Ghosts of the Past

[Laurna]

Passing beneath the wide arch of the Rivergate barbican, was a relief beyond measure. The capital city of Rhemuth was like a second home for Sir Washburn. Well, third home really. His real home was Coroth, a place of leisure and family, he often found himself coming and going from Coroth, yet rarely staying long. Cynfyn Castle in Lendour was his duty bound home. One where he was appointed lord and had to see the accounting well kept. In spring and in fall, it was his duty to be in Lendour to see that the spring plantings made, the birthing of the livestock handled properly, and than in fall, the harvest brought in and counted. Also to oversee the court of Kenric Morgan, hereditary Earl of Lendour who was only just this year coming into his own, at the age of fourteen. With the exceptions of the times the earl or the duke were present, Washburn was the one to resolve small disputes and to determine what needed to be brought forth to the Duke's attention. Rhemuth, on the other hand, was a home both of family and of duty, though there was not a single room in Rhemuth that Washburn could call his own. He was either the guest in the duke's apartment, or a guest of the Archbishop, or the guest of Prince Javan and Lady Grania, his sister and her husband. Or at times, he stayed in town at the Boar's Head Inn on King's Way just to stay out of the center of the 'todo' of court society. In fact, he was sorely tempted to lead his party to the Boar's Head Inn, just now. A place to clean up and prepare themselves properly before entering the castle would have been the least troublesome of all options. But NOT with Lady Aliset. That would be unforgivable. It was not like his party had arrived unnoticed, either. As they left the Rivergate behind them, and entered into the busy market square, he was certain that runners had already been dispatched to the King to inform him of their arrival.

The hour was late afternoon on a bustling Saturday, the market square would be open until sundown, hawkers and merchants were busy earning their keep. A man in a monk's robe, yelled out to them. "Hear ye, travelers, be ye well on this day, Saint Christopher's Day. If your travel this day has been good, give the patron saint his due." He held out a hand toward Washburn and company.

Washburn pulled a coin from his purse, "Aye, today has been a good travel day. I will happily thank Saint Christopher if he be our benefactor," the knight said while tossing the man the coin before traveling on.

The way from the North city wall to the castle was the shortest distance, which bypassed the majority of the city. The street was finely cobbled in arched designs, here the wealthiest merchants lived and many noblemen held private residences. Beyond the market square the road was wide and clean with good stone and brick buildings backing on to private gardens. High on the plateau to their right was the outer curtain wall of the great castle. The road curved upward to the castle's first gate. The small group was passed through without question. The road here was steep, it climbed to the second curtain wall. The dead zone between the two walls was open and rocky, a defense for the ease of archers standing high on the second wall. Not yet to the top of this plateau, which castle Rhemuth sat upon in its majesty, Washburn led his wide eyed companions upto and through a third defense inner-wall gate before turning left and entering the long gate house pass-way which then cornered to the right before they could enter the courtyard proper. The stone steps which led to the bronze doors of the Great Hall were ahead of them. Washburn veered further to the left, toward the stables, waving men over to assist as they dismounted.

Washburn was no sooner out of the saddle, when a squire in Haldane livery stepped up beside him. "You are awaited for by the king in the great hall."  The squire looked the group of ten over with a discerning eye. He neither laughed nor grimaced at their rough appearance. "I am to give allowance of thirty minutes if you feel the necessity of freshening up."

Washburn wanted to laugh, the squire was being so proper about it. "Yes, I think we would all appreciate the king's reprieve of thirty minutes. Inform His Majesty that we will make the most of the time and we will come before him at the top of the hour. Would you be able to order hot water sent to the Duke of Corwyn's apartment?"

The Squire nodded, "The need has been foreseen and preparations have been made." The youth bowed and left them to return to inform the king.

Washburn shook his head and smiled as he turned to the nine members of his group, all now standing, their mounts led away, each holding a bundle of their own private things. "We have thirty minutes. Let us make the most of it. Follow me, if you will." As they entered the main castle, Wash pointed out the barracks for the four archers under Jaxom's command. Then he headed up the circular stairs to the second floor, down a long hall, past the hug oak door that led to the King's tower, then on to the next set of doors that opened to the duke of Corwyn's private apartment. They were greeted by a dozen servants. Lord Jaxom and his squire were quickly shuffled off into the first room. Once they were sure he was out of sight, Washburn personally escorted Lord Alister to the duchess's private solar. The door was opened without him knocking. Princess Araxandra was there looking wide eyed at the young man Washburn escorted. "Is this the person, I believe it to be?"

"It is," Washburn said very quietly, "Your Grace, would you see to her proper care?"

"For shame, for shame, if you were my son and not my husband's brother, I would see you thrashed for treating a lady so." Before Aliset could utter a word, the princess had pulled her through the door, and shut it closed behind her.

Washburn sighed. He was not going to live this down any time soon. He turned back to his last two companions. "This way, Lord Darcy, Father Columcil. Let us see if we can make quick work of a hot bath and change of clothes."

[Jerusha]

"I would ask if the lady's safety is insured in there," Darcy Cameron said, "but I fear my life would be forfeit if I were even to think about hovering nearby."

"You have the right of it, that's for sure.  I've already been threatened with a thrashing, and I'm family."  Washburn grinned and led the way to a large room where two steaming tubs of water waited.  Darcy motioned for Father Columcil to proceed him, but the priest shook his head and stepped back.  A servant was already assisting Washburn to undress by the first tub.

"I'll be quick," Darcy said, trying his best to ignore the hovering servants.  He stripped off his clothes and stepped into the second tub, noting that one of the servants picked them up and tossed them to one side as if they would only serve as rags to swab a deck.  With a sigh, Darcy realized he was probably right.  He wasn't sure he had anything left in his sea bag that not in some state of disrepair.  He untied his clubbed braid and ducked under the water.

A short time later he was freshly shaved and standing in his only clean braies, rubbing his hair vigorously with a towel to dry it as much as he could.  One of the servants had looked over Darcy's shoulder while Darcy rummaged through the contents of his sea bag after bathing, had shaken his head, and had gone off to find other clothing.

Father Columcil had finished with his own bath and wore his new cassock. "It's a bit fine for a country priest," Columcil said, looking slightly embarrassed.

"It looks most befitting," Darcy replied as he combed his fingers though his fair hair and quickly braided it.  He had just completed the club when the servant returned with shirt, hose, and a tunic.  They were all black, and Darcy suspected they had been outgrown by Washburn at some earlier point in time.  Darcy dutifully donned each garment as the servant held it out to him, uncomfortable with the attention. The tunic was a tad long for him, but it would do.  He reached his limit when the man attempted to buckle his sword for him and Darcy snatched it away to adjust it to his own satisfaction. 

"I think we are as presentable as can be expected," Washburn said and then added after looking pointedly in Darcy's direction, "and we thank you for your assistance in keeping us on time."

"Aye," Darcy added, feeling abashed as he followed Washburn and Columcil from the room.   Adjusting to this new status would take some time.  He hoped he would not totally disgrace himself before the king.  And Aliset.

[Evie]

Aliset bristled inwardly at the Haldane Princess's words. She realized the lady's heart was in the right place, yet the shaming admonition stirred up Aliset's protective instincts towards the man who had risked his life on multiple occasions in service both to his mission to see her safely to Rhemuth and, in doing so, to honor his friend her brother's memory.

As the door closed behind her, Aliset murmured the spell under her breath which would dispel the shapeshifting illusion and restore her normal features and form.  The Duchess of Corwyn turned to find a young woman in a youthful man's clothing standing before her.  The young woman made a properly deferential curtsey despite the oddity of her appearance.

"I beg your pardon for the state of my attire, Your Grace," Aliset said, "but the truth of the matter is, without your brother-in-law's protection and heroic efforts on my behalf, I would never have made it out of Meara alive, much less as far as Rhemuth Castle. None of us would have.  Sir Washburn is indeed well worthy of the accolade, as my brother Sir Alister oftimes remarked to me, and equally well worthy of the Morgan name, to have managed as well as he has done to fulfill the mission entrusted to him to preserve both my life and my reputation, so much as might be managed under the extremity of my circumstances." She was careful to moderate her tone so as to conceal the sense of pique that had prompted her words, hoping that the princess before her would accept them as statement of fact rather than as an implied rebuke of her treatment of Lord Washburn.  Well, no, who was Aliset kidding?  Secretly she did hope that Araxandra of Corwyn caught some hint of the underlying rebuke, plausibly deniable though Aliset hoped her delivery made it!

The King's daughter, thankfully, looked more thoughtful than offended as she replied with a gracious nod of acknowledgement, "I am very glad to hear that my lord's brother was able to be of such able service to you and deliver you safely into my father's keeping.  But come now, let us see what we might do to see you refreshed from your long journey before you are presented to His Majesty."

Aliset took a deep breath as a maidservant showed her to the hot bath awaiting her.  Doubtless her temper was on edge due to the discomforts of travel and the constant stress and peril she'd endured ever since Oswald's attack and the deaths of her remaining family. It was hardly the Duchess of Corwyn's fault for having leapt to such a damning conclusion about Lord Washburn's competencies based solely on the appearance of the two bedraggled persons who had turned up at her door!  As she disrobed and slipped into the fragrant bathwater--oh, how luxurious it felt to feel the clean liquid slip around her bare form!--Aliset hoped that the resulting cleanliness would be equally restorative to her frayed patience as well, renewing her usual equanimity before she had to enter the King's presence.

Aliset closed her eyes as the maidservant scrubbed hair and body clean of the accumulated grime of travel.  As she emerged from the rose-scented bathwater, an lady-in-waiting stood by with a set of fresh linen towels, blotting up the excess moisture from her hair and skin as yet another maidservant emerged from a nearby chamber with a small tray of sweet pastries, tiny meat pies, and a goblet of watered wine.  "There will be a larger meal later, of course," Princess Araxandra assured her as she re-entered the chamber, "but this should hopefully be sufficient to restore your energies until that time." With a tilt of her head, she studied Aliset's newly-cleansed appearance before giving a decisive nod.  "There isn't enough time to allow your hair to dry the usual way, I'm afraid, so if you will allow, my lady?"  Raising her hand, Kelric's Duchess sketched a quick glyph in the air, and suddenly Aliset felt her tangled, dripping tresses turn silken-smooth and dry, their shining length swept back into an elaborate, ribboned braid and arranged into intricate knotwork at the nape of her neck and secured beneath a shimmering gold, bejeweled caul.

The Demoiselle of Mariot, looking far more her usual self than she had at any time since her harrowing misadventure had begun, expressed her gratitude profusely as she allowed herself to be laced into a surprisingly well fitted silken gown of deep emerald green while she partook of the small but savory feast before her.

[Laurna]

Sir Washburn adjusted his knight's white belt over his fresh black tunic with his Lendour heraldry. Reaching for his sword, he proudly slipped it into the belt's hangers, giving it and his dagger a finale adjustment at his side. Even fresh footwear had been brought forth and were now upon his feet. Not his riding boots, but a good black-leather pair of walking boots, which were best for standing long hours on the Great Hall's marbled floor. One last comb through his short hair and he had to admit its length allowed for quicker preparations than his prior long hair ever had. For the first time, he didn't envy Lord Darcy and his long braid. He glanced over at the younger man, nodding with approval at the rather dashing contrast of Lord Darcy's pale hair and black attire.  Darcy should turn a few ladies attentions at court this day.

The oldest of the three men came forward. Washburn gave a second nod of approval for the distinguished look of the country priest. The bath and new clothes took years off the man's appearance. Columcil was a man in his prime, perhaps only a few years older than Washburn's brother, Duke Kelric and certainly much younger than his eldest brother, Earl Brendan. Washburn chided himself for ever thinking the good priest as old as Brendan was.

"What wonders a good bath and thirty minutes can bring," Washburn said with a nod towards his companions. "The women, I am certain, will keep us waiting. Perhaps we will have time to beg a bit to eat. Now that I feel rejuvenated, I am famished." He left the dressing room to enter the main room only to come up short before a platter of meat pies and hot pastry wrapped cheese and ham. "Ahhh! The duchess has read my mind. She mus'ent be so upset with me," he claimed with a rueful smile, then beckoned the others over to eat their fill.

"Do I sense the smell of fine edibles?" Lord Jaxom proclaimed. He and his squire joined the three men around the table ladened with food.  He was pristine in his fresh clothes-- Washburn briefly wondered how many sets of clothes his squire had lugged across the wilds for his lord. For indeed the young lord of Trillick was a handsome man with his neat appearance and perfect trimmed mustache.

"Indeed, come join us Lord Jaxom, there seems to be plenty for all. I think we have a few minutes yet before we are called." He didn't want to mention that they were awaiting on a lady. He was pretty sure that Lord Jaxom was well aware of what they waited for, yet the offering of food was a good distraction.

Well... it might have been a good distraction if not for a few minutes later, when the Duchess of Corwyn entered the room. Everyone was bowing as she entered, yet the five men never made their full bow as their eyes locked on the stunning lady entering the room behind Araxandra. Shock prevailed in the silence. Washburn had seen the fine features of Lady Aliset before, mostly in the confines of Saint Brigid's in Droghera. There she had been a vivacious lady of ability and purpose. This... Washburn could not help but stare... this was a fine courtly noblewoman. A Baron's daughter to be presented to the King. "My Lady!" he exclaimed taking a deeper bow when he remembered himself to do so, taking note that two of the men beside him were in even more shock and slower to bow than he.

[Jerusha]

Darcy Cameron had not realized how hungry he was until he spied the food on the table in the outer room.  He managed to wait until Sir Washburn helped himself and then reached for a slice of savoury meat pie. Another hand snatched it before him, and Father Columcil took a deep bite into Darcy's intended target.

"My penance for bathing first, Father?"  Darcy asked.  Father Columcil grinned and Darcy helped himself to the adjoining piece, finishing it in only a few bites.  Lord Jaxom joined them, looking approvingly at the priest's rejuvenated appearance and acknowledging Darcy with the slightest of nods.  Darcy decided to ignore him and turn his attention back to the fine food when the door to the chamber opened.

Darcy turned to bow to the Duchess of Corwyn as she entered but froze at the sight of the woman entering behind her.

Lady Aliset was a vision!  Darcy had been captivated by her during their stay at Saint Brigid's, admiring her beauty but also the spirited determination that was so much a part of her.  Nothing had prepared him for the woman who stood before him now, dressed in a fitted silk dress and jeweled caul.  Suddenly, he realized he was staring with his mouth open and hastily completed his bow.

Lord Jaxom Trillick was in no better shape, seeing Lady Aliset for the first time.  He had heard that the Demoiselle de Mariot was a beauty, but this went beyond his expectations!  She would suit him nicely for a wife; his father could not possibly object.  Well, except for the slight issue of spending the night in another man's room.  He was sure that issue could be negotiated.  He bowed even more deeply. 

Princess Araxandra smiled in acknowledgment, accepting the fact that she was not the centre of their attention with good grace. 

"Gentlemen, I believe we are expected before the king," she said and waited expectantly.

Washburn strode forward, offered her his arm, and managed to partially block Jaxom's approach.  As he began to guide his sister-in-law toward the outer door, Jaxom moved forward to offer his arm to Aliset and was dismayed when it collided with Darcy's chest. 

'Thank you, Lord Darcy," Aliset said as she placed her hand on Darcy's extended arm.  "We started this journey together; let us see where it takes us now."

"The honour is mine, my Lady," Darcy replied solemnly and guided her forward.

Lord Jaxom lowered his own arm awkwardly and fell into step behind them, resenting the sorry pretence of a nobleman that had outmanoeuvred him again.

[Jerusha]

The old tinker paused at the narrow wooden door at the end of the passage and looked down at the six-year-old girl beside him.  The glow from his hand fire reflected off a pretty face surrounded by disheveled red curls.  She was still frightened, and the tinker feared shock from the earlier horrors she had experienced would soon set in.  She held his hand resolutely, trusting him to see her to safety.   He hoped there was still safety to be found in Ratharkin.

He squatted down beside her.  "Lady Agnes, we're about to go outside, so we need to put out our hand fires to allow our eyes to adjust to the darkness."  Agnes extinguished her hand fire in a careful move and waited for him to do the same.  "I'll keep mine just a little longer; I need you to do something for me."  The child gave him a wary look but nodded.

"I need to give you another name to use for now.  Something very unlike your own."  The tinker thought for a moment.  "How about Gelsey -  Gelsey Baker.  Would you mind being called that for a while?"

Agnes repeated the name twice, then nodded.  "Do you have a name?"

The tinker smiled.  "Everyone just calls me Tinker."

The newly named Gelsey shook her head.  "I don't think your mother called you Tinker."

"Well no, she didn't, but it works for me now."  The tinker was surprised but pleased that the girl was still thinking clearly.  "I'm going to put out my hand fire now, and after a moment or two, we'll go outside.  It might be easier if I carry you, to make sure we don't get separated." 

The tinker extinguished his hand fire and felt the girl's grip tighten.  He stood and listened for a moment at the door, hearing nothing through the thick timbers.  The exit from this tunnel was on the other side of the main castle gate and put them closer to the destination he had in mind.  He leaned down and slid his arm around Gelsey, picked her up and balanced her on his left hip, behind the hilt of his sword. She slid her right arm around is shoulder. 

"That's a good girl.  I need you to stay quiet, and if anyone asks us any questions, let me give the answers."  He felt her head nod agreement beside his.  Cautiously, he opened the door, paused and then stepped outside. 

As with the passage entrance he had used earlier, the door opened behind a thick screen of bushes and thorns.  Shielding the girl as well as he could, the tinker worked his way around them.  He heard sounds of men coming from the direction of the gate.  Were the bastards actually laughing?  He retreated behind the bushes and waited for them to pass.

There were three of them walking abreast, swords held before them at the ready, but obviously expecting no trouble.  One carried a soldier's helmet as if it were a trophy.  Gelsey remained silent within the tinker's arm as the tinker waited for them to pass. Once the way was clear, he slipped again from behind the bushes.  Keeping within the deep shadow along the castle wall, he made his way to the street that led to Merchant's Row.

There was more activity in the street than he wanted, but there was nothing he could do about that.  Skulking along the merchant buildings would draw suspicion, so the tinker moved at the edge of the street, doing his best to look guardedly confident.  He was just a tinker, after all.  He avoided using his Deryni senses to scan the area for danger; any person out at this time was likely to be hostile to some degree, and he did not want to be psychically noticed by another Deryni. 

He was almost halfway to the house of the merchant he sought when a voice called from a short distance ahead. 

"You there!  Where are you bound this night?"

The tinker slowed his pace but did not stop.  "I take my niece home.  She was to spend the evening with me, but the sounds of the fighting woke her."  Two men stepped before him, and the tinker stopped, shifting Gelsey farther away from his sword.

Will the challenger become suspicious of the tinker?
Jerusha   !roll 2d6
15:31   derynibot   2, 4 == 6
No. Whew.

The men looked the tinker over and the young girl.  Gelsey hugged the tinker harder and buried her face against his neck.  The two men looked at each other, and the tinker tried not to hold his breath.  After a moment, one of the men waved him on.  The tinker nodded his thanks and continued on.

"Good girl," the tinker said softly when they were safely away. 

They passed two other small groups of men, but no one challenged them.  The tinker could hear a larger group ahead, but he had reached his destination.  The challenge now was to wake the goodwife within without drawing too much attention.

Will the goodwife ignore the tinker's mental summons?
Jerusha   !roll 2d3
15:47   derynibot   2, 3 == 5
Failure. She will not ignore him.

The tinker stood at the door and knocked just hard enough to sound like he was expected.  At the same time, he sent a mental prod to the woman inside to awaken so she would hear him.  A few moments later, the door opened.

In the doorway stood a large woman holding a large iron skillet.

"Mistress Baker," the tinker said with a small bow.  "I return your niece to you."

For another moment the woman stared at them.  "It's about time," she finally said and stepped back so he could enter with the child.

"What are you up to on this evil night, Tinker?" She said as she closed the door.  Gelsey looked up at her, and the woman gasped.  "Lady Agnes!  God be praised someone has been spared this night!"

"No," the child said quickly.  "I'm Gelsey."

"I thought it best she uses another name for a bit," the tinker explained.  "Better she not switch back and forth.  Gelsey, this is Mistress Baker.  Your grandfather orders the breads and sweetmeats for the court from her."  Belatedly, he realized he should have used the past tense.

Gelsey looked at the woman closely.  "I like your tarts the best.  The cherry ones."

"Bless you, child," Mistress Baker said. She looked at the tinker.  "You want me to look out for her."

"Aye, but it could be for a long while," he responded.

"No matter. She shall be as my own.  Maybe even learn to make a proper tart while she's here."

Gelsey smiled and seemed to accept the arrangement.

"If I can't return myself, I will send someone for her once it is safe to do so.  You will know who you can trust."

The tinker set Gelsey down and squatted down beside her.  "I must leave now.  You can trust Mistress Baker to treat you well and keep you safe.  You will have to pretend to be her niece and help her with the shop.  Can you do that?"

"Yes, but I wish you would stay too."  She looked at him bravely, but he saw the tears swimming in her eyes as she spoke.

The tinker hugged her.  "I have work I must do to set things right again.  All will be well."  Iain Cameron  stood, bowed slightly to Mistress Baker, and let himself out into the street.

[revanne]

Father Columcil knew that he should say something charitable to Lord Jaxom but he just could not bring himself to do so. His list of sins to bring to confession was growing daily, and lack of charity was no worse than the hypocrisy which a sympathetic word to the noble Lord would have betokened. Oh, and best add vanity to that, he thought wryly,  running his hand appreciatively over the smooth fabric of his new cassock, though he doubted its practicality for when he returned home. Always supposing Archbishop Duncan didn't have him safely shunted away into some monastery. Duke Kelric had promised that all was well, but his Grace had rather more important things to think about than a newly discovered distant cousin. Columcil feared that when he met his grandfather he would feel compelled to reveal his breach of faith and he could see no reason why the latter should view him with forbearance. What did either really know of the other, after all?

First,  though, there was the king to be faced. He did not in the least begrudge Darcy his change in status, indeed he was delighted that his friend's love of Lady Aliset was not now entirely hopeless,  but he would have been grateful for another commoner alongside himself as they went before his Majesty. "Head down and say as little as possible," he muttered morosely to himself and thus occupied in his own thoughts it took a second for him to register that they had stopped moving. He barged into the back of Lady Aliset and retreated hastily, his face flaming, only to tread on the toes of the man at arms in Corwyn livery who had followed behind. "Beg pardon," he murmured , wishing that the ground would open and swallow him up. They had not even moved out of the apartment yet and he was making a fool of himself. The man at arms was a kindly soul and remembered all too well how terrified he had been the first time he entered the King's presence.

"No harm done, Father. But his Grace the Archbishop is  looking our way. I think he wants a word with you. And quite right too, you being a priest an' all.'

What was wrong with this floor -why would it not open and swallow him? Columcil looked up and saw for himself that the cause of the delay was indeed his grandfather. He was talking to the Duchess but looking in his direction. Surely nemesis would fall. Why had he not stayed in his Parish? Saint Melangell was managing very well without her shrine being recognised by the church authorities.  Surely it was the sin of pride had made him agree to his journey in the first place and he was about to learn his penance.

The Duchess raised her voice and spoke to them all.

"His Grace tells me that his Majesty feels it better that you should not enter the great Hall, as he understands the sensitive nature of what you have to convey. I am to conduct you to his withdrawing room - you will, I trust, forgive the royal guards, they are for your protection." She gestured through the open door and indeed there were four Haldane archers standing ready to accompany them.

Darcy turned round and grinned at Columcil - "Word will be all around the palace that we are under arrest, mark my words!"

Lord Jaxom bristled angrily at the thought of such humiliation but Columcil had no time to waste on him as the Duchess was continuing,

"The Archbishop seeks a private word with Father Columcil, and will conduct him to the King shortly."

She gestured to a small side room and the Archbishop entered, gesturing for Columcil to follow and close the door behind him.

Columcil sank to his knees, bowed his head and waited for retribution to fall.

[Laurna]

Sir Washburn took little note of the Haldane guards, if anything he appreciated them at his companion's back. One was even the captain of the guard, Captain Brion Ralson, Brother of Lord Ralson, a formidable man in his fifties, as loyal to the King as any man could ever be.

"Word will be all around the palace that we are under arrest, mark my words!" Darcy's barely heard comment was as far from the truth as could be, and Washburn wanted to negate it in a comment of his own, but his attention was solely on the Archbishop standing before him. Wearing a face far more serious than was Duncan's usual want, Washburn gave his uncle a formal greeting. Duncan's tension eased for a moment, "It is very good to see you, my boy. We were greatly concerned for you after your mother had a dreadful premonition. She is inside with Kelson. Now, Wash, don't you let the dowager's composure fool you, it is all a facade, she has been greatly worried on your behalf."

Washburn grimaced inwardly. If Maman had let her outer venier of courtly patience and calm slip before Duncan, than she indeed truly was upset. Her youngest son felt guilt in being the cause of such turmoil.  Again, he would beg to be immediately released to join Kelric, for surely, most his mother's disquiet was for her eldest son marching into Meara's unrest, now that the youngest son had escaped from there. With Washburn's own discomfiture over coming before his mother's gaze, he almost missed the archbishop's request to have a private meeting with Father Columcil. Washburn understood this not at all.  Would not the archbishop have wanted to be witness to all the information they were about to impart to the king?

Before Washburn could question it, Duncan was leading Columcil into a side room. Uncle...Your Grace, do be kind to the good father, for I owe him not only my learning of the Healing talent, but my very life, thrice over!

((09:09 mindspeach Washburn sends mind-speech to Duncan roll of 5 or 6 Washburn gets and acknowledgment that his words are heard by Duncan.
09:09 mindspeach !roll 2d6
09:09 derynibot 3, 2 == 5))

The archbishop, the man Washburn was as close to as an uncle, did nothing to acknowledge the Lendour Knight's words. Had his words even been heard? This disturbed Wash more than the thought of coming before his mother. Why was Duncan so distracted? Wash considered for a moment how Father Columcil's every Rapport had reminded him of Duncan. Why was that? What was it about Columcil that made him as familiar as family. He would have like to have considered it more, if not for the fact that the withdrawing room door opened ahead of them, and there waiting were two very serious people: The King of Gwynedd and the Dowager Duchess of Corwyn.

Washburn, took a breath, straightened his back, and escorted the Duchess of Corwyn at his side and the Lady de Mariot with Lord Darcy and Lord Jaxom at his back, into the presence of the King. ... and his mother.

[Jerusha]

Darcy Cameron, along with the rest of the men in their small party, went down on one knee before the King of Gwynedd. The two ladies made deep curtseys.  All remained unmoving, though it was for a brief moment, until the king motioned for them to rise.  Once standing, Darcy took careful note of those seated or standing at the long table before them. There could be no mistaking King Kelson, seated in an impressive carved chair in the centre.  The raven hair beneath the modest crown was streaked with grey, pulled back into a border braid similar to Darcy's.  The grey eyes were keen and gave away nothing.

The older woman beside the king wore her age with grace and dignity, her beauty hardly diminished.  She was eyeing them carefully, and Darcy did his best not to fidget under her gaze.  There was an empty chair beside the king; perhaps it was meant for Archbishop Duncan.  Darcy was uncomfortable with the fact that one of their party had been whisked away; he didn't like being a man down.  Two archers in Haldane livery stood discreetly on guard at the ends of the table.

"Your Grace," King Kelson said to the woman beside him.  "Your daughter-in-law and son are already familiar to you."  The woman nodded, but her face, like the king's, gave no hint as to her inner thoughts.  "The other woman before you is Lady Aliset de Mariot, the surviving heiress of Meriot. Lady Aliset, you have Our deepest condolences on your losses.  We regret them most deeply."  Aliset curtseyed, willing herself to remain composed.  "Lord Jaxom Trillick of Trilshire is the man standing behind her.  He has aided with her reaching the safety of Rhemuth." Jaxom bowed, graciously accepting the introduction as praise.  "The man beside her is Lord Darcy Cameron of Isles, and it pleases Us to know that he has not been dead for the last 12 years."  Darcy, partway through a respectful bow was so startled at that last piece of information that he straightened a little prematurely.  "Please be at ease, but We must know in detail the information you bring before Us.  Lady Aliset, as this all began in Mariot, please come forward and begin."

Sir Washburn and Princess Araxandra parted to allow Aliset to move forward.  Unexpectedly, Darcy followed just behind her until she stopped before the king.  He bowed to the king and then moved back to stand on the other side of Washburn, providing himself an unobstructed path to the Demoiselle de Mariot in case she needed him.

[Evie]

Lady Aliset shot Lord Darcy a grateful if somewhat nervous smile before approaching the foot of the royal dais.  Kneeling before the throne, she gazed up at her King, her hands held together palm to palm, as if in prayer or as one preparing to make an appeal, although this was also the traditional posture of homage. And in truth, at the moment the gesture could correctly be interpreted in all three ways.

Breathing a silent prayer to God and composing her thoughts into some semblance of order, Aliset began to recount her story. 

"Your Majesty, a week or more ago--I am afraid I have lost count of the days--as you already know, a great evil befell my family.  My cousin Oswald, who styles himself 'Baron' now, murdered my father and brothers in order to lay claim to my lands.  He spared my life only because my youngest brother and I managed to flee before we were captured, and Oswald seeks my return because he believes marriage to me will consolidate his claims over the Mariot lands. Alister and I were not more than an hour from home before we were hunted down; he was slain trying to protect me so I would have a chance to escape. Were it not for my brother Alister's appeal to the Duke of Corwyn in his dying moments, seeking aid in delivering me into Your Majesty's keeping, I might even now be a prisoner in my own home. Oswald has been aided in his treachery by others whose sympathies lie with a Mearan Pretender, although from what little I have been able to discover about the plot, I think his aid comes from someone else.  Some powerful High Deryni lord who seeks to place the Pretender on the throne, and who perhaps has agreed to aid Oswald in exchange for his loyalties and my manor's resources." Aliset bristled with anger at the thought. "With your rightful resources, Your Majesty, for my family's loyalty has ever been with Your Majesty, as is mine own, though I have not yet sworn you homage.  Yet freely is it given to you now, Sire, if you will accept mine oath, and in doing so, See the events as I have witnessed and experienced them since Oswald's treasonous actions against me and against You!"

King Kelson, giving the maiden before him an appraising look, nodded his acceptance with a faint smile and placed his hands over hers as she spoke the words of the traditional oath.

"I, Aliset de Mariot, do become your liege man of life and limb and of earthly worship, and faith and truth I will bear unto you to live and die against all manner of folks, so help me God."

"And I, Kelson of Gwynedd, hear and shall not forget, nor fail to reward, that which is freely given:
fealty with love, valor with honor, and oathbreaking with justice." His gray eyes reflected a brief, warm sympathy for the woman before him before hardening slightly. "And now let me see for myself the ordeals which you have been forced to experience as a result of keeping your faith with Us."

Aliset felt the gentle though insistent psychic touch of the King's mind even as she willingly dropped her shields to his mental probe into her recent memories.

[Laurna]

Sir Washburn Morgan watched the noble lady of his escorting. He felt pure pride, like a brother would, as she gave her fealty to her sovereign. He felt a momentary pang in remembrance of the lady's twin brother. The face of Lord Alister he was like to never see again. A friend he would miss. He had come to accept Lord Alister's death, it was just that the lady wearing his face had almost been a comfort, a knowing that the young knight had not died unloved nor unrequited, in the terms of family love and friendship. Washburn's hand felt for the edge of green wool that he still held near his breast. He pulled the wool free from the inside of his tunic. He rubbed his thumb across the pewter brooch; the eagle's head at the center with it's blue jeweled eye, almost brought tears to the stout knight's eyes. He blinked, then willed the wetness back. Wash, more than anything wanted justice done. He wanted to be back on the road to find the conspirators, he wanted to put an end to all the evil playing out in Meara. Would the king see it as he did? Would the king accepted what he had done; all he had done in self defense and in protection of the lady. It was time that Washburn plead his guilt to several men's deaths and accept what justice the King's will would decree for his actions.

King Kelson's hands rested over the Lady Aliset's veil and hair lightly with his thumbs touching her forehead for a long few moments. When his eyes opened his right hand moved to under the lady's chin and he lifted her face until she gazed up into his silver eyes. "I am so sorry, my lady, for all that you have suffered. Know that you are safe within these halls. Know too that I will do all in my power to see that your lands are returned to you and that this unrest in Meara is squelched. Rise, Lady Aliset Heiress de Mariot, and take your place in my house, beside my Queen Araxie and her ladies at court."

With those words, he gave a hand for Lady Aliset to stand. She did, then she curtsied, "Thank you, Sire." Grateful, she backed away to stand next to Darcy with Jaxom at her back, both men offering her protection.

Sir Washburn dared not spare a glance at his mother; he could not foretell her thoughts with her lips mildly pressed together and her hands folded tightly in her lap. Even if he endured the king's wrath, he had great doubts that he could endure his maman's. Best not to think on that. What would his king think of all that he had done in the past week? At worst he would be punished for the deaths that had happened around him, though only a few had actually died by his own hand. He remembered them all with regret and wondered if there had been any other way?

Holding the pewter brooch high in his open palm, he eyes cast to the floor, Sir Washburn stepped forward and knelt before the steps to the king's dias. "Your Majesty, I offer you Lord Alister's brooch, which does hold the essence of my friend's death done by the hand of a man known as MacInnis. I wish to plead my guilt for having witness and even being the cause of many a man's death in the several day's past. I plea to you, that what I have done, I have done to protect the Lady Aliset. I also plea guilt that I was not fully capable, as harm did befall the lady on more than one occasion. As you have now witnessed those events. I submit myself to your judgment." Washburn dared to not look up as Kelson opened his palm over the pewter, and pressed the brooch into Washburn's outstretched hand. As their hands touched, the residual scenes held firm in the brooch played out. They were of a youth having the brooch bestowed to him by his father, and then the violent death of the hand that covered the brooch as he used it to call first Lord Jass who did not answer and then more desperately Duke Kelric who was awoken out of a dream and answered the young man's dying plea.

When the scene was finished and would repeat, Kelson took a deep breath. "This man, MacInnis, he died just after you had captured him?"

"Yes, Sire, we believe there was a death trigger in place. I admit to having shot him with an arrow and he was given some roughing him up, we wanted answers, yet I swear to you that we were not the cause of his death."

"Let me be the judge of that. Will you willingly submit to my scan of your memories of all that has occurred in this mission? Warn me now if I will find thoughts or actions that were not chivalrous."

Washburn held his breath and cringed inwardly for a moment. Was there any time that wayward thoughts had filled him about the lady in his care. He admitted that he had found her quite attractive on several occasions. But had his thoughts wandered deeper than that. Dear God, he hoped not. Nodding that he was ready to submit to the king's full perusal of his memories, he willingly lowered his shields and dropped his hands, clasping them behind his back.

The king's touch was deft and strong, yet eased when he met no resistance. Washburn lost himself as the last days played out in a mass of quick scenes, one after the other. Grateful that the king did not linger on the young knight's inner thoughts, but concentrated mostly on the perpetrators and the men who would wreak havoc with his kingdom. When all was done and Kelson released him, Washburn sank down on his haunches, his head bowed for a long moment waiting for his punishment for all that he had done.

Yet the words he heard, above him were not the words he expected to hear. "I understand what you have done. I will take it all into consideration. For now join the others and be at ease."

With care Washburn got to his feet. Only then did he look into his king's eyes. "I can ask no more than that. Thank you, Sire." and he backed away to stand beside Lord Darcy and Lady Aliset.

[Jerusha]

"Lord Darcy Cameron," the king said after Washburn returned to his place among the others. "What have you to add to what I have learned so far?"

Darcy straightened his shoulders a bit more and hopefully looking more confident than he felt, moved forward and knelt before the king.  "I do have some information that the others are not aware of, Your Majesty."  The king nodded, and Darcy continued verbally.  "The last voyage the Skjoldr made before the Captain died was a run from Torenth to Meara.  We normally stayed within the Northern Sea, but the payment offered was too high to turn down, so the Captain agreed to the voyage.  The Captain had a policy of never carrying cargo that could get him arrested or killed without knowing what it was, so we opened the crates once we were safely at sea."  Darcy paused a moment and then continued.  "Most of the crates held what we suspected:  swords, pikes and other weapons."  The king raised one dark eyebrow and Darcy inwardly winced.  "Two of the crates were more disturbing.  They held large, heavy iron bolts, winches and plates.  All the fittings needed to construct trebuchet; many trebuchet."

"Who were you to deliver them to?" Kelson asked.

"That was equally strange.  We were to deliver them to an address on the docks of Castleroo, but no name was provided."

"So you don't know who the cargo went to?"

"I don't know the man's name, Your Majesty, but I saw who came for it.  The Captain gave me leave to linger on the docks while the rest of the crew prepared Skjolr for the return voyage."

"Are you willing to show me?"  The king's face was neutral as he asked Darcy to open his mind to him.

"I will do my best, Your Majesty, but I am not well practised at it."

'Will you also share with me your experiences on this trip and your life at sea?"

"Aye, Your Majesty.  But understand the sea is a rough life."
 
"I'll try not to be shocked, Lord Darcy."  King Kelson laid his hands on Darcy's head, and with only a little difficulty, Darcy rolled back his shields.

Kelson was surprised at the clarity of the former seaman's memories.  The only other man he knew with such attention to detail was Sir Iain, so perhaps it was to be expected.  Although Kelson did not intrude on Darcy's personal memories, the man's feelings for the lady he had been hired to protect crept through.  Kelson was certain Darcy had not intended that, and it was complication they did not need just now.

"Brioc de Paor took delivery of the cargo," Kelson revealed as he removed his hands from Darcy's head.  "You have led a dangerous life, Lord Darcy."

"Perhaps adventurous would be a better term, Your Majesty."  When the king smiled, Darcy gathered his courage to ask the question that was troubling him.  "Your Majesty, if I may be so bold to ask a question?"  When the king nodded, Darcy continued.  "Why did you say I have been dead for twelve years?"

"A fair question, Lord Darcy.  Your stepfather informed your brother that you had died of a fever shortly after your tenth birthday.  You had caught a chill on a cold, stormy day riding the horse Sir Iain had given you.  He didn't send word until six months after your death."

Darcy's eyes widened and then narrowed.  "It was on my tenth birthday that my stepfather sold me to sea.  And I never received the horse!"

King Kelson nodded, and Darcy stood, bowed, and returned to his place beside Aliset.  She gave him a sympathetic look, and Darcy took a deep breath to quench the momentary surge of anger directed towards his stepfather.

[revanne]

((Kelric mindspoke Duncan 4+1=5 2ljzmn4t - He didn't!))

Duncan stood looking down at the man kneeling submissively before him and barely had to extend his senses to feel the fear and distress emanating from him. How had he got things so wrong? This was his grandson, a good and faithful priest, a man moreover who by all accounts had not hesitated to risk his own life to protect others. And he knelt in fear, expecting to be rebuked at the very least. As so often he imagined he could hear Alaric's voice, all these year's after his death, speaking in his memory. "Always an over-developed sense of the dramatic with you, isn't it? You made him a priest, so you didn't get things that wrong. If he's scared now, having His Grace the Archbishop going all penitent over him will terrify the daylights out of him. Just reassure him that he's not in trouble, and tell him what you want him to do. You're in enough trouble with Kelson, and that's as nothing to what Dhugal will say to you, don't add to it!" The really annoying thing about the Alaric of his memory was that he was so often right. Could it be that his cousin had become the voice of his conscience as he had so often been his?

"Please rise, my son, or should I say my grandson?"

Columcil was startled by the affectionate tone in the Archbishop's voice and as he looked up he realised that the other was wearing little of the panopoly of his rank. His purple cassock was of fine wool, but without the silken sheen of Columcil's own new black cassock, and his pectoral cross was of simple chased silver without any jewel. If he was to be rebuked, at least it would not be with the whole authority of the Church behind it. He began to draw breath but made no move to get to his feet. His grandfather only knew that he had left his Parish, and the reasons for doing so had seemed good enough at the time; surely he could not yet know that he had betrayed his trust in revealing his identity to Duke Kelric. He had best make that confession and let there be no pretence between them, though he trembled inwardly at the thought of the affection in the Archbishop's voice turning to anger.

"Your Grace, forgive me. I did not intend to betray you - in all these years I have spoken no word, and I wouldn'a, not even under torture, but His Grace the Duke, somehow he got under my guard..." He came to a halt, how could he describe the sense of being kin which he had felt in the Duke's presence. A lack which he had never felt before, being more than satisfied with the entry into others' lives which his priesthood had given him.

Duncan realised that he should have expected this, once he knew that Kelric had met up with Washburn and his small party. Kelric was too skilled a Deryni, and too close to Dhugal, not to have made the connection. He shuddered slightly at what Kelric too might say to him about the deception he had enforced on Columcil. Far more deferential than his father had ever been, Kelric was nevertheless unafraid to speak his mind, especially when he thought an injustice had been done. He could argue in his defence that he had been bound by Columcil's mother, and by his own fear of what this unknown son might demand, but once the lady was dead and her son well-established, and happily so in his own Parish, there really had been no excuse for his failure to tell Dhugal - as Kelson had already made more than clear.

Looking down he realised that his silence was further intimidating Columcil. This part of the tangle he had helped to create he could at least unravel.

"I am very sure there has been no betrayal on your part. I have kept an eye on you all these years, though I was careful not to let you know. What priest wants to think his Archbishop is keeping him under surveillance? And I have had nothing but good reports of you, and never any suggestion that you would betray any secrets whether your own or others. But I doubt you would have deceived my nephew of Corwyn, I'm only surprised that his young brother didn't see it. But then Washburn never did stop long enough to think."

Columcil's head came up at that and he barely prevented himself from bursting out in Washburn's defence. Duncan saw the reaction and smiled, albeit a little ruefully, at the emotional response so like one that his father would have made.

"Yes, my judgement of my younger nephew has been at fault, and I have reparation to make there too. I fear that I have been an Archbishop too long for the good of my soul. But come, you are not here to hear my confession, nor I yours. Please, get up and sit with me."

Duncan put out his hand with his ring for the other to kiss and then with a strength of grip which surprised Columcil grasped his wrist and helped him to his feet. He motioned Columcil to the bench which ran along the wall and only when when they were both seated did he release his grip.

"We do not have much time, the King is expecting us, and he may want to read your memories of the last few days. No, do not fear!" - this as Columcil turned pale, "I have already told him what was not mine to reveal, for which I ask your pardon. He is too close to Dhugal to be pleased with me, but that is for me to endure, and he is too just to carry that anger over to you. He asked if you had been well provided for, and I told him that you had been enabled to fulfill your calling. I trust I spoke right there?"

Columcil was struggling to know how to respond to any of this, quite unlike anything that he had been expecting, but he managed to get out, "Aye, bein' a priest has been sich a blessing ta me, and I ha'e Your Grace ta thank for that. I wish ta God that I'd never left St Melangell and the guid folk o' ma Parish!"

The last sentence burst out of Columcil with such heartfelt passion that Duncan wanted nothing more than to pull him into an embrace. But they would doubtless both end up weeping and be in no fit state to go before the king.

"Thank God for that. But it seems clear that God has guided you in these last weeks, to meet up with the Demoseille and her companions. Without your ability to heal, we would be mourning them as well. We have much to speak about together, both as your father-in-God and your grandfather, but we cannot keep the king waiting any longer. Be assured though that both he and I hold you in high esteem."

Duncan did not dare say anything more for fear of breaking down, and Columcil was in no better case. Dazed he followed his grandfather to the door, and thence into the King's withdrawing room. Duncan bowed deeply to the King, aware that there was a unaccustomed cold gleam in those grey eyes as he straightened and their eyes met.

"May I present, Father Columcil of Pennant Melangell, My Liege."

Columcil was horribly aware that all eyes were on him but he dropped to his knee smoothly enough. As he lifted his gaze towards the king he saw warm approval and as he was motioned to rise he heard the royal voice say, "I understand that We have much to thank you for, Father Columcil." Flushed Columcil made haste to stand beside Darcy and Washburn.

[revanne]

Kelson did not really need to ask the priest anything. Kelric had reported to him in the late hours of the evening before, following the group's arrival at Arx Fidei and anything lacking he had already drawn from his reading of Lords Washburn and Darcy, and Lady Aliset. It was clear that they had all done well in a difficult situation. But he wanted to affirm Columcil by taking note of him as someone worthy of expressing an opinion and, rather more deviously, he hoped that Columcil would be as forthright in praise of Washburn as Kelric had led him to believe and in a way that was closed to him as King.

Washburn obviously still expected some sort of rebuke at the least, if not actual penalty, for some of the decisions he had had to make and the blood that had been spilled and Kelson felt for his loss of innocence. He remembered all too well his own distress as a young King on discovering that dealing out death came with the responsibility of power. But he had fulfilled the task laid upon him to bring the Lady Aliset before the King and with as much honour as was possible. Whether the two Duchesses of Corwyn could be persuaded of this was another matter and Kelson wished Washburn well in his dealings with them, though of course he could never say how much he sympathised with the young man. Sooner or later, though, they would have to acknowledge that the infant terrible of the family had grown up and he had deliberately invited them into this audience partly so that Washburn's first encounter with his mother was in a protected space.

As Duncan introduced Columcil they had both appeared composed and, to do him credit, Duncan had the courage to look his King in the eye though not to sustain the contact. Keeping his mental tone brusque Kelson sent,

You have done right by him this once at least, I trust, by telling him of our conversation, and was slightly placeted, not so much by Duncan's careful use of the unaccustomed private honorific in his reply, as by his tangible mental wince at the phrasing of the question.

Aye, Sire.

But he really could not bring himself to let go of his anger with Duncan just yet, this discovery of an unknown son to Dhugal was another complication he did not need. Duncan's voice spoke again in his mind with the same careful deference.

You should know, Sire, that Kelric knows though not, apparently, Washburn.

He spared a moment to reply tersely to Duncan, Noted, then turned his attention to Columcil, noticing how he had moved to stand with Darcy and Washburn. Bringing warmth into his tone he addressed the priest out loud.

"Father Columcil, I have learnt from His Grace of Corwyn that it was by chance that you became involved in the rescue of Lady de Marriot and we thank you again for your service towards the lady and therefore towards our crown, I fear that you must have witnessed some distressing sights and some acts of violence. It is our intention that our Lords should act according to their knightly vows and therefore we would ask you as a priest, if you believe that things could have been done differently. You have our leave to speak openly."

Columcil moved forward and knelt before the King, unsure of what exactly the King wanted of him. He was aware of Washburn's anxious look, and realising that the latter feared that he was being asked to condemn his actions, sought around in his mind for the right courtly words to express his feelings. Then he caught sight of Sir Jaxom's look of complacent superiority and all restraint left him along with his resolve to refine the broadness of his speech.

"An it please your Majesty, I've nae knowledge of whae it is ta be knightly, an' as fer violence, I'm ashamed ta say that some of it was doon ta me, but I ken right that wi'out yon braw lairds and, aye her leddyship, we'd none o' us be here noo. I dinna ken that anyone could have done different, nor lead us better than Lord Washburn, aye and become a bonny healer forebye." Columcil's glance went to Darcy and Washburn and just for a brief moment lingered on Aliset, then looked back up to the King with his amber eyes shining with emotion.

Kelson had his answer, and he thought that Richenda and Araxandra had learnt more than they had expected, if their startled glance at each other at the mention of healing was anything to go by. Well, to be fair so had he. Until he spoke Columcil did not favour his father, but get him roused, the broadening of his speech and the flashing of those amber eyes would surely reveal whose son he was to anyone who knew Dhugal well. Sweet Jesus, what a coil! And he could not fail to notice that Columcil had made no mention of Lord Jaxom, just what had gone on there? He thought for a moment of Mindspeaking to Columcil, but that might be a step too far. ((At least the dice think so; Kelson mindspeaks Columcil: 3 + 1 = 4, 5hsjm8zqns)).

Suddenly Kelson had had enough. He was already missing Kelric and hoped that they would be able to speak at the usual hour later that evening. In the meantime, Javan was proving a wise counsellor to his father and he needed to tease out some of the political implications, most of which seemed dire, of what he had learnt with his son. He motioned Columcil to rise and said with genuine feeling,"Thank you for your honesty, Father,".

He swept the room with his glance, trying but failing to get Washburn to meet his gaze, and then continued, "We thank you all for your co-operation, We will have further need of all of you in the near future, but in the meantime I will leave you to seek your well-deserved rest." Then the King rose, and all sank into profound reverences as he left the room.

[Laurna]

In the wake of King Kelson's exit, the quiet of the room turned to the hum of low murmurs. Darcy had a hand of comradery on Columcil's shoulder, and the two men turned to Lady Aliset with proud smiles and gracious words. Not to be left out, Lord Jaxom stepped forward and bowed to the younger Duchess of Corwyn. "Duchess Araxandra, I find the Lady Aliset a credit to her father's name," he said boldly. "It would be my honor, if you would allow me to accompany the Demisel de Mariot to dinner." Belatedly he asked. "And of course, I look forward to the company of Father Columcil and Lord--" a sharp exhaled breath "--Darcy--" almost as if it hurt him to say it "--during the repast that I understand is to begin shortly."

Duchess Araxandra looked the young heir of Trilleck squarely in the eyes. She could well see that he was enamored with her charge. The look of the other two men, watching for the duchess's response was a little harder for her to understand. They had all traveled together, and as much as she had gathered, they had all become a close working team. So why the long faces. "I will allow this one time. You have all been invited to sit at the high table with the king tonight. Lord Jaxom, you may sit at my left hand, with Lady Aliset at your left hand. Father Columcil, then you and Lord Darcy. Did I hear mention of Healing, Father?" She turned her attention to the priest. "I would be most appreciative if you would tell me something of yourself over the King's dinner." The princess looked at the good father directly, there was a sense of quiet recognition, so similar to the recognition her husband had given Columcil.

Columcil quietly replied, "Aye, tis not much to say, Duchess Araxandra, I come from but a humble parish of Saint Mellangal."

"Then I will happily speak with you about rabbits," she said with a winning smile.

Araxandra ignored Lord Jaxom as he puffed himself up with victory before her. She turned to Darcy. "Lord  Darcy, I expect to hear at least one gallant story about the sea. Something to keep us ladies entertained." Having given her final say on the matter, the princess turned to Lady Aliset. "Shall we go and settle you in the Queen's Tower before we dine. In that way we will not have to worry about your keep at the late hour after dinner." Araxandra's intentions were to see Lady Aliset properly housed among Queen Araxie's ladies, in a place where no man dared enter. That would in effect solve all manner of ills where the young heiress's reputation was concerned. 

Sir Washburn was distracted from the dinner arrangements being made next to him. He briefly looked over at Captain Ralson, giving the man his respect. The Captain returned the exchange with a nod, but nothing more. There seemed to be no indication that the young Morgan would be detained. Perhaps there was hope after all. If his actions were to be pardoned, that still awaited on the king's final word, but if that word was given, could someone at court back his position to follow Kelric back into Meara. At the least let him join the ranks of Prince Javan's Lancers. For surely the King would not delay his troops, counting only on Corwyn and Cassan to solve the insurrection?

Washburn's eyes looked up toward his mother. She had influence with the king; would she support him in this. But his heart sank when he saw how intently she was watching him. A tilt of her head, invited him to walk the few steps of the dias to present himself to her.

He bent knee before her and kissed her extended hand. "Dowager Duchess Richenda. I am glad to find you well and here in Rhemuth."

"Am I not still your mother? Would you not greet me as a son, not one of Corwyn's knights?"

He looked up at the cornflower blue eyes that opened wide to him. She stood beckoning with open arms for him to stand and give her a hug. He was no longer a boy, and it had been sometime since he had welcomed the hug of his maman. Yet, when he did stand, though he stood far taller than her, he felt her strength in the arms that surround him, he felt her approval of him as a man, no longer a boy. That didn't last long, however, for once they had parted, his mother pulled forth a small red velvet bag that he instantly recognized. "I was going to reprimand you for leaving this, but I do believe you already know not to leave it agan." She handed him his ward cubes.

"I thank you, maman, and I do hope Kenneth came to no harm from my lapse. I swear to you, it will not happen again." He pocketed the small bag on the inside of his tunic.

"Kenneth is a resilient boy, so much like both his grandfathers. Kelson has seen that his training controls are properly aligned. He looks up to you, you know. You best be a good role model; to him and to Alain and Duncan. They, all three, talk about their uncle, who I think has earned that praise."

Washburn looked up surprised. "I love all my nephews." he said quietly, wondering if he heard in her tone of voice the approval that her words seem to convey.

"Before we go to dinner, tell me more about Healing," she inquired. "Did I hear Father Columcil correctly, did he say you have done a Healing?"

For the first time Wash let a true smile part his lips. "Yes, maman, he is a Healer himself, Don't let his shyness fool you. He is a very good Healer. There are no words to explain how he found this energy within me, and how he taught me to use this gift. I have so much more to learn, I would ask for leave of my duties to attend the schola for at least a short time."

This seemed to please the dowager greatly, but then Wash back tracked. "That is after these events is Meara are quelled. Will you do me the greatest honor by speaking to the king, and ask that he send me forth at once to join Kelric's forces."

Richenda sucked in a breath at this request, shaking her head, no. "You just got here. From what I hear has happened, you must rest... I can not have both Alaric's sons in Meara." His mother was adamant. All Washburn's hopes were dashed. He would not beg, he would be a man and abide by the Corwyn matron and by the king's final word. She saw that in him, and for the first time with him she reconsidered her words. "I will talk to the king. Rest tonight, and His Majesty will have an answer for you in the morning."

"Thank you!" he said, suddenly hopeful. He took the  elder lady in a warm embrace, this time it was a mutual hug between mother and son.