculations! So many possible scenarios.

And then in my rereading, there is Malcolm with his coup-de-grace still to come.  Oh No, No, No!
I am feeling for our poor royals. I hope both of them get the empowerment ritual. I think they are going to need that much energy to get through of this.

P.S.(Personally, I am voting for Sophia to be Morgan's baby sister.)

P.P.S. I first heard FUBAR in an American movie. So does an equivalent movie have a Gwyneddian actor named Mel Gibson? **Oops, my bad, it was Kurt Russell in Tango and Cash that introduced me to F-U-B-A-R.**


« Last Edit: October 10, 2015, 03:05:04 am by Laurna »

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Re: Balance of Power--Chapter Thirteen
« Reply #7 on: October 10, 2015, 02:40:04 am »
If I'm not mistaken, the term FUBAR (and its cousin SNAFU) are of military origin.  :P
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Re: Balance of Power--Chapter Thirteen
« Reply #8 on: October 10, 2015, 09:41:08 am »
Yes, they both date back to World War 2 at the very least, and possibly even further back. For more military slang, check out https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_U.S._government_and_military_acronyms and https://forums.eveonline.com/default.aspx?g=posts&m=2168186 . Fair warning: anyone offended by multiple deployments of the F- bomb should probably skip the Wikipedia link. At least on the second website, they "bleep out" most of the word with asterisks. Military folk aren't always the most genteel lot when it comes to language. ;D
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Offline Elkhound

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Re: Balance of Power--Chapter Thirteen
« Reply #9 on: October 10, 2015, 11:16:32 am »
There's the story about the author who wrote a WWII story where, at his editor's insistence, had the soldiers saying 'fug' instead of the word they really would have used.  He was introduced to a famous film actress at a party who said, "Oh, yes, you're the young man who doesn't know how to spell f***!"   

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Re: Balance of Power--Chapter Thirteen
« Reply #10 on: October 10, 2015, 11:41:40 am »
There's a line somewhere about WWI soldiers swearing so much that the F-bomb came to be nothing more than a warning that a noun was coming next in the sentence.  :)
"If having a soul means being able to feel love, loyalty, and gratitude, then animals are better off than a lot of humans."

James Herriot (James Alfred "Alfie" Wight), when a human client asked him if animals have souls.  (I don't remember in which book the story originally appeared.)

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Re: Balance of Power--Chapter Thirteen
« Reply #11 on: October 10, 2015, 12:30:32 pm »
I once offered to buy a member of our local youth a dictionary so that he could discover that there were other adjectives. He gave me a very strange look but stopped using the F word in my presence - presumably in case I carried out my appalling threat.
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And one man in his time plays many parts."
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Re: Balance of Power--Chapter Thirteen
« Reply #12 on: October 10, 2015, 12:34:44 pm »
There are certainly times when nothing will do but profanity/vulgarity, but the English language (having chased other languages down dark alleys, beaten them up, and rifled through their pockets for spare words) has a HUGE vocabulary, so I can see your point in regards to that youth's choice of language.
"If having a soul means being able to feel love, loyalty, and gratitude, then animals are better off than a lot of humans."

James Herriot (James Alfred "Alfie" Wight), when a human client asked him if animals have souls.  (I don't remember in which book the story originally appeared.)

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Re: Balance of Power--Chapter Thirteen
« Reply #13 on: October 10, 2015, 01:28:44 pm »
The word synonymous to Father Devlin's "Fouled up" has very little value to me, other than the cringing effect. I was not raised with that word, and in truth had never heard the word until I was in high school. Now the "S" word on the other hand has many functions; being raised around a lot of animals. I have been known to use that word on very explicit occasions.

Now, in this instance, it is not the FUBAR that is cringing. It is that fact that is was Father Devlin who gave the definition to the granddaughter of a duke before the eyes of his Queen. Truly! Father Devlin, you surprise me! ;D
« Last Edit: October 10, 2015, 01:32:12 pm by Laurna »

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Re: Balance of Power--Chapter Thirteen
« Reply #14 on: October 10, 2015, 01:54:06 pm »
The word synonymous to Father Devlin's "Fouled up" has very little value to me, other than the cringing effect. I was not raised with that word, and in truth had never heard the word until I was in high school. Now the "S" word on the other hand has many functions; being raised around a lot of animals. I have been known to use that word on very explicit occasions.

Now, in this instance, it is not the FUBAR that is cringing. It is that fact that is was Father Devlin who gave the definition to the granddaughter of a duke before the eyes of his Queen. Truly! Father Devlin, you surprise me! ;D

And that would be why he gave the censored version. You'd prefer he gave her the original translation?  ;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!

 

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