mother_lost: (Looking away // by Ashie)
[personal profile] mother_lost
*A few weeks have passed since Arthur was summoned away, and Bran was summoned to the Summer Country -- a time of unusual tension in the castle. Guinevere, Merlion, and Bran see to the running of the land, but the strain of the magic being worked is beginning to show in some faces, and worry is beginning to show in Guinevere's.

She has slipped off, finally, to the tranquility of the chapel. It may not be consecrated, but the space is quiet.

Besides, Arthur had it built for her.

She kneels and brings out the rosary Bran gave her, closing her eyes.*

In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti . . .

Date: 2007-01-20 05:35 am (UTC)
gramarye1971: a lone figure in silhouette against a blaze of white light (liht mec heht gewyrcan)
From: [personal profile] gramarye1971
The strain of the magic, such as it is, will likely become more apparent as the days and weeks pass. Merlion has noticed only one particularly negative effect thus far -- he has found it slightly difficult to concentrate or focus on one task for any great length of time.

Then again, there may be other reasons for that.

At the moment, he is feeling restless. He strides through the corridors of the castle and through the grounds without any real destination or purpose, walking for the sake of walking. He nearly passes by the chapel without a second glance, but out of the corner of his eye he catches sight of the kneeling figure...and draws to a halt.

He rests a hand on the stone of the door frame, but does not enter the chapel proper. This is Guinevere's private space, after all.

Date: 2007-01-21 08:27 am (UTC)
gramarye1971: a lone figure in silhouette against a blaze of white light (sorrow or acceptance)
From: [personal profile] gramarye1971
Merlion bows his head a little, half in acknowledgement and half in apology.

'My apologies, madam. I did not wish to disturb you at prayer. I merely thought' -- and he breaks off, because he hadn't really thought anything when he paused outside the chapel -- 'I merely thought that I might ask if there was aught I could do for you.'

It is said calmly enough, but each word is very carefully said...as if he has calm by the throat, and is on the point of throttling it.

Date: 2007-01-21 08:46 am (UTC)
gramarye1971: a lone figure in silhouette against a blaze of white light (sorrow or acceptance)
From: [personal profile] gramarye1971
There is the answer that he could give her, and the answer that he should give her. Neither answer appeals to him, but he knows the proper response.

'To be truthful, madam...not as well as I would like.'

Date: 2007-01-21 09:24 am (UTC)
gramarye1971: a lone figure in silhouette against a blaze of white light (liht mec heht gewyrcan)
From: [personal profile] gramarye1971
'Not even those who were to summon him knew precisely why he would be needed.' The tightness of his mouth gives some hint of the inner strain he must keep in check. 'Why he would be called, even from here. I have thought the matter through as thoroughly as I can...and yet it seems that all we can really do now is wait, and trust in his return.'

He looks round the little chapel, from the smooth stones of the walls to the cloth-covered table with the two glass bottles placed carefully upon it that serves as a makeshift altar. It is quiet and peaceful, a sanctuary within this land of sanctuary.

'As we did in the past.'

Date: 2007-01-22 01:28 am (UTC)
gramarye1971: a lone figure in silhouette against a blaze of white light (liht mec heht gewyrcan)
From: [personal profile] gramarye1971
Merlion's mouth twitches, more out of sympathy than humour.

'A productive distraction, if nothing else,' he says with a small nod. 'Sometimes, that is sufficient.'

His gaze drops to her rosary for a moment, before returning to her. 'But I think that I may have interrupted you in something equally productive...and at something far better than simple distraction.'

Date: 2007-01-28 06:54 am (UTC)
gramarye1971: a lone figure in silhouette against a blaze of white light (oxford)
From: [personal profile] gramarye1971
'I read, more often than not.' The very thought of a book in his hands helps to softens the harsh lines of his face. 'It is a comfort to turn to another's thoughts when my own are less than satisfactory. Particularly if the book is a familiar one, where the words on the page are more of a reminder than a revelation. That, too, is calming.'

A slight pause, then -- and his next words are said rather carefully, as if he is not quite sure how they will be received.

'I have also turned to your kind of productive distraction more than once, over the years.'

He isn't talking about needlework.

Date: 2007-01-28 06:06 pm (UTC)
gramarye1971: a lone figure in silhouette against a blaze of white light (servant of the Light)
From: [personal profile] gramarye1971
'The rumours of my demonic parentage are greatly exaggerated.'

His mouth twists a little as he speaks, turning the joke back in on himself. But there is a wistfulness in the way he says it, as if the joke has long since lost any humour he might have found in it.

'Prayer depends on one's faith, does it not? Putting oneself in the hands of a higher power, trusting enough in that power to frame one's thoughts in a very simple statement -- Thy will be done -- and truly believing that all will be well if it is so.'

Date: 2007-02-02 03:50 am (UTC)
gramarye1971: a lone figure in silhouette against a blaze of white light (liht mec heht gewyrcan)
From: [personal profile] gramarye1971
'I somehow doubt that I have ever given you sufficient reason to think so, madam,' he replies, simply. 'It is a rather private matter for anyone, and even more so for someone who cannot easily relinquish control in such a fashion.'

The use of cannot is deliberate, there.

'But there are times when it is necessary, and when it is right to do so.'

Date: 2007-02-02 04:34 am (UTC)
gramarye1971: a lone figure in silhouette against a blaze of white light (cross-quartered circle)
From: [personal profile] gramarye1971
He watches the beads move through her fingers for a moment, before he says, simply:

'I believe it is.'

Date: 2007-02-02 05:32 am (UTC)
gramarye1971: a lone figure in silhouette against a blaze of white light (cross-quartered circle)
From: [personal profile] gramarye1971
He hesitates, but only for half a moment. It might look like a show of propriety, rather than genuine hesitation. But he follows her nonetheless.

The chapel is not properly consecrated, yet he still pauses to bow his head in silent respect upon entering. (Genuflection, he considers, is not quite appropriate at this juncture.)

'I do not have one with me,' he replies, in answer to her question. 'But I do remember the proper form of the devotion.'

Date: 2007-02-03 01:05 am (UTC)
theravenboy: (My father cast you away)
From: [personal profile] theravenboy
Bran has always walked the hills and lands about him. He is walking the kingdom now. If he walks long enough, perhaps he will begin to understand it.

Bran isn't used to walking this far without a dog. Lluchddu, or Pen or Tip, or his landlady's dog Mari, have always been nearby; before Lluchddu, there was Cafall. Arthur had a dog Cafall; why is that other Cafall not here?

Behind a stand of rowan trees, Bran sees, there is a small stone building, very fair in a simple way. Bran, liking the building at once, passes under the rowans (which are heavy with white blossoms and red berries, both) and continues a few yards more to the building's arched doorway.

He stops still. The cross over the altar, carved of some heavy wood, is clearly a Christian symbol, despite the ring surrounding the crossbars. The building must be a chapel, then, and it is occupied.

"Mother. Merlion. I am sorry -- please, do not let me interrupt you."

Date: 2007-02-03 01:14 am (UTC)
theravenboy: (Default)
From: [personal profile] theravenboy
"Yes, thank you." It's true. The pressure of the Country's magic on his mind has not abated, but Bran is becoming accustomed to it, and he is beginning to think the land is content to have him.

Date: 2007-02-03 03:00 am (UTC)
gramarye1971: a lone figure in silhouette against a blaze of white light (liht mec heht gewyrcan)
From: [personal profile] gramarye1971
Merlion inclines his head to Bran, much as he had to Guinevere. If his gaze sharpens momentarily as he looks at Bran, examining the young man's face and bearing for anything that seems amiss, it is no more noticeable than his usual careful scrutiny.

'Your lady mother and I were speaking of what might be called "productive distractions",' he says, by way of explanation. 'And she has graciously extended an invitation to me, to share in her chosen method.'

Date: 2007-02-03 09:03 pm (UTC)
theravenboy: (Default)
From: [personal profile] theravenboy
"I should not be surprised that you are here. Reverend Lyon. Although I suppose I am surprised, a little..."

Bran shakes his head thoughtfully.

"I am not a Catholic, but we are outside of Time, here, and I suppose the difference between Catholic and Protestant hardly matters. And we have no priest, unless you are one, Merlion. May I join you?" Bran looks from Merriman to Guinevere.

Date: 2007-02-11 08:50 pm (UTC)
gramarye1971: a lone figure in silhouette against a blaze of white light (cross-quartered circle)
From: [personal profile] gramarye1971
He had mentioned once, to Gwion, that he had spent a grand total of three hundred and ninety-two years, eight months, and forty-four days as a member of the clergy in one denomination or another. He is certainly no stranger to the liturgy of most any religion that one might care to name. But Guinevere and Bran have stronger claims to their respective religions than he does, and so in this instance he is more than willing to let himself be guided by their faith.

In the end, no matter what form the prayer takes, the sentiment behind it is much the same.

Watch over him. Keep him from harm. Bring him back to us.

But above all, Thy will be done.

Date: 2007-02-12 11:08 pm (UTC)
theravenboy: (not truly an ending 2 - cors fochno)
From: [personal profile] theravenboy
None of the psalms, hymns and prayers Bran knows seem quite right for this quiet room. He bends his head, silent. May it be so. Amen. Amen.

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mother_lost: (Default)
Guinevere

January 2007

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