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scapegrace74-blog · 3 years

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Ginger Snap, Chapter 6

A/N Well, here it is. The last chapter of Ginger Snap. As an unplanned fic inspired by a vanity license plate, I’m happy with how it turned out. There will be a short epilogue posted in the next week or so. In the meantime, thank you so much for coming on this unexpected ride with me! This chapter’s themed title is Fire in the Belly.

Previous chapters are best enjoyed on my AO3 page, because I have a bad habit of going back and editing them after they’ve been posted.

The next five months were some of the most difficult of my life.

After our talk, Frank and I agreed that it would be best that we parted ways. The Southside flat was close to the university, plus I’d never truly felt at home there, so it made sense for him to keep it. Fortunately, we’d never combined our savings and I still had money tucked away from my time as a medical resident in Boston.

Geillis wanted me to move into her sprawling Murrayfield home, at least temporarily, but I knew that I needed a place of my own. To stand on my own two feet, as it were. Which was how I found myself moving my few belongings into a modest Morningside walk-up as the rest of Edinburgh celebrated Hogmanay with fireworks and drunken revelry.

I scheduled the written component of my medical licensing exam for February. This was likely foolhardy, but I’d already wasted enough time. As a result, almost every waking hour was dedicated to studying. The flat remained an empty box whose naked beige walls bore witness to my rudimentary existence.

Geillis called regularly, reminding me to eat and to occasionally step outside for a breath of fresh air. Returning up the high street from one of our weekly coffee dates, a bright flash in a shop window caught my eye.

I stopped and stared as the afternoon sun lit the vase like a shard of stained glass. It was a profound shade of blue: the colour of a field of indigo, of the night sky in a Byzantine icon, of Jamie’s eyes when he laughed. It sat on my windowsill, filled with the season’s first daffodils, as I pored over practice exams.

***

“Geillis, I passed! I fucking passed!” An elderly woman seated across from me on the bus muttered under her breath about vulgar Sassenachs, but I was too elated to care.

“Of course ye did, ye brilliant disaster. Now I can brag tae the neighbours I have my own personal physician.”

“Not so fast, Duncan. I still need to pass the clinical exam, and that’s no small thing.” My gut twisted just thinking about it, but unlike the written exam, there was little I could do to prepare. Either I knew how to perform as a doctor or I did not. The long months since I’d last treated a patient loomed like a large shadow over that question.

“Och, yer bum’s oot the window Claire,” my friend dismissed blithely. “Ye’re gonna do great. When do ye head down tae yer homeland, then?”

“May first.” The practical examination took place in Manchester and needed to be scheduled three months in advance.

“Sounds like ye’ve got some time on yer hands. Whate’er are ye going tae do with yerself?” Geillis asked in a singsong voice.

Fortunately for me, spring was Edinburgh’s most pleasant season. Its many gardens and laneways erupted in carpets of buds and blooms. The air smelled fresh and green, like biting into a tart apple. I took long walks and fell in love with the city I now called home. There were secondhand bookstores to explore and a weekly craft market where I gradually amassed an assortment of items that made my flat feel like a home. With each passing day, my existence felt more and more like a life; one I defined for myself.

I also started to explore my options for employment, hoping for a job offer from one of the city’s hospitals that was conditional upon my successful completion of the licensing process. It was to that end that I found myself walking down the corridor of The Royal Edinburgh hospital after what I hoped had been a rather successful interview with the deputy director of surgery.

“Claire?”

I recognized her voice immediately. Before turning around I closed my eyes and sent out a fervent appeal to the universe.

“Jenny, hi. How are you?”

She looked just the same, her straight black hair such a contrast to her brother. Next to her stood a man, but not the man I had conjured the moment I heard her voice. I was unclear whether that meant my prayer had been answered or not. Seeing my gaze stray, Jenny jumped to introductions.

“This is my husband, Ian. We’re here fer treatment on his leg.”

“Nothing serious, I hope.”

“Jes a fitting fer a new prosthetic. Jenny keeps beatin’ me o’er the head with the old one, ye see.” I laughed, instantly liking his easy-going manner, so in contrast with Jenny’s intensity.

“Ye must be the Claire I hear sae much about,” he went on, and I wondered what had been said about me in the Fraser household.

“Nothing bad, I hope.”

Ian smiled warmly. “Only good things, I promise ye.”

“What brings ye tae the hospital, Claire?” Jenny interjected.

I explained how I was in the process of qualifying to practice medicine in Scotland, provided I could pass my exams. Jenny and Ian were both delighted, congratulating me as though I’d already accomplished my goal. As we spoke about Wee Jamie’s latest exploits and the ongoing growth of Ginger Snap, I couldn’t help notice that Jenny was staring at my hands. At my left hand in particular. Finally, I couldn’t resist temptation any longer.

“And, how is Jamie doing?” I tried to sound casual, but I was certain my faltering voice betrayed me.

“Very well,” Jenny replied. “Busy, as ye can imagine, but he thrives on chaos.”

I nodded, trying to be satisfied with the news that he was well. It was the most I could hope for, really. Jenny eyed me shrewdly before continuing.

“He’s a good man, my brother. Any lass would be verra lucky tae have him. I’d like tae see him settled, but he refuses tae be rushed. Says the right woman is worth the wait.” She paused before adding, “I reckon ye ken wha’ he means.”

“Yes,” I breathed. “I know exactly what he means.”

***

I took the overnight train from Edinburgh to Manchester. It meant I was likely to arrive at the testing centre deprived of sleep, but I rationalized that most of my residency could be characterized as one long evaluation under similar conditions, and I hadn’t killed anyone yet. Still, as the velvety darkness slipped by outside my window, studded by the lights of passing farms, my doubts got the better of me.

I texted Geillis, looking for moral support. For once she didn’t reply immediately. There was one other name on my laughably short list of contacts. I deliberated for all of a minute, but the late hour and creeping panic made me impulsive.

Hello.

Best to start with something innocuous, rather than the slightly more revealing “I miss you. I think about you every day.” A reply bubble appeared immediately after I hit send. At least I hadn’t woken him up. A small tempest stirred in my gut.

Arsonist. Hello. How are you?

I tried to picture him. Was he at home? Working late? Or, in a scenario that played out far too often in my mind, on a date?

I’m alright. Well, to be honest, I feel like I’m going to puke and cry. Not necessarily in that order.

Och, lass. Do you need me to come over?

Damn it, this man. I had done nothing to deserve his unswerving loyalty but mislead him and then disappear for months on end. And yet here he was, willing to come to my aid on the flimsy pretext of a late night text. Guilt and tenderness warred for possession of my heart.

That may prove a bit difficult, Jamie. I’m on a train to England.

There was a long pause, and then a two letter reply.

Oh.

I realized at once that he’d leapt to the wrong conclusion: that I had left Edinburgh for good. I rushed to correct the error.

I’m taking the second stage of my examination to practice as a NHS doctor tomorrow. It’s all hands-on situations, and the licensing facility is in Manchester.

Arsonist, that’s wonderful news! I’m so proud of you.

I blushed, then leaned my heated cheek against the chilled pane of glass. It had been a rash impulse, but this conversation was exactly what I needed. I wasn’t alone in this. Geillis and Jamie were in my corner.

What has your stomach in a twist, then?

What if I’ve forgotten what to do?! It’s been almost a year since I’ve so much as used a stethoscope, Jamie. The exam is eighteen real-life situations and you’re given eight minutes to respond to each one. Not a second longer. I’m just... what if I fail?

And there it was. The kernel of fear that lived at the heart of everything I did. What if I failed? What if my best wasn’t good enough?

Claire, listen to me. You’re a doctor, just as I am a chef. It wouldn’t matter if I had not set foot in a kitchen in ten years, I would still remember how to cook, and I know that it’s the same for you. I believe it with everything in me.

On some level, I knew that he was right. But it still comforted me tremendously to hear it from someone I trusted.

Alright. That helps. I should let you get to bed. Thank you for talking me off my ledge, Jamie.

Anytime, Arsonist.

As I got ready sign off, another text bubble appeared.

Oh, and Claire? Don’t burn down their wee laboratory, okay? ;-)

I laughed out loud, muting my phone and reclining my seat. Outside, the stars shone brightly, tiny fires in the firmament to guide me on my way.

***

It was a lovely late spring day, and the retractable doors to the fire station were open to the warm breeze. I could hear Angus’ voice as he led a cooking demonstration for a group of young women; a bridal shower by the look of their ridiculous costumes.

“Mind the coriander, lass. Tis a verra powerful aphrodisiac, ken? I willna be held responsible if ye canna resist my considerable charms after ye eat yon soup.”

There was an outburst of giggles as I rounded the corner and entered the reception area. Jenny was on the phone. She halted mid-sentence when she saw me walk in. I rubbed my hands down the front of my jeans, trying to stay calm.

“He’s in the storeroom, in the back,” Jenny prompted before I could even offer a greeting. I smiled gratefully, relieved I didn’t have to make small talk. I had only so much courage stored in reserve, and I didn’t want to use it all up before reaching my destination.

The storeroom was long and narrow, lit by a single naked bulb and girded with shelves. Jamie stood with his broad back to the door, his curls absorbing the light like amber. He had a clipboard in one hand, performing some kind of inventory.

“Jes how many lentils dae ye reckon we need, Janet? There’s nine cans of them here already, and ye have us ordering ten more.”

I’d almost forgotten how much I loved his voice, the undulating grit and silk of it. I had to remaster the art of speech before I could reply.

“It’s not Jenny. It’s me. Claire.”

He froze, and if it weren’t for the sudden rapid flow of his breath I would have assumed he hadn’t heard me. My nerves got the better of me and I blurted out, “I like lentils. You should listen to your sister.”

“Claire.” More sigh than word. He slowly turned. It was when our eyes met that I knew nothing had changed for him. It was still there, after all these months. That look that told me I was the map to his journey, the focus to his vision, the reason to his why.

Hopefully he could read that same certainty on my face.

“I passed my exams,” I began. “I’m a doctor again.”

“Ye never stopped bein’ a doctor. This jus’ makes it official.”

“I’m still a disaster in the kitchen,” I continued. “Last week I ruined two saucepans.”

“Tha’s only a tragedy if ye dinna have someone willin’ tae cook fer ye,” he replied with a strange squinting motion I understood was meant to be a wink.

“I’m still learning who I am. How to be true to the person on the inside,” I confessed. This is what had kept me away for so long, worried that I would escape from Frank’s orbit just to be caught up in another. Jamie never once expected my submission, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t offer it out of habit.

“I’ll let ye in on a secret. Sae is everyone else,” he replied.

Without realizing it, we’d both been moving until we were crowded together amongst the dried herbs and canned goods. My hand rested against the solid metronome of his heart. Just one more confession to go.

“I burn for you in a way I’ve never burned for anything before.”

There. It was said. A thousand wings of rapture beat against the cage of my ribs, clamoring to break free. Jamie carefully pushed a loose curl behind my ear before cupping my jaw.

“Wee arsonist. Come, set my life on fire.”

#my writing #outlander #ginger snap

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adsosfraser · 3 years

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The Stone’s Toll - Chapter Six

Read on AO3

Before Claire could journey up to Inverness, she had to settle some matters first in London. The first thing she did was walk up the grand steps of her parents’ bank and walk through the marble columns of the main entrance. A little over two-thirds was left in her account, and she withdrew it all. She walked out, two hundred pounds heavier. The pound notes were neatly stacked into piles of twenty in her suitcase. It was all that remained of her inheritance which had been pretty substantial; the rest had been spent on various celebrations in her life and her travels with her uncle. In total, her trip up to Inverness would be very comfortable, and she would have some to spare for a mockup dress, with guidance of course as Mrs. Graham had assured her.

The first thing she did was purchase a train ticket at King’s Cross Station to Edinburgh for the next day. She was almost giddy when she felt the smooth surface of the ticket and her receipt shoved into her hands.

The pawn shops in London had infinitely more variety than Inverness, she was certain. There was practically one on every corner in London, but only one she could remember in the general area of Inverness. She couldn’t very well bring a banknote with her into the past. But she could find something to trade. No matter what century, gold, silver, and jewellery always held value.

She glanced through the miscellaneous items dotted throughout the store and finally assumed a stance before the jewellery counter. Dainty rings laid within velvet boxes and chains strung across the shelves enclosed in glass carefully haphazard. Her eyes paused on an emerald. Jamie’s birthstone. Next to it was a ruby, much like the ring meant for her baby, set into a gold necklace. She pointed at the different necklaces, bracelets, and rings for the attendant to put aside for her. With one final point, she was ready at the register with her money. At the last minute, she spied a stack of pictures and postcards depicting the world’s modern marvels. An airplane, skyscrapers, tug boats, telephones, even the atom bomb were included in the stack. She added it to her items and smiled up at the cashier. She left, with little less than half of what she had withdrawn that day from her purchases at the train station and the pawnshop. She could always purchase more in Inverness.

Claire hurried over to her next stop; the sun would be sinking soon. Her body stopped before the small metal door. A locker in the storage facility. It contained mementos from her childhood. Pictures of her parents and notes from the various friends she had made across the world with her uncle. It was the only tangible thing that anchored her to one spot. While she constantly left for new places, it had been reassuring to know that the locker would always be there for her to remember. She shuffled through the items and pulled out some of her baby pictures where she screamed with cake smeared over her face, her parents’ smiles shining brightly behind her. One with her mouth covered in ice cream on a pier at Brighton with her parents, months before the accident. The rest were her dirty and dusty with her uncle, beaming with curiosity at various excavation sites. Claire glanced slightly at the envelope that contained things pertaining to her time with Frank and shoved it back deep into the locker. There was a final one of her during the beginning of her nurse’s training, smiling optimistically for the camera in her uniform at the train station, oblivious to the gruesome years to come sewing back shattered men and hiding from the sky itself.

She boarded the train without fuss the next morning. No one was travelling during the New Year. They were all settled in with their families enjoying their feasts. So Claire enjoyed the luxury of an empty compartment within the train and patted her suitcase reassuringly.

The Reverend would be away for the week to substitute for a minister who had taken ill on short notice. The house was left to Roger, Claire, and Mrs. Graham.

“Och, Claire, it’s sae fine seeing ye again.” The short woman gathered her in her arms, bringing her down to her level. “Would ye like a cuppa?”

“That would be wonderful Mrs. Graham, thank you.”

She puttered about in the kitchen and instructed Claire to place her luggage in the second room to the right up the stairs. The door creaked open to a light room covered in a rosey wallpaper. Claire was glad it wasn’t the same room she had stayed in months ago. She set her things on the bed and returned downstairs to where the elderly woman had already set up the cups with tea on the small circular table. Tarot cards were strewn all over the tablecloth. Claire presumed Mrs. Graham wanted to take a peek into her future once again. Seeing no use in delaying the inevitable, Claire launched into her questions.

“What do you know about the stones Mrs. Graham?”

“Och, please call me Mairi, lass. I’m sae glad ye called over before ye arrived here, didna want ye to be disappointed. I looked through some of my mother’s old things, and there were many journals passed down through the matrilineal line. It would have been a mess to try to find them in short notice, but I managed to find the box just in time. One of them details the subject of powerful stones holding the Earth’s energy itself within them. Ye can read through dear and I’ll wait fer any questions.” She stood up to fetch something from the counter near the oven and returned with a smooth brown book.

She looked closely over the scribbled notes and drawings in the small leather-bound book. It most likely could fit into her coat pocket and she was amazed at the artistry of something so old. The pages were weathered yellow like they had been soaked in tea and there were tears in some spots, but it didn’t hinder the journal’s abilities to instruct. Within it contained certainties, speculations, doubts, and even contradictions coming back to scribble that human sacrifice was indeed not necessary and strongly discouraged from the earlier statement regarding it as a necessity. Different hands amended the pages, added different textured paper when the pages ran out, and ripped out some to little stubs close to the spine.

A calendar was sketched into the very first page, listing fire festivals at each point of a star. Imbolc. That was the closest date. She had missed Yule while in the ward and cursed herself. She would have to wait a month more, if the information written down in the battered book was to be believed. After months of separation, what more was one month? But her soul agonised over the fact that she was so close to the stones, but their strange attributes limited her. Would the nagging feeling of anxiety for her son ever waver? Or did this new sabbatical mean she would be too late?

“So Imbolc, a fire feast?”

“Aye, most all o’ the journals in my grove ha’ something similar. It’s always, a gem and a fire feast. Many other suggestions have been quite unsettling.”

“So when I came through, on April the 16th, I was two weeks away-”

“Lass dinna work yerself up o’er that jes now. Ye canna blame anyone, it’s jes,” the kind woman squeezed Claire’s hand in comfort, “jes the way things went.”

“But, I put my baby in danger, and it killed him.” She couldn’t help the wobble of her lip and the big fat tear that rolled down her cheek.

“Ye dinna even ken if he could ha’ gone through at the proper time anyway.” Mrs. Graham hooked her weathered finger under Claire’s chin and brought her gaze towards her. “I know it might not be what ye want to hear right now, but perhaps yer baby saved ye. Ye couldna ha’ travelled alone, even wi’ yer wee gem.”

“But why take my baby? Why not me?”

“The way I see it, the stones only wanted one tae live that day. And if yer baby survived while ye died, weel it wouldna ha’ survived anyway wi’out ye. It doesna do well to dwell on the past lass. The only thing ye can do is look to the future and move forward. Go to yer lad. Yer soul kens what yer brain refuses to. The boy needs ye.”

“What if I’m too late? The death certificate-”

“Have faith, Claire, yer- Frank researched tirelessly to find his fate. If he wasna going to make it, yer soul wouldna be in overdrive to return to him.”

“Yes, of course. Faith.”

“Fer now we bide, and I’ll help ye prepare. These are lean years yer returning to, ye’ll need all the help ye can get.”

The greying woman stood up to leave but Claire placed a hand on her arm to stop her. “Thank you Mairi, for everything.”

For the next month, Claire helped Mrs. Graham tidy the manse and watch after Roger. Her heart had warmed to the small boy instantly and she played planes with him whenever he asked, mimicking the noises and spreading out her arms wide to fly across the garden. Reverend Wakefield, much to his own chagrin, helped Claire smuggle some supplies from the hospital, during his visits to the ailing and injured who couldn’t attend church. He even found a set of knives that were close to being pitched before he intervened and saved them from the dumpster. Claire passed those weeks amongst pleasant company in the manse, and knew she would miss her friends dearly. To her surprise, Graham Munro, the kind boy who had brought her to the hospital from the stones, visited the manse occasionally and would take up a game of cards with her and Roger. The seven-year-old won almost every game they played; Claire and Graham had made the mistake of having him lose and much to their dismay he had started a tantrum that lasted for four hours. One evening, he had sulked into Claire’s room, his cheeks tracked with fresh tears from a nightmare and she pulled him close, murmuring to the young boy. Yes, she would miss them all terribly.

Mrs. Graham worked on the logistics of Claire’s dress; she was impossible at sewing, knitting, and practically any other domestic task. A plain white slip dress was transformed into a shift, extra yards of wool were donated through her druid friends which turned into her various layers of skirts, and an old blue raincoat fit for a giant was found in the closet and transformed into a cloak of sorts to cover the fact of missing stays.

On the First of February, close to midnight, Claire, Roger, Mrs. Graham, and Reverend Wakefield climbed into the Reverend’s black car. Roger was bouncing off the back seat next to Claire, excited at being awake way past his bedtime. Reverend Wakefield had driven them to the stones to humour them, still not quite believing in the absurd story. A leather messenger bag sat on Claire’s lap, practically bursting from the contents within it. She had already dressed into her new clothes that would not be so conspicuous in the eighteenth century. Her heart raced as the headlights from the car illuminated the grey stone at the top of the hill.

Claire offered a short sentence of gratitude for the Reverend’s hospitality and then moved on to her fast friend Mairi. He lingered back behind the line of the stones with his arms around Roger. Claire shared a heartfelt goodbye with Mrs. Graham and thanked her profusely. Tears clung to her eyelashes and she pecked the small woman on the cheek. Roger was inconsolable when he felt the atmosphere shift. He thought it was a fun adventure with his new friend, not the finality of a goodbye.

“No Miss Claire! I dinna want ye to leave!” He slobbered into her stomach and held tight to the buttons of her cloak.

“I’m sorry, Roger. I’ll miss playing pilot with you terribly. Will you keep this safe for me?” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a toy rocket, the new fascination of young boys. Planes were old news, but space was exciting.

“Aye!” He tried to be brave like his father said his parents had been. She shoved back the hair from his eyes as he looked up at her with glassy eyes and a snotty nose.

“What do ye say, Roger?”

“Thank ye, Miss Claire!” He hugged her tight.

He took the plastic object from Claire’s hands and skipped over to his father. His mood had instantly changed and he was happily distracted from the severity of the moment. They all walked slowly towards the stones, Roger hand in hand with his father. The buzzing swarmed through Claire’s ears and she was standing near the centre cleft now.

“Father, what’s that noise?”

“Stay put Roger.” He tightened his grip on his son’s shoulders, fear laced into his voice.

With one last tearful glance of goodbye, Claire vanished. The group was left stunned, even Mrs. Graham. Hearing certainly was not seeing.

“Mama?” She felt the soft curiosity of a child’s mind amongst all the screams of anguish and hopelessness. “It’s okay. You can go home now.”

She pulled her towards her, guiding her mother gently.

“I love you, mama. Tell da I love him too.”

Was it really the child she had lost, or a delusion her mind had conjured? One thing she was certain of though deep in her bones. She had been a girl. A beautiful soul.

#jamie x claire #outlander fanfiction #adsofraser writing #craigh na dun #fergus fraser #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #canon divergence #frank randall #roger mackenzie #brianna fraser #mrs graham #reverend wakefield #lol i'm really vomiting out these words quickly #outlander fanfic

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blissful-independence · 3 years

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Code Lyoko: REvision

I just finished binge watching Code Lyoko on Netflix recently to relive my childhood & forgot how cool of a show it was! While it is an awesome story, some things couldn't stop bugging me that didn't line up. So I revised in a short format the entire series in a way that follows a proper timeline plus what I would've added for the show. I hope y'all like it!

Word Count: 3.3k

Characters

Lyoko Warriors

Jeremie Belpois

Date of birth: 22 February

Age:

Season 1-2: 13-14

Season 3-4: 14-15

Height: 163 cm/ 5’4

Birthplace: Ville de Clichy, France

Family:

Daphne Belpois- Mom

Michel Belpois- Dad

School: Kadic Academy

Grade:

Season 1-2: 4th year (FR)/8th grade (US)/Year 9 (UK)

Season 3-4: 3rd year (FR)/9th grade (US)/Year 10 (UK)

Yumi Ishiyama

Date of birth: 27 October

Age:

Season 1-2: 14-15

Season 3-4: 15-16

Height: 165/ 5’5

Birthplace: Kyoto, Kansai, Japan

Family:

Hiroki Ishiyama-Brother

Akiko Ishiyama-Mother

Takeho Ishiyama-Father

School: Kadic Academy

Grade:

Season 1-2: 3rd year (FR)/9th grade (US)/Year 10 (UK)

Season 3-4: 2nd year (FR)/10th grade (US)/Year 11(UK)

Ulrich Stern

Date of birth: 13 January

Age:

Season 1-2: 13-14

Season 3-4: 14-15

Height: 173 cm/ 5’8

Birthplace: Berlin, Germany

Family

Christoph Stern- Estranged father

Emilia Stern-Estranged mother

School: Kadic Academy

Grade:

Season 1-2: 4th year (FR)/8th grade (US)/Year 9 (UK)

Season 3-4: 3rd year (FR)/9th grade (US)/Year 10 (UK)

Odd Della Robbia:

Date of birth: 1st April

Age:

Season 1-2: 13-14

Season 3-4: 14-15

Height: 160 cm/ 5’4

Birthplace: Toronto, Ontario, Canada

Family:

Adele Della Robbia-1st oldest sister

Pauline Della Robbia-2nd oldest sister

Elizabeth Della Robbia-3rd oldest sister

Marie Della Robbia-4th oldest sister

Louise Della Robbia- 5th oldest sister

Mary Elizabeth Della Robbia- Mother

David Della Robbia- Father

School: Kadic Academy

Grade:

Season 1-2: 4th year (FR)/8th grade (US)/Year 9 (UK)

Season 3-4: 3rd year (FR)/9th grade (US)/Year 10 (UK)

Aelita Schaeffer/Hopper/Stones

Date of birth: 25 September

Age:

Season 1-2: 12-13

Season 3-4: 13-14

Height: 160 cm/ 5’2

Birthplace: Zurich, Switzerland

Family:

Franz Hopper-Father

Anthea Schaeffer-mother

School: Kadic Academy

Grade:

Season 2: 4th year (FR)/8th grade(US)/Year 9(UK)

Season 3-4: 3rd year (FR)/9th grade (US)/Year 10 (UK)

William Dunbar

Date of birth: 11 December

Age:

Season 2: 14-15

Season 3-4: 15-16

Height: 175 cm/5’9

Birthplace: Edinburgh, Scotland

Family:

Thomas Dunbar-Father

Fiona Dunbar-mother

School: Kadic Academy

Grade:

Season 2: 3rd year (FR)/9th grade(US)/Year 10(UK)

Season 3-4: 2nd year (FR)/10th grade (US)/Year 11(UK)

Kadic Academy Students

Elisabeth (Sissi) Delmas

Date of birth:17 May

Age:

Season 1-2: 13-14

Season 3-4: 14-15

Height: 163 cm/ 5’4

Birthplace: Paris, France

School: Kadic Academy

Grade:

Season 1-2: 4th year (FR)/8th grade (US)/Year 9 (UK)

Season 3-4: 3rd year (FR)/9th grade (US)/Year 10 (UK)

Patrick Belpois

Date of birth: 22 August

Age:

Season 4: 14-15

Height: 168 cm/ 5’6

Birthplace: Bordeaux, Nouvelle-Aquitaine, France

School: Kadic Academy

Grade:

Season 4: 3rd year (FR)/9th grade (US)/Year 10 (UK)

Viktoria Klein

Date of birth: 14 February

Age:

Season 1-2: 13-14

Height: 163 cm/ 5’4

Birthplace: Munich, Bavaria, Germany

School: Kadic Academy

Grade:

Season 1-2: 4th year (FR)/8th grade (US)/Year 9 (UK)

Nicholas Poliakoff

Date of birth: 8 July

Age:

Season 1-2: 13-14

Season 3-4: 14-15

Height: 173 cm/ 5’8

Birthplace: Saint Petersburg, Russia

Grade:

Season 1-2: 4th year (FR)/8th grade (US)/Year 9 (UK)

Season 3-4: 3rd year (FR)/9th grade (US)/Year 10 (UK)

Herb Pichon

Date of birth: 20 November

Age:

Season 1-2: 12-13

Season 3-4: 13-14

Height: 163 cm/ 5’4

Birthplace: Paris, France

Grade:

Season 1-2: 4th year (FR)/8th grade (US)/Year 9 (UK)

Season 3-4: 3rd year (FR)/9th grade (US)/Year 10 (UK)

Season 1

1x01: X.A.N.A Awakens Part 1 & 2

Similar to the original episode in the 3rd season

Jeremie meets Ulrich because of a biology project in Ms. Hertz’s class.

Odd gets introduced as the new overseas student by Jim.

Odd is partnered with Jeremie and Ulrich due to there already being an even number of students.

Yumi’s first year as a student at Kadic is explained when she meets Ulrich at the Pencak Silat class taught by Jim.

This is the explanation for why she doesn’t have friends & why people confuse her for Chinese.

Parallel to the episode, Ulrich and Odd discover the supercomputer and ‘Maya’ when helping Jeremie with his robots suddenly attacking him.

Odd eagerly volunteers to be virtualized first to Lyoko to meet ‘Maya’ following Ulrich when Odd is in trouble.

The boys agree to help ‘Maya’ and try to turn off the supercomputer the following day.

Odd notices Ulrich staring at Yumi while on campus, pushing him to talk to her even if he doesn’t know what happened in martial arts class.

Ulrich apologizes to Yumi for being standoff-ish & wants to continue practicing together.

Sissi gets jealous and follows them around, causing her to get caught in a XANA trap.

This is how she sees the supercomputer leading to the first return to the past.

The group promises to keep everything between them and help Aelita.

Keynotes for S1 storyline

The main goal is to bring back Aelita from Loyko.

Jeremie learns how Odd, Ulrich, and Yumi can feel phantom pains after being devirtualized on Lyoko.

Ulrich learns Yumi moved from Japan just the year prior.

Yumi introduces the boys to her parents and little brother since she has a good relationship with Mr. & Mrs. Ishiyama.

The boys learn how Hiroki is an intelligent kid while mischievous, something Odd takes note of when they hang out.

Due to both their somewhat poor communication skills, Ulrich and Yumi dance around the fact they both like each other.

Ulrich does end up having a girlfriend in S1, a blonde German girl named Viktoria.

Yumi represses her feeling once seeing Ulrich happy with someone.

Sissi and Yumi get into a fight when Sissi threatens Ulrich with exposing his journal to everyone.

A page having details of Ulrich’s feelings about both Viktoria and Yumi.

Jeremie struggles with the balance of Lyoko and the real world, forgetting about his parents to the point they drive to Kadic for a wellness check.

Odd develops a secret crush on Aelita as time gets closer to materializing her.

The warriors learn about Ulrich’s estranged relationship with his family when Kadic hosts a Family Day. Ulrich is the only one from the group to not have a family member visit.

Mr. & Mrs. Ishiyama has sympathy towards Ulrich and wants to know what goes on with him in his schooling like a parent, even advising on how to help his grades.

Two of Odd’s sisters, Adele and Pauline, come for Family Day.

Sissi doesn’t leave Ulrich alone until it makes Victoria dump Ulrich towards the end of the season.

Yumi is a shoulder for Ulrich to lean on.

When Aelita is finally materialized and done safely with her ability to attend school in S2, Yumi can see Odd’s crush but promises to keep it between them.

Season 2

2x01

On Aelita’s first day enrolled in Kadic Academy for the spring semester, she is linked to Ulrich’s cousin instead of Odd’s.

As everyone comes back from winter vacation, Ulrich notices a new student in Yumi’s class named William.

Hearing from Odd through the grapevine of William, Ulrich isn’t a fan right away especially seeing how close William appears when speaking to Yumi.

Ulrich tries to not be jealous but can’t help it as Yumi seems to be enjoying herself when speaking to William.

Viktoria talks to Ulrich again to catch up, making Yumi internally jump to conclusions.

While in class, Odd asks Aelita to join him to take Kiwi out during lunch.

This confuses Ulrich & (especially) Jeremie, but Aelita agrees to have a breath of fresh air.

During lunch, Yumi introduces William to Ulrich and Jeremie but asks where Odd and Aelita are.

William jokes about Odd and Aelita being a secret couple.

Jeremie doesn’t find this funny and storms to the library.

Ulrich takes this as William being a rude person, a green light to being vocal on his dislike towards him, then follows Jeremie to the library.

Yumi doesn’t appreciate Ulrich’s attitude, following William for lunch.

Aelita and Odd come across an abandoned house called “The Hermitage” and enter the forest.

Aelita feels intense deja vu, suddenly having unknown flashbacks in the building.

Odd finds the place creepy, especially when discovering what looks like a little girl’s room.

Xana. Return to the past. Yumi and Ulrich reunite on a bench during the lunch period.

Yumi tells Ulrich about Odd’s crush on Aelita

Ulrich is surprised but also should’ve seen it coming after thinking

She understands Ulrich’s coldness towards William after the comment.

Ulrich says he’ll be better at biting his tongue and won’t tell Jeremie about Odd’s crush.

Aelita is back in the forest alone, standing in front of The Hermitage.

Keynotes for S2 storyline

Aelita is determined to discover her connection to The Hermitage with or without Jeremie’s help.

Aelita has been rewarded a scholarship to attend Kadic Academy.

William’s backstory of hot-headed comes more to light, specifically with Ulrich in physical activities.

Ulrich tries his best to not let William get the best of him, knowing it will blow up in his face if he does.

Yumi struggles with feeling homesick & out of place from being far away from Japan.

Sissi tries to mess with Yumi’s head about Ulrich and Aelita’s about Jeremie.

Viktoria tries to be friends with Yumi but can’t due to Sissi’s words.

Odd learns to become more mature to better himself after events blow in his face with Aelita.

Aelita is trying her best to be oblivious to Odd’s feelings as she has never been in this situation.

Odd actually does give something to Aelita for Valentine’s Day

Ulrich gives Yumi a necklace

Yumi helps give Aelita as much advice as possible, knowing she is also in the same boat since William came to Kadic.

Ulrich gives Odd advice to back off Aelita because he knows how much Jeremie likes her.

Jeremie finds all of Aelita’s personal information on Franz Hopper’s CDs.

When Odd tries to move on from Aelita, he ends up making regressing back to immaturity with girls as a ‘casanova.’

Xana takes control of the ‘return to the past’ program, causing the gang not to use it in S2.

Jeremie teaches Ulrich how to use the supercomputer first in simple terms for basic things.

Ulrich’s father surprises Ulrich and meets his friends, showing a strong dislike for Yumi, which causes a stronger refit between the two.

Odd tells Jeremie his feelings for Aelita after her almost dying on Lyoko.

There is ambiguity on what Jeremie does with this information.

When it is the end of the year & time for everyone to go home, Aelita stays with Yumi for the over month-long summer break.

Viktoria tells Ulrich she isn’t coming back to Kadic after this year. She also tells Ulrich to go for it with Yumi.

Ulrich decides to spend most of the break with Jeremie in France instead of going back to Germany.

Season 3

3x01

The Warriors come back to Kadic from their summer break, where luckily, Xana hasn’t done anything to harm Earth. A note Aelita takes as Xana, knowing they were apart without a trace.

The Warrior’s all meet in the courtyard as they wait for their new class schedules.

During the break, Jeremie reprogrammed the Return To The Past and added new programs to the supercomputer.

A new additive is Odd, gaining unlimited laser arrows and flexibility similar to a cat.

Jeremie asks Odd if they could speak in private, going to a bench away from the others.

The two talk about their mutual crush on Aelita and promise to not let it get between them as friends.

Jeremie asks if Odd really likes Aelita and is surprised to hear an honest, genuine response from him for once.

While everyone is waiting under the arches, William comes up at Yumi, eager to catch up after the break.

Ulrich remains distant to William after the constant back and forth, which William has no problem with.

Yumi can see the discomfort from Ulrich and excuses the two of them to another part of the campus.

Sissi catches Ulrich & Yumi holding hands ‘demands’ an explanation but doesn’t actually get one.

After returning back from the core of Lyoko, the talk about adding a fifth member is first brought up.

Keynotes for S3 storyline

Outfit changes for everyone to start the new school year.

Yumi changes her from black all around to a pink skirt, black tights, and a thin long sleeve skull top.

Aelita’s outfit is an updated version of what she was wearing when virtualized on Lyoko. A purple heart baby T-shirt with black shorts and pink tights plus lace-up boots.

Odd is lowkey with his acts of kindness to Aelita.

Ulrich’s mother, Emilia, comes to visit, where she catches Ulrich and Yumi together under a tree. Emilia doesn’t like Yumi right away.

Emilia and Ulrich argue about their distance as if it was only Ulrich who caused it.

Ulrich states how he’s the kid and shouldn’t be reaching out all the time to his parents.

Jeremie and Aelita show Yumi and Odd how to use the supercomputer after a mission where Jeremie cannot use it.

William is initiated as a Lyoko Warrior in the middle of the season.

Yumi is highly vocal against it the whole time because she doesn’t trust him.

Odd and Ulrich help train William to be a better fighter but notice his cocky attitude never changing even after a few Lyoko trips.

Aelita gains the power of foreshadowing instead of Odd getting it back.

Yumi is honest about her feelings to Ulrich after he doesn’t return at all from a mission.

He gets frozen in Xana’s dome.

They finally get together.

Ulrich teaches Hiroki and Johnny how to approach girls respectfully.

Aelita and Jeremie have growing tension from Jeremie’s repetitive stubborn overprotectiveness.

Odd and Aelita grow closer as they expand their creative passion for music.

Jeremie becomes jealous of Odd and Aelita spending time together only to make it worse with Aelita.

William takes Yumi and Ulrich’s new relationship way too hard. He becomes irresponsible when on Lyoko resulting in him getting caught by the Scyphozoa.

Aelita blames herself for William as she hazily saw the mission leading in that direction.

Season 4

4x01

Following Lyoko getting destroyed by Xana, the warriors are on high alert of anything on Earth.

Aelita is the one to find what Franz Hopper sent to the supercomputer to help reprogram Lyoko.

Jeremie and Aelita set up Sector Five and the forest sector first before other parts of Lyoko.

Jeremie improves Yumi’s telepathic ability and gives everyone super sprint instead of only Ulrich. (Aelita with flying)

When on Lyoko to find William, they see he can mimic what Jeremie programmed, such as

His version of flying like Aelita

Getting an over bike like Ulrich

Throw his sword like Yumi’s fans

William devirtualizes all of the warriors

The Warriors think of a plan to handle William the next day.

Yumi and Hiroki get into an argument about Yumi’s diary getting lost.

Hiroki stole it to give gossip for Milly but had it fallen out of his backpack.

Ulrich tries to help find it, knowing his situation with Sissi last year.

Hiroki gets caught in a Xana trap that smacks him unconscious, causing Yumi to panic for her brother.

Yumi stays on Earth with her parents while the others go to Lyoko to deactivate the tower.

After the return to the past, Jeremie begins looking for a temporary solution for William’s absence.

Yumi, Ulrich, and Hiroki go out for ice cream as all is forgiven.

Yumi tells Ulrich she’ll one day show him what she wrote before they got together.

Ulrich promises to do the same.

Keynotes for S4 storyline

The William Clone is programmed to have adaptive sensors, making him somewhat normal to the unknown person.

Odd’s parents and older sister Marie come visit Odd to watch his short film.

Marie gives Odd advice for his love triangle dilemma.

When it is time for the week of Christmas break, the Warriors find a way to spend the holiday with Yumi to be all together.

Ulrich and Yumi almost break up from a misunderstanding by Xana disguising themselves as each other.

Xana-Ulrich creates an argument with Yumi while Xana-Yumi kisses another classmate.

Odd mischievously submits Aelita’s mix CD for the Subdigitals audition when she cannot make it.

Aelita is grateful to Odd when she is picked as a finalist.

Odd gets kicked out of the group for showing the new exchange student Brynja the factory.

Once back into the group (called on by Jeremie), Aelita and Odd get into an argument that lasts longer than any Yumi and Ulrich fight.

Jeremie is the mediator for Aelita and Odd, telling the two to be honest with each other.

Odd tells Aelita he likes her finally, and Aelita says she doesn’t know her feelings. Jeremie tells her it’s okay if she likes Odd back.

Aelita needs time to think, and the boys give her as much space as she needs.

Jeremie’s cousin Patrick enrolls at Kadic permanently, allowing the two to grow closer as family.

Patrick helps Jeremie come out of his shell a little bit, and in return, Jeremie tells Patrick about Lyoko.

Patrick promises to keep it a secret and thinks Lyoko is insane when sent to be part of ‘Return To The Past’.

William comes back a little bit before the last episode.

Yumi and William have a conversation where he apologizes for his actions on Lyoko and reacting horribly to her and Ulrich’s relationship.

William does a whole apology tour with the Warriors about his carelessness that led to getting trapped by Xana.

Odd and Ulrich are verbal about their distrust for William, especially to his face.

As Aelita finishes destroying Xana and comes back to Earth, Odd is the one to catch her as she cries for the loss of her father.

Series Finale

With Xana now destroyed thanks to the power of Franz Hopper’s sacrifice, the warriors must now turn off the supercomputer as there is no real purpose anymore. To Yumi’s surprise, the rest of the warriors are hesitant to turn it off. Yumi gets upset when everyone but her vote to not turn off the supercomputer and is quite confused by it.

Yumi distances herself from the rest of the group, not wanting to hear what their excuses are.

In an irritated voice due to Yumi being stubborn, Ulrich says he likes being a hero who feels unstoppable. He doesn’t get that feeling on Earth where he struggles in school with parents who are hardly present in his life.

Yumi says encouraging words about how Ulrich is a great person on Earth who cares for his friends and others.

Jeremi tells Patrick and Aelita how he is scared of turning back into a loner after shutting Lyoko off.

Patrick tells Jeremie he shouldn’t worry about that because the Warriors are all really close.

Aelita says they have a bond that can’t be broken even if they all live in different countries.

While in gym class, Aelita asks Odd why he didn’t want the supercomputer to be shut off.

Odd doesn’t want to turn it off then begin to miss it, but he knows it is for the best.

William tells Jeremie they need to shut the computer down after everything that’s happened bad to him.

Yumi apologizes for her stubbornness and hears out everyone's reasoning for not wanting to say goodbye to Lyoko yet.

Aelita talks to Odd about what they could be like in the future.

They never fully say out loud what happens, and there are no hard feelings from Jeremie.

One last hiccup from Sissi resulted in the last return to the past by Jeremie and Patrick. Aelita and Odd are sitting together on one bench while Yumi and Ulrich are under a tree.

#code lyoko #code lyoko evolution #fanfic #fanfiction #cartoon network #netflix #revision #writing #ao3

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1-message-received · 3 years

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Little-known facts about Voldemort even die-hard 'Harry Potter' fans may not know

The names Tom Marvolo Riddle and Voldemort have significant meaning. The phrase "I am Lord Voldemort" is an anagram of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Names often have deeper meanings in the "Harry Potter" universe, and Voldemort is no exception. The phrase "vol de mort" means "theft of death" or "flight of death" in French, which is an apt description of his main goals throughout the series. The villain's name remains Voldemort in the different translations of the books, but since the letters of his given name, Tom Marvolo Riddle, must rearrange to spell the phrase "I am Lord Voldemort" in order to fulfill a major plot point, his name varies throughout the translations. For example, in the French translation, his given name is Tom Elvis Jedusor in order to rearrange to "Je suis Voldemort" — which means "I am Voldemort."

Tom Riddle's name was based on a real person. Several names in the "Harry Potter" series were inspired by gravestones in a Scottish cemetery. Authors often use the world around them as inspiration for characters and plot points. One such source of inspiration for "Harry Potter" was a cemetery in Edinburgh, Scotland. According to the BBC, the names of characters including Minerva McGonagall, Alastor Moody, and Tom Riddle were inspired by headstones in Greyfriars Kirk graveyard.

He wanted to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts. Professor Snape also wanted for the job for many years. Tom Riddle applied for the Defense Against the Dark Arts positions twice — once when Armando Dippet was headmaster of Hogwarts and once when Albus Dumbledore took over. He was turned down by Dippet due to his young age, and by the time he asked Dumbledore several years later, the headmaster could see his evil intentions. After he was passed over the second time, Voldemort placed a jinx on the position that prevented any teacher from holding the job for more than a year.

The Riddles and the Potters are distantly related. Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort are connected. Many readers probably remember that Harry Potter is a descendant of the Peverells, a family famous for their possession of the three Deathly Hallows. In the seventh book, we learn that Harry is a descendant of Ignotus Peverell when he discovers the true origins of the invisibility cloak his father passed down to him. But fans may not have caught that Tom Riddle is also a direct descendent of that same family. The Gaunt family on his mother's side can be traced back to Cadmus Peverell. Cadmus was the original owner of the resurrection stone, which was eventually passed down in ring form to Tom's grandfather Marvolo Gaunt and his uncle Morfin Gaunt before Tom stole it. The later generations of the family, however, did not know that the ring contained the stone.

More than one actor played Voldemort in the films. Richard Bremmer played He Who Must Not Be Named in "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone." Although Ralph Fiennes is the actor most commonly associated with Lord Voldemort, he didn't take on the role until "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire." In "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" viewers see Voldemort, portrayed by Richard Bremmer, attached to the back of Professor Quirrell's head. The actor is credited as "He Who Must Not Be Named" in the first film.

It seems that Voldemort's parents never really loved each other, which may have eventually led to his demise. Tom Riddle's mother used a love potion to seduce his father. Tom Riddle's mother, Merope Gaunt, lived a life of tragedy and abuse. According to Dumbledore, she became so desperate to leave that life behind that she put a wealthy muggle, Tom Riddle Sr., under a love spell so he could take her away from her father and brother. It was under that spell that Tom Sr. married Merope and Tom Jr. (Voldemort) was conceived. When the effects of the potion wore off, Tom Sr. left her and she felt she had no choice but to leave their child at a Muggle orphanage. Love conquering all is a major theme of the series, and this backstory makes it clear that there was never love in the villain's life, making it exceedingly difficult for him to succeed.

As a boy, he tested his powers on other children at the orphanage. Tom Riddle's atrocities are revealed in Pensieve scenes. Tom Riddle's evil nature was apparent from a young age. In "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince," we learn through Dumbledore's memory in the Pensieve that Tom was testing out spells on unsuspecting children at the orphanage where he was raised. The book references one specific event during which he took two children into a cave and did something so terrible they were never able to speak of it again. The cave evidently left a lasting impression on Voldemort, seeing as it also became a Horcrux hiding place.

Albania was an important place to Voldemort before he hid there in the wake of the First Wizarding War. Professor Quirrell went to find Voldemort's remains in Albania. Most fans probably remember that the bodiless remains of Voldemort hid in an Albanian forest to regain strength after he was defeated by baby Harry in the First Wizarding War. He also returned to the same forest after his host body, Professor Quirrell, was killed in "Sorcerer's Stone." Although it is never exactly revealed why Voldemort chose that location as a hiding place, it does hold a certain significance to him. The first time visited Albania his mission was to retrieve the lost diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw — which her daughter Helena had revealed to be hidden in a forest there — in order to create one of his seven Horcruxes. A Horcrux is a powerful, dark object that contains a piece of a witch or wizard's soul and keeps that soul fragment alive regardless of their body's fate.

Voldemort made his first Horcrux by killing Moaning Myrtle while he was a student at Hogwarts. Moaning Myrtle is one of the ghosts in Hogwarts. Making a Horcrux is a dark form of magic that requires a witch or wizard to take another's life. Tom Riddle created his first Horcrux by killing his fellow Hogwarts student Myrtle Warren, who's known as Moaning Myrtle. After the murder, the part of his soul that split entered a diary that eventually possessed Ginny Weasley and made her reopen the Chamber of Secrets at Hogwarts during Harry's second year.

Nagini was integral to Voldemort's return to power. Nagini is Voldemort's snake companion. Nagini was the longtime serpent companion of Voldemort. Though the exact date and location of their meeting are unknown, we do know that she was with him when he was regaining strength in Albania. Her venom was also part of a potion brewed by Peter Pettigrew that helped sustain his bodiless form. Eventually, the snake became Voldemort's final Horcrux after the murder of Bertha Jorkins.

He created an army of corpses by murdering Muggles. A reanimated corpse is known as an Inferius. The books reveal that an Inferius is a corpse that's been reanimated by dark magic. Fans may recall the scene in "Half-Blood Prince" when a swarm of Inferi surrounds Dumbledore and Harry in the cave as they try to retrieve the locket Horcrux. What they may not know is that Voldemort created the majority of his army of Inferi by murdering vulnerable Muggles and reanimating their corpses.

Voldemort ultimately decided that Harry Potter was "the chosen one." Harry Potter wasn't the only child who could have become "the chosen one." As we learn in "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix," Sybill Trelawney made a prophecy that only a child "born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies" would have the power to vanquish Lord Voldemort. But the identity of that child was not always clear. Both Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom fit that description, but Voldemort ultimately decided to go after Harry, who was a half-blood like himself, cementing Harry's fate as "the chosen one."

He had a daughter with Bellatrix Lestrange. The plot is revealed in the "Harry Potter and the Cursed Child" play. In the stage play, "Harry Potter and the Cursed Child" — which became part of the "Harry Potter" canon in 2016 — we learn that Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange had a daughter together named Delphini. The exact date of Delphini's birth is still a bit of a mystery, but she must have been born sometime between Bellatrix's escape from Azkaban in "Order of the Phoenix" and the Battle of Hogwarts in "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows" — during which both Voldemort and Bellatrix died.

The Death Eaters were almost called the "Knights of Walpurgis." Voldemort's loyal followers are called Death Eaters, and their symbol is the Dark Mark. During his school years, Tom Riddle formed a group of friends he was able to manipulate to do his bidding. Many of these friends went on to become his loyal band of Death Eaters during the First Wizarding War and beyond. In an interview with the BBC, Rowling revealed that she had originally planned to call the group the "Knights of Walpurgis." After all these years, she's even kept a scrap of paper referencing that name in case she ever decides to use it.

Tom Riddle was a brilliant student. Tom Riddle excelled as a student at Hogwarts. There may not be many positive things you can say of Tom Riddle/Lord Voldemort, but he was a very gifted student. He was skilled at Legilimency and Occlumency, received top marks in his class, earned a Medal for Magical Merit, and was even made Head Boy in his seventh year.

He probably could've gotten a job at the Ministry of Magic. Rufus Scrimgeour was the last Minister for Magic before Voldemort took over the Ministry in the Second Wizarding War. As one of the top students in his class, Tom Riddle was bound to have many opportunities presented to him after finishing at Hogwarts. In his final year, Professor Slughorn offered to set him up with job interviews by using his connections at the Ministry of Magic. Instead, after getting rejected for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts, Riddle went to work at Borgin and Burkes antique shop. It was this job that gave him the opportunity to acquire both Salazar Slytherin's locket and Helga Hufflepuff's cup, which he turned into Horcruxes.

It's significant that his wand was made from a yew tree. Yew trees are often tied to death. Wands can be made out of a number of different woods and materials, but it's fitting that Voldemort's is made from the bark of a yew tree. Yew trees were once considered sacred in druid traditions, but their toxic needles led them to eventually symbolize death in Celtic culture. They're also known for living a very long time. For a variety of myths and reasons, yew trees also became popular in cemeteries. Since Voldemort is a wizard who's obsessed with death and immortality, the symbolism of his yew wand isn't lost.

His greatest fear was his own death. Voldemort did everything he could to ensure his immortality. Boggarts are magical shape-shifters that transform into whatever a witch or wizard fears the most. In a 2005 interview with the fan site Mugglenet, Rowling said that Voldemort's greatest fear is "ignominious death," and if he ever encountered a boggart, he would probably see his own lifeless body. Even without this insight, it is clear that Voldemort does everything in his power — including fragmenting his soul seven times — throughout the series to live up to his name and beat death.

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scotianostra · 3 years

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Je Suis Knackered.

On April 15 1924 actor and comedian Robert Kerr Fulton was born in Glasgow.

Rikki, as he became known, was best known for his double act with Jack Milroy as “Francie and Josie” and as the Rev I M Jolly in “Scotch and Wry”.

The comedian and actor was born in Dennistoun, the youngest son of a shopkeeper. Rikki volunteered for the navy during World War II and saw service in the Mediterranean, where his ship was sunk by enemy fire. Fulton’s early career was that of a serious broadcaster for the BBC, together with appearances in repertory theatre. From the 1950s, Fulton has been a popular pantomime actor, adopting the role of Josie, playing against Jack Milroy’s Francie and playing regularly in Glasgow and Edinburgh. His annual BBC TV appearance in Scotch and Wry on Hogmanay became an institution, especially his role as the melancholy Presbyterian minister the Reverend I.M. Jolly.

Fulton appeared in The Tales of Para Handy (1994), the return of the classic comedy BBC television series first broadcast in 1959 portraying the adventures of a Clyde puffer. His films include an unusually serious role in Gorky Park, together with the comedies Local Hero, playing alongside Fulton Mackay, and Comfort and Joy, both directed by Bill Forsyth.

Other than very occasional appearances, Fulton retired from the stage in the mid-1990s. He received a lifetime achievement award from BAFTA in 1993 and an honorary doctorate from St. Andrew’s University in 2000. Rikki Fulton died in Glasgow, on 27th January 2004, having suffered from the degenerative Alzheimer’s disease, and in tribute to his Scotch and Wry character Supercop (a police traffic officer), police motorcyclists escorted the funeral cortège as it made its way to Clydebank Crematorium.

#Scotland #scottish #comedian #scottish actor #history #RIP

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let-the-dream-begin · 4 years

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A Place to Belong Chapter 15: Deliver Us

Chapter 14

Read on AO3

“Milady?”

“Christ, Fergus, ye scairt the bowels out of me.” Jenny clutched her chest. She was sitting on Kitty’s bed, lulling her to sleep.

“Fergus?” Wee Jamie sat straight up in bed, followed by Maggie.

“Fus!” Kitty called.

“Milady, it — ”

“I’d just gotten her to fall asleep,” Jenny groaned. “Ye’d better have good reason fer keeping me in here fer another hour, lad.”

“I am sorry, Milady,” Fergus stammered. “It is the baby.”

Jenny leapt to her feet.

“Her waters have broken.”

“Christ! Why did ye no’ say?” She bustled out of the room. “Fergus, stay wi’ the bairns.”

“But I want to help!”

“Ye can help by getting the bairns to sleep and out of my hair.” She was already halfway down the stairs. “Ye can come by when they’re asleep!”

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Jenny practically sprinted through the second-story hallway to Claire’s bedroom.

“Jenny,” Claire uttered her name breathily. She was pacing the room, but now she stopped, looking up at Jenny with panic in her eyes.

“Ye alright, sister?” Jenny was immediately beside her, feeling her forehead, her cheeks.

“I’m…” Claire swallowed, her vision blurring. “I’m scared.”

“I ken ye are.” Jenny squeezed her upper arms. “But I’m right here wi’ ye.”

There was a light knock on the door, but Ian was already in the room. “It’s true then? Bairn’s coming?”

“Aye.” Jenny nodded. “Get to the village to fetch the midwife.”

Ian nodded curtly, then he was off.

“Mrs. Crook and the Donnelly widow picked a right fine time to no’ be here,” Jenny sighed.

Before Claire could respond, another contraction came, and she braced onto the chair by the fireplace, clinging to it with white knuckles. She groaned through gritted teeth, the pain coursing through her. Jenny rubbed her back, reminded her to breathe.

Mrs. Crook’s sister had suddenly passed, so she was off to the services in a small village outside of Edinburgh. Mrs. Donnelly had decided to journey with her and stop in Edinburgh to see family, though she’d left Laura behind to do menial tasks and cleaning while she was gone.

“I’ll be fine without them,” Claire finally answered when the contraction ended. “I assured them both as much when they were concerned about leaving so close to the due date.” She released her grip on the chair and began pacing again. “I’ll have the midwife. And I have you.” Claire smiled warmly at Jenny.

“Aye. Ye do.” Jenny approached her and began untying her skirts. “Let’s get ye down to yer shift, nice and comfortable.”

Claire allowed her to help her undress, pausing once to brace herself for another contraction. After she was in only her shift, Jenny sat her at the vanity to unpin her hair for her. A tiny knock came at the door, and Jenny groaned, expecting Jamie or Maggie to burst in.

“What is it then?” she called.

The door opened just a crack, though, and wee Laura was standing there.

“Laura, should ye no’ be in bad, lass?” Jenny paused her attentions on Claire to turn and face her.

“I want to help, Mistress,” she said in a tiny voice. “Mother told me to be helpful.”

“Oh, aye, she did.” Jenny smiled. “Why don’t ye go fetch some clean rags and linens for Mistress Fraser, and a pitcher of fresh water as well?”

“Yes, Mistress.” Laura curtsied and then tiptoed off, shutting the door behind her.

“Sweet girl,” Claire said fondly, finishing up with her hair.

“Aye, she is. Too young to be birthing bairns yet. I’ll be sending her to bed once she’s done what I asked.”

Claire nodded in agreement, and then braced herself, as she felt another contraction coming on. This time she outright yelled, and Jenny rushed to her side. It passed, and Claire started breathing heavily through puffed cheeks.

“A strong one, aye?”

Claire nodded wordlessly, breathless.

“How’re ye feeling? Dizzy? Weak? D’ye want to lie down?”

Claire shook her head. “Not just yet. I’m alright.” Jenny helped her to her feet and then sat down, watching Claire pace the room.

“Is the bairn in a good position?” Jenny suddenly asked. “Didna even think to ask.”

“Yes…I felt myself,” Claire assured her. “He’s ready.”

Jenny nodded. “Are you ready?”

“Quite the loaded question,” Claire said, cocking her head. Then she sighed in defeat, resting her hands on the small of her back, turning her elbows outward. “I suppose I…” She stopped herself. “No,” she said simply. Why lie to Jenny when she’d get the truth out of her either way? “I don’t feel ready at all.”

“I understand.” Jenny nodded in sympathy. “What has ye scairt most?”

She scoffed. “Everything?” She started pacing again. “I can bear the pain, of course. But I’m not ready to face something going wrong. I’m not ready for my body to…to fail my child again.”

“Claire…dinna talk like that.” Jenny crossed herself, presumedly warding off any ill luck Claire had spoken into the world.

“I know I shouldn’t…and everything seems perfectly normal so far. But I…I’m not prepared for it to happen. And then there’s…seeing him.”

“What d’ye mean? Yer no’ ready to see the bairn?” Jenny almost laughed. “That’s the part most women are ready fer.”

Claire smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I know it doesn’t make much sense…but I…I’m not ready to…to see…” She stopped pacing and took a deep breath, forcing herself to look at Jenny. “I’m not ready to see Jamie in my baby.” Jenny’s face softened. “I’m afraid I’m going to…to look at him and just…fall apart.”

“Claire…”

“And then what of the rest of his life? What if I can’t look at my child without seeing him? And then I…I completely lose it?” Claire’s voice caught in her throat, and her chest began heaving with shallow breath. “What if I never stop grieving him and it’s too painful to even look at my child? What if I…I just can’t do it?”

“That’s enough, now.” Jenny stood up and crossed the room so she could firmly grab Claire by the shoulders. “I willna lie to ye, Claire, ye will see Jamie in this child. But as much as it’ll pain ye, is it no’ a miracle as well? To have him with ye still?” Claire’s tears were falling freely. “I ken ye know that’s the truth. Yer just scairt now, is all. Ye ken, don’t ye? The miracle that this child is?”

Claire nodded, sniffling. “I do.”

“Good.” Some of her firmness melted away, and she cupped Claire’s face in her hands, swiping her tears away with her thumbs. “I also ken that ye’ll never stop truly grieving him. As much as I want to tell ye otherwise. He’ll always be missing from ye. But you are strong, Claire Fraser. Ye’ve survived hell and back, I ken it well. I know yer heart. Ye’d do anything fer yer bairns, no matter how it pains ye. A mother doesna quit no matter how her heart aches.” Jenny pulled her face down to kiss her forehead. “And you are a mother, Claire. Through and through.”

Claire pulled her into a tight embrace, clinging to her. “Thank you, Jenny.”

A little knock sounded again, and Jenny went to the door to take the pitcher from wee Laura. It was almost comical how she struggled to balance the pitcher and all the linens she’d brought with her. Jenny was about to pour a glass when Claire cried out again, waving blindly for something to grab onto. Jenny rushed to catch her and guided her to the bed. Laura watched with wide eyes, frozen still, holding the bundle of linens.

Claire squeezed Jenny’s hands as the wave of pain flooded over her, and Jenny soothed her all the while. It ended, and Jenny finished the task of getting her a glass of water.

“What shall I do with the cloth, Mistress?” Laura’s voice was even tinier than normal, if it were even possible.

“Put them there on the table,” Jenny indicated with her head, making sure Claire was drinking the water. “And then off to bed wi’ ye.”

“But Mother said I must help.”

“D’ye ken the most helpful thing ye could do?” Jenny asked. Laura shook her head. “Ye could make sure ye get a good night’s sleep so yer ready to help when the bairn is here. How does that sound?”

Laura nodded. “Yes, Mistress.”

She curtsied, and was off again.

Jenny quickly set to work wetting one of the rags in the cool water, then dabbing Claire’s sweaty face with it.

“That feels heavenly,” Claire panted, letting her head hang loose so Jenny could get to her neck.

“Good,” Jenny said. “Here, let’s get ye against the pillows now. They’re getting stronger.”

Claire nodded, scooting back into the pillows arranged at the headboard. “I don’t think I could get back up if I wanted to.” Claire put the glass on the night table beside her and adjusted herself to get more comfortable, if that was even possible. Jenny tugged the blankets out from underneath her and then pulled them over her legs.

Claire smiled wistfully.

“What?” Jenny said, looking up from her current task of rearranging the pillows behind Claire.

“You fuss over me like Jamie used to,” Claire said.

“Do I, now?”

“Indeed,” Claire chuckled softly. “He’d be beside himself if he were here.”

“He’d no’ be here, I can assure ye,” Jenny said. “I’d have Ian tie him to a tree if I had to.”

“I very much doubt that.” Claire winced as pain surged through her lower back. “You’d likely have to sedate him and drag him out of here. And even that might not work.” They both chuckled. “Though I think I’d want him here. If he could be.” Her gaze became far off, her voice small and sad. “Especially after the last time. Being without him, being alone was horrible.”

“Yer no’ alone,” Jenny said firmly, squeezing Claire’s hand.

“I know.”

Several minutes and several painful contractions later, Ian returned to the room, his face grave.

“Dinna tell me she’s no’ coming,” Jenny said, hands on her hips.

“She’s broken her leg and canna travel,” Ian said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Claire. I tried to rouse anyone that would listen, anyone to help.”

Claire opened her mouth to speak, but instead she wailed in agony again, her head lurching forward off the pillows, curling into herself. Jenny dutifully dabbed at her forehead. “It’s alright, sister, breathe now. There ye go.”

Exhausted, Claire collapsed back into the pillows, and Jenny held the water glass to her lips.

“Damnable woman is never here when we need her.” Jenny shook her head in disbelief.

“It’s alright,” Claire said, and Jenny put the glass back down. “I’ve delivered children before. I can guide you through this.”

“Through yer own birth?” Jenny said. “I can hardly remember the alphabet when I’m in this agony.”

“I’ll just have to find my senses somehow,” Claire chuckled.

“Is there anything I can do fer ye, lass?” Ian said.

“Ye can get to bed,” Jenny answered for her. “I’ll no’ have ye hovering.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mistress.” He bowed mockingly, and Jenny scoffed, waving him off as he left the room.

Ian was nearly barreled over by the lad coming down the hall.

“Maman!” Fergus burst into the room without knocking. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Fergus,” Claire insisted. “Come here.”

He obeyed sitting on the edge of the bed.

“The bairns are asleep, Milady, I promise,” he assured Jenny.

“Good lad.”

“How much longer until mon petit arrives?” Fergus asked.

“Based on how far apart and strong the contractions are, I’d say about one or two more hours?” Claire said, looking to Jenny, who nodded.

“Then I will stay awake.”

“You don’t have to darling.” Claire cupped his cheek. “You can get some rest, and we’ll wake you when the baby is here.”

“Are…are you sure?” He looked frightened, terrified even.

“Fergus…” Claire wrapped him in her arms. “The last time I had a baby it was not normal. Everything is fine right now. We’re both fine.”

He nodded in her arms, and she kissed the crown of his head.

“I promise we’ll get you if something happens.”

He pulled away and looked into her eyes, nodding. “One or two hours?”

“Maybe three,” Claire said, smiling.

“Alright, Maman. Good night.”

“Fergus.” She squeezed his hand as he tried to get up. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

——

Eleven hours.

Claire’s waters had broken at around eight in the evening, and she’d now been in labor for eleven hours.

Her entire body was aching, throbbing.

“Yer alright, Claire,” Jenny assured her for perhaps the millionth time. “Remember how long I was wi’ Maggie? A whole day and night.”

Claire nodded, bracing down as another horrible contraction wracked her body, her throat burning with the screams that ripped through her. Jenny was immediately upon her, dabbing her head, her neck.

“Breathe…that’s it. Good girl.”

Claire’s head fell back onto the pillows, her chest heaving. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ…”

“Take some more water.” Jenny held the glass to her lips, and Claire gratefully sipped.

“It’s been almost twelve hours…” Claire panted. “I don’t know how much longer I can bear this…”

“Ye can bear it, and ye will,” Jenny insisted. “It can’t be long now.”

“It feels like I’m being split in half…” Claire groaned. “Do you think he’s alright? What if something is wrong…if I felt the position incorrectly?”

Jenny pushed the blankets down and lifted up her shift to feel for herself. “It feels just right to me, Claire. His head is right there, see?” She brought her hands down so she could feel.

Claire nodded. “I just…I hate that I can’t feel him while this is happening…he could already be dead and I’d never know…”

“Enough of that,” Jenny said firmly, crossing herself again.

Claire began whimpering. “Christ…this one is going to hurt…”

Jenny sat down beside her and let her squeeze her hands, wincing herself when her grip tightened as the wave of pain coursed through her. If this scream hadn’t roused the entire house, nothing ever would.

Claire collapsed onto the pillows again, tears leaking out of her eyes, wide with panic. “Something is wrong.”

“What?”

“It’s…it’s wet…” Claire stammered, and Jenny tore away the covers. She gaped in horror at the large blood stain on the sheet between her legs.

“It’s blood isn’t it?”

“Aye,” Jenny gulped.

“Jenny. You have to stop the bleeding,” Claire said firmly. “Clean cloth, just shove it between my legs. As tightly as you can.”

Jenny nodded and set to work. Claire closed her eyes and tried to regulate her breathing the best she could. It would do her no good to panic. She needed to be as alert as possible.

“Jenny, the bleeding has to stop, or at least be slowed, before the cervix opens.” Jenny looked up from between her legs, bewildered. “Before the…the baby is ready to come out. I cannot lose consciousness before I start pushing him out, or he’ll be in the birth canal too long and he’ll suffocate.”

Jenny nodded fretfully. “I willna let that happen. Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

“Just get as much pressure on it as possible and change the rags when they’re full of blood.” Jenny nodded. “We may be able to slow it enough so that I can stay alive at least until he’s out.”

Jenny’s head whipped up from her work. “Oh no, ye’ll no’ be talking like that,” she said firmly.

“All I mean is…”

“I dinna care. I’ll not have ye writing a death sentence already. The bleeding will stop once the bairn is out, will it no’?”

“I…I don’t know,” Claire admitted, her heart skipping a beat. “I don’t know what’s going to happen…”

“Now, now.” Jenny moved back up to Claire’s side, taking her hand in hers and squeezing. “I’m right here wi’ ye, sister. Ye guided me through wi’ Maggie, and we are both alive and well. And I will do the same fer you.”

Claire nodded, trying to allow herself to believe that. The pain echoed through her again, this time unfathomably so. Jenny left one hand in Claire’s for her to squeeze and quickly got to work wiping her down with the rag in the other hand. The pain subsided after what seemed like an eternity, and Claire dissolved into sobs.

“They’re getting longer now,” Jenny said. “It’s alright.”

“I’m so frightened,” Claire cried desperately, unable to see through the pain or her tears. “I’m so terrified!”

“Hush now,” Jenny said, stroking her hair. “Tears won’t do the bairn any good.”

“Check the rags,” Claire stammered.

Jenny obeyed.

“Replace them immediately with clean ones, don’t leave it exposed.”

Jenny nodded, readying the clean ones and then working to unpack the soiled ones. Her hands began violently trembling and her throat closed. There was so much blood. She looked up at Claire, whose head was back on the pillows, staring at the ceiling. She was still weeping. She quickly threw the soiled rags on the floor before she could see, and replaced them with the clean ones.

“How bad is it?” Claire said.

Jenny wiped her hands on her apron and walked to the nightstand to fetch the glass of water. “Here. Drink.” She held the glass to Claire’s lips.

“How. Bad. Is it?” Claire repeated.

“Drink.” Jenny insisted, tipping the glass into her mouth. Claire coughed at first, but eventually was swallowing the water, more thirsty than she’d realized.

Satisfied when the glass was empty, Jenny set the glass down and got to work cooling her down again with the rag.

“He’ll be ready soon,” she said, forcing herself to smile at Claire. “Ye’ll look braw wi’ a bairn in yer arms, Claire. It’ll bring me great joy to see it.”

“The pain isn’t stopping…” Claire said. “It hurts…so badly…”

“I know, mo ghràidh, I know…”

“It’s not normal…” She was trying to raise her voice in alarm, but the energy she put into the words was dying on her lips. “I’m losing too much blood…” She was cut off by another wave of even more intense pain wracking her body. “Oh God…” She wailed, and yelled as the wave crashed into her.

“Breathe, Claire! Breathe…” Jenny rubbed her shoulders. “Breathe…that’s it…”

She was growing paler with every second.

Claire grunted and groaned as the contraction ended, panting heavily. “He’s coming…move…the rags…”

“Should we no’ get ye off the bed?”

“I shouldn’t be moved…that far…” Claire panted. “Would worsen the bleeding…Scoot me…closer to the foot of the bed…”

Jenny obeyed, helping her move and adjusting the pillows as she went. She rushed to retrieve more pillows from her own bedroom to keep Claire properly sitting up. She then got to work removing the cloth. She couldn’t tell if the amount of blood was just as bad or if it had gotten worse; the only thing she could tell is that it made her dizzy and sick to her stomach.

“Keep at least one…move it when…a contraction…”

Jenny nodded, understanding without forcing her to continue. “It’ll all be worth it when he’s here,” Jenny said, with a forced cheerfulness that did not manage to convince herself. “Should be within the hour.”

“Oh God…” Claire moaned, and Jenny could see her bracing herself for a contraction. Jenny quickly moved the rag, and was horrified to see the blood simply pooling on the sheet instead.

She gulped, forcing down the bile that had risen in her throat, and rushed to Claire’s side. “Alright, it’s time.” Jenny sat on the bed and gathered her weary body in her arms. “Take hold of me, now.” Claire desperately grasped both of Jenny’s hands that were wrapped around her. A high pitched keening noise started in the back of Claire’s throat, and it gradually transformed into an agonizing shriek.

“That’s it, push! Good, good!” Jenny encouraged, wincing as Claire bore her entire body weight down on her. The contraction ended, and Claire collapsed onto Jenny, eyes fluttering shut.

“Claire?” Jenny gave her a gentle shake, and they fluttered back open. “No time fer nappin’ just yet. One push isna enough.”

Claire breathed heavily, her chest heaving. Her arms were trembling. Jenny left her side to return to the foot of the bed to check in and to slow the bleeding some more. “I canna see him yet.” She stuffed clean rags between her legs, wiped her hands on her apron, and rushed to fill the water glass. She held the glass to Claire’s lips, her stomach churning at the way her eyes lolled open and shut, fighting to stay in focus.

“I think…” Jenny said, desperate to keep her awake by talking her ear off. “If the bairn is a girl, she and Kitty would be the best of friends, being so close in age.” Claire had been swallowing the water, but she suddenly began choking. The water was collecting in her mouth; she no longer had the strength to swallow.

“Or,” Jenny continued despite the new panic that set in. “If it was a lad, wee Jamie would be very pleased.” She put the glass down and set to wiping the cool rag on her face again. “Claire,” she said firmly. “Can ye look at me, lass?”

Moaning with the pain of the effort, she obeyed, her head falling onto her shoulder, her eyes glazed over. “He was so disappointed when Kitty was a girl. He wanted a wee brother so badly. He might keep this one all to himself if it’s a boy, ye may never see him again.” Jenny forced a small chuckle. Claire offered back a smile that made Jenny’s skin crawl; her eyes were half closed, her skin was so pale, it was almost ghostly.

“He’s going to grow up loved by so many people,” Jenny continued, putting down the rag and stroking Claire’s head with her hand. “All of his cousins will be all of his closest friends. Oh, and Fergus. I ken the lad is bursting to meet the bairn.”

“He’s…good boy…” Claire whispered.

“Aye, he’s a fine lad,” Jenny agreed, overjoyed to hear her speak. “He’ll be a fine brother to the bairn, boy or girl. Has he told ye which one he’d want?”

Claire shook her head. “He just…wants us…to be healthy—Ah!” Claire’s entire body seized up, and Jenny sprung up to remove the rags. Bloody still.

“Push, Claire,” Jenny said, rushing to grab her hand again. “Wi’ all the strength ye have!”

She obeyed, wailing in agony as she did. This one was a little longer than the last. When it ended, Jenny returned to replace the rags. “Still canna see him. The next one, surely.”

“Jenny…”

She didn’t hear at first…her voice was so weak.

“Jenny…”

Jenny poked her head out from between Claire’s legs, and her heart nearly stopped. She looked dead already, pale as anything and not moving at all.

“I’m here, sister…” She rushed to Claire’s side, squeezing her hand.

“Name…” Her eyes were a horrifying mixture of sluggish and desperate. “Brian…I promised…”

“None of that, now,” Jenny said kindly, yet firmly. “Ye’ll be naming him yerself.” She dipped the rag into the bowl of water and gently wet her forehead again. Jenny was startled to feel a strong squeeze of the hand that had previously been holding Claire’s. She looked down to see Claire’s hand trembling violently with the effort of squeezing Jenny’s.

“Save him…promise me…”

“Ye’re wasting yer strength, Claire.” Jenny firmly removed herself from Claire’s grip. “Ye’ll be needing it when the next wave comes.” She busied both of her hands with the rag on Claire’s face.

“Please…Jenny…” Her eyes lolled in and out of focus on Jenny’s face.

“Shh…” Jenny smoothed her hair and put the rag in the bowl. She started for the foot of the bed again, but she was once again stopped by Claire’s grip that should logically have not been as strong as it was.

“Promise.”

Jenny looked at her face, glistening with sweat and tears, terrified. She would not rest until Jenny gave her peace of mind.

So peace of mind she would not give.

“No.” Jenny said firmly, no kindness anymore. “I’ll no’ be promising anything. I’ll no’ give ye permission to waste away. My brother entrusted you to me, and I’ll no’ let him down. If ye die under my care, may he come from above and take me wi’ ye. I’ll not have it.” She hadn’t noticed that she’d been choking up until her voice caught in her throat. She swiped at her face with the back of her hand. “I canna live with myself if ye die. I ken he’d never forgive me.” It was Jenny’s turn to squeeze her hand, and tightly. “So I need ye to fight, Claire Fraser. And if the only thing that keeps you awake is my refusing yer peace of mind then so be it.”

New tears ran down Claire’s face, and Jenny mopped them up with the cold cloth. Her eyes began drooping closed, and Jenny threw the rag into the bowl and began repeatedly slapping both of Claire’s cheeks. It was enough to open her eyes again. Her face suddenly screwed up in familiar pain, and Jenny rushed to the foot of the bed. She removed the bloody rags from between Claire’s legs and threw them to the floor. Much to her dismay, she was still bleeding.

Jenny looked up at Claire, who was not screaming with the wave as it hit her. She was fading again, letting the pain take her into oblivion.

“No!” Jenny returned to her face, slapping her cheeks, harder this time. “If ye dinna push now, the bairn will be lost.”

Claire let out a heartbreaking whimper.

“Push, now! Yer killing yer child, Claire! Now!”

Claire’s entire body tensed and began violently trembling. The cries began in her chest and escaped her throat in a blood curdling scream. Jenny rushed back to the foot of the bed.

“Keep going, mo ghràidh! I can see his head!” It only lasted a few more seconds, however. The scream dissolved into sobbing, and Jenny hurried to shove more cloth between her legs in an attempt to slow the excessive bleeding that had still not abated.

“That was braw, Claire.” Jenny mopped down her face again, then held the glass of water to her lips. “Drink. That’s it. That’s fine.”

Even as she whispered words of comfort, Jenny could not ignore the horrific color Claire had turned. She was whiter than the sheets she lie on. Her lips were moving, but no sound was coming out, and they were tinged blue. Jenny’s heart was in her throat, but she swallowed thickly. She could not weaken, not now.

She pinched Claire’s cheek, stopping her from letting her eyes slide shut again. “Yer almost there, lass. They’ll be coming closer together now.”

As if on cue, Claire’s body tensed again. Jenny returned to the foot of the bed and removed the cloth again. She peered up at her face. “Claire!”

She obeyed without being told, letting out more horrible shrieks and pushing with every ounce of strength she could muster. “Dinna stop!” Jenny cried. “Don’t ye dare, Claire! Keep going!” The sounds she was making were tearing her guts out. Jenny thanked God she had never experienced a birth this painful, and yet simultaneously vowed that she would take this pain away from Claire and carry it herself if she could.

That particular wave ended, and Jenny sighed shakily from the foot of the bed. “Fine, fine.” She said, moving to her face again. Jenny’s heart nearly stopped. Claire was still as rock, her eyes closed.

“Claire!” She slapped her cheeks. She would not move. She pinched her cheeks. Slapped her again. Nothing.“A Dhia…” Jenny ran a shaking hand through her hair, her chest heaving with panic. The bairn was not out yet, but there would be no more pushing. They would surely both die if she didn’t do something.

#outlander #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #outlander au #claire fraser #jamie fraser #jenny murray #jenny fraser murray #ian murray #fergus fraser #brianna fraser

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ourplaceinthecosmosphff · 4 years

Text

Chapter 12. The Caged Bird Sings

‘i am sorry this world could not keep you safe may your journey home be a soft and peaceful one' rest in peace, Rupi Kaur

For as long as I can remember, every time we went out as a family, Louis, Lourdes, and I would fight for the window seats of the car. It's simply what happens when there's three siblings, and only two window seats. When it was a private occasion, my father would drive, mom by his side, and we would fight in the backseat. When it was a formal royal occasion, our parents would take a separate car and the three of us would ride with a driver and a security officer by his side, and we would fight in the backseat. That was how we drove that day, with one exception.

Lourdes and I were not fighting for the window seat.

The procession of the coffin was televised live. It rode through the streets on top of a royal carriage, draped with the Savoy flag with the royal coat of arms, a large arrangement of white roses sat atop monstera leaves, Louis' favorite, according to Peter, which we decided to use to underline the roses all over the church.

Cadie had informed me major networks from around 62 countries had applied for broadcasting rights and permits to send journalists to cover it. Savoy had never been a very famous monarchy before, the British usually took up all the air time, but today was different. Tragedy sells, I suppose.

The actual funeral lasted roughly two hours, from the moment we left the house on a stuffy and warm car, to the moment we left the church. I felt sweat in the back of my head and my hands itched, but there was nothing I could do. The gates were still crowded when we left the palace, but Lourdes and I found it difficult to look at the people; it hurt too much.

Though the streets were lined with people who’d gathered to watch us pass, watching the funeral on transmissions around parks, or listening to it on the radio, it was also unnervingly silent. The only noise was a general hum of sniffling, or sometimes loud crying, and the eventual shout from the crowd, with messages of support to our parents or ourselves, and promises to our brother that he wouldn’t be forgotten.

It was exhausting, looking stoically ahead pretending to be unbothered by the fact that my brother shouldn’t have to be remembered, he should have been here. He should have had the chance to leave his mark in the world. He had such plans for his country and the rule he’d play in it.

"Ma'am?" Joyce asked, from the front seat. "Do you need anything?"

Quietly, I shook my head no, and she repeated the question to my sister. Cadie would normally ride with us, but right before we left the palace, she had informed me it wasn't possible.

"Apparently," she had told me, "your new security protocol means you must have two protection officers with you at all times."

I pushed this new crum of information into a little box along with all the other questions I had about my new role within the royal family. My little box was heavy, full, cracking open against my will, but today was not the day to open it.

We walked behind out parents, Louis being carried ahead by the Royal Guards down the aisle to the sound of the Sainte Marie Madeleine Cathedral choir, a capella, singing I Heard the Voice of Jesus Say. The gothic Cathedral had been laid with white brick, which had become beige with time, but was still bright and lively, with purple and blue window glass and high domes.

"I heard the voice of Jesus say,

'Come unto Me, and rest;

Lay down, thou weary one, lay down

Thy head upon My breast'."

The Choir repeated the words until we were at the altar, where we stood, now a family of four, before my parents did the sign of the cross, and walked on to take their seats lining the sides of the altar, reserved for royals and family, and today occupied by us, our family on our mother's side, and foreign royals, who were always given family placement.

Unfortunately for me, Harry, his father and brother, had all been seated to the opposing side of the altar, which meant he was completely in my line of vision for the duration of the service.

Lourdes and I waited until our parents had walked on before we touched our foreheads, chest, and both shoulders in name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, before taking our seats next to our parents in the front row. It wasn't necessary to do the sign of the cross at the altar, though traditionally Catholics did it whenever we passed any church, but after a few tabloids criticized us for not doing it on church services in the past, simply because they didn't see us do it when we got out of the car, we had been instructed to do it as publicly as possible, so people could see.

Before out parents, place only former monarchs could occupy, sat our grandparents, so Lourdes and I lined up to curtsey and kiss their cheeks before taking out seats. Her mind was too far gone and she mostly didn’t speak anymore, but after I kissed her, my grandmother found my hand and held on tightly before I could move away. I looked at her, confused, and tried to give her a comforting smile; she reached over and cupped my cheek.

"Dieu vous bénisse." ‘God bless you’, she stuttered, voice rispid, low.

"Amen." I responded, on the same tone, squeezing her hand before standing up.

But she held me still, stronger than I thought she could be at her age. Instead, she pulled me down again, pulling my head beside hers to kiss my cheek.

Whispery, in my ear, she asked how I was. "Comment allez-vous?"

Avoiding the looks from my family around us due to the delay, I responded quickly that I was well. "Bien, grand-mère."

I pulled away again, but again she pulled me close. "Je ne te crois pas. Mais vous pouvez le faire."

'I don't believe you. But you can do this.'

Finally allowing me to go, she petted my hand and smiled. I lowered my head and took my seat.

The Archbishop began to speak as I braved to look at the first rows below, to make sure Peter was with friends, and in a close enough seat.

"We are gathered here today, to give thanks to our Lord, for the life of His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Louis-Adolphe of Savoy, seeking the comfort of the Holy Ghost for the hearts that will miss him most, after this untimely departure..."

I tried to tune out, but I couldn't. I heard every heartbreaking word. The Archbishop spoke of my brother's short life, of his joyful spirit that drew all around him closer, and asked that we may all remember him for his smile, and joy, and the joy he brought others.

There was a hymn, which I couldn't hear. When we stood up to sing, opening our programs, I remembered choosing the font, the songs, the paper. I remembered we chose On Eagles Wings, to be sang then by the student choir of the catholic boarding school Louis had attended, but the words did not register. Instead, I felt my heart beating in my head, almost lightheaded. Was it just me, or was it too warm? Had the Air coolers been turned on? I couldn't stop fidgeting with my gloves.

Finally, my mother reached out and held my right hand. The gesture took my by surprise, as she had barely looked at me for a week. She pressed out hands together tightly, but continued to sing following along to the words on her program.

She was wearing a black, wrap coat-dress with large, white lapels and cuffs, tight at the waist but round in the skirt that extended past her knees. Her large, round hat was black with white flowers on top, and I noticed that she wasn't wearing her usual statement necklace today. Instead, from her neck hang only a thin, gold scapular medal. I couldn't confirm without coming closer, but I suspected it was the Saint Sebastian scapular that had belonged to my brother.

We all got a scapular necklace on our confirmation day, as teenagers, and Louis had picked Saint Sebastian as his patron saint because he was the patron of athletes. The thought made me smile in that dreadful day.

After the song, we sat down as the Archbishop announced one of Louis’ closest friends from the Edinburgh University Polo team, of which my brother was the captain. He read a bible passage, and then there was another song. This was followed by the Prime Minister, a central-left leaning middle aged man, who took the stand to make a brief statement on how proud my brother had made his country, with particular focus to his time on the military.

There was yet another hymn, when I noticed my sister’s hands were shaking. I tried to think of something to comfort her, maybe hold her hands in mine like my mother had done, but this was when I noticed I, too, was shaking.

As the Cathedral fell silent after the song, Lourdes knew it was her turn to take to the altar and read the poem I had found her. But my sister didn’t move.

“Hey.” I whispered, leaning towards her. Her shaky hands fumbled with the program, which stated she was next, and me after her, but she still didn’t get up. “Lourdes?”

“Are you alright, dear?” Our mother asked, leaning over me. Lourdes gave her a quick, bitter look, and sighed.

“I can’t, Maggie.” She whispered, her voice nearly breaking.

I passed a hand up and down her back, comforting, and leaned over, so no one could see my response.

“It’s okay. I’ll go up with you. It’s just reading, you can do it.” I nodded, looking at her. She looked at me uncertain, so I nodded, encouragingly. “I’m next anyway. I’ll go with you. We can do it.”

She looked at the altar, down at the rest of the full Cathedral, and at the menacing cameras, “Nothing we can’t fix, right?”

I smiled. “Nothing at all.”

We stood together, and step by step took to the large, wooden pulpit, covered with black silk, avoiding looking at the coffin, or, in my case, at anyone else. I kept my hand to my sister’s back, hoping it was comforting, and she found the copy of the poem already at the altar, waiting for her.

“When great trees fall, rocks on distant hills shudder, lions hunker down in tall grasses, and even elephants lumber after safety.”

She did really well. She read poetry the way we were taught as children, enunciating the words clearly, reading each line slowly, taking pauses to look up and connect with the audience. She almost didn’t stutter at all, if it weren’t for the ending.

“Our memory, suddenly sharpened, examines, gnaws on kind words unsaid, promised walks never taken. Great souls die and our reality, bound to them, takes leave of us. Our souls, dependent upon their nurture, now shrink, wizened.”

I had chosen a poem slightly vague in the hope it would be easier for Lourdes, but even in her tender age of thirteen she could understand the final verses, the ones where it stopped being about trees, and started being about souls. That’s when she choked, paused, cleared her throat, and continued with a shaky, whispery voice the microphone barely captured.

“...And when great souls die, after a period peace blooms, slowly and always irregularly. Spaces fill with a kind of soothing electric vibration. Our senses, restored, never to be the same, whisper to us.” She paused again, and I saw tears stain the paper, “They existed. They existed. We can be. Be and be better.” She looked up, bravely. “For they existed.”

She took some time to fold the page, looking down, and then looked at me with trembling lips.

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head, drying her eyes.

“You did great.” I whispered, petting her back.

“Do you want me to stay with you?”

The question, the sweet, selfless concern for me even through her anguish, brought a knot to my throat that I had to swallow in order to speak. “It’s okay, you don’t have to.”

She stepped down from the altar and walked back to our seats, where mom reached out her hand before she sat down and pulled her over to my seat.

In the pulpit in front of me, right under Lourdes’ poem, sat the two pages with my eulogy, a letter I wrote to my brother, thanking him for being a wonderful, faultless, military man. Louis himself would have hated it -- we both knew our time in the armed forces was a brief rite of passage at best, a PR stunt at worst.

But it was when I looked down, and moved the folded page of Lourdes’ poem behind my letter, that I decided I couldn’t read it. The words were still visible, ‘we can be, be and be better, for they existed’.

Taking in a deep breath, I looked up, down the many, filled rows in the wide Cathedral, and did the one thing I had been taught from infancy never to do: I improvised.

“Dear--”, I cleared my throat, a little taken by the sudden volume of my voice in the microphone, “Dear--”

The thing is, we’re not meant to be personal -- royals, I mean. We’re meant to be an institution one should admire, but not necessarily relate to. If people relate to us it begs the question, why are we needed? Why are we special? But… as I bit my lower lip in anxiety so hard it actually hurt, watching all the faces in front of me, I knew there was simply no other option. I couldn’t do this to him. I couldn’t erase who he was over who the family needed him remembered as.

So instead of starting by addressing the congregation, I skipped to the part I knew was more important.

“This past week my family and I have experienced kindness like never before. Not only from our dear family and friends, but from people all over the country we have never had the joy to meet. We were born and raised here, and as such, each of us already knew that at the hearts of every Savoyen, by birth or choice, lays incomparable kindness and compassion to our neighbours.”

The next part was a thank you to every branch of government and official who had expressed their sentiments that past week, but it wasn’t important. So I skipped it. “My brother was Savoyen, and as such, he had that in common with all of you.”

I should have read the part about his time in the military and how it shaped who he became, but I knew it wasn’t true. It had changed him, sure, like everything in his life, but it wasn’t important either. So I thought of Louis, of his last pieces of advice, about standing up for myself and deserving nice things… and improvised.

“Louis-Adolphe always strived to highlight the best possible outcome to any circumstance. He seeked to always see people not for who they were, but for who they could be. He had some kind of innate goodness that always made me feel slightly guilty for not being better, which he would have been upset to find out, because he never allowed anyone around him to speak ill of themselves.”

I looked to the section of the Cathedral where his friends were sitting, his university friends, traveled from Scotland, and his old boarding school friends, who’d come from all over the country, and some from all over the world, to be here, to remember him.

“He went out of his way to make people feel welcomed, accepted, equal. I have heard from more than one old classmate that they never thought Louis really knew their name before he reached out and asked them, by name, if they wanted to sit with him and his friends for lunch, or be part of their group for a project. You may have heard similar stories over the past week, and I hope you’ll continue to as the time goes by. But if I’m honest, and I think my brother would have told me to be… as much as those stories are heartwarming and comforting at this terrible time… they’re only one part of who my brother was. They’re true, yes, but… my brother was more than that.”

I stared at the paper, more to distract myself from the confused looks from my older family members than anything else. My brother wasn’t just the achievements worthy of the family tree. He was more.

“The problem with remembering someone as a perfect, faultless public figure is that in memorializing them we also risk romanticizing them, and what is that if not erasing part of who they were in favor of creating a beautiful, shiny memory that is, if not real, just easier to remember?”

All eyes on me now looked… intrigued. Worried. I had a pulsating stomach ache and my heart was beating too fast, so I looked, at last, to my left, and found the pair of blue eyes that I knew would not be judgemental. I was right. Harry was looking at me with the same soft yearning that had made me so uncomfortable in London, only a week ago. It gave me strength to continue.

“I want my brother to be remembered, but I want him to be remembered for who he was.” I told them, “Louis… Louis was real. Real as in that quote from The Velveteen Rabbit, by Margery Williams, that our mother read to us as children, ‘Real isn’t how you are made. It’s a thing that happens to you.’ It’s what happens when you are loved for a long, long time. ‘Once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand’. My brother should have been loved much longer, but he was real.”

I felt the pain in my throat before hearing my magnified voice break. I paused, drawing in a long, deep breath.

“He had a… sarcastic, teasing sense of humor. He had a lot of opinions on things most of us don’t think too much about. If you weren’t drinking a Manhattan or a Sidecar, he likely had thoughts about your choice of drink. He thought cargo shorts should be abolished. He thought modern art was boring. He called dibs on the window seat in every car ride. He hated driving, but also hated having to walk anywhere farther than six blocks, and he hated peas.”

I heard a low chuckle, and looking to my right, I was faced with the sight of my own father silently laughing to himself, eyes closed, my mother’s hand in his. It gave me strength to continue.

“You heard from Jackson earlier how passionate he was on the Edinburgh University Polo team, and though I agree with him, I think he would agree with me that despite the passion, Louis wasn’t great at polo... He was okay.” I shrugged, casually, drawing a general chuckle from the piews. The smiles gave me strength to continue.

“He wasn’t some undiscovered genius, but he was really smart. Louis started studying classics in University, he loved literature and philosophy… but he later changed to social anthropology and social policy, because he… he wanted to better understand the world. He wanted to learn how to be better for, well… for you. For his country.”

“My brother should have been loved much longer, but he was loved.” In the front rows, after our extended family, I could see Peter. He had a friend holding his hand, but his eyes were on me, a smile in his lips. “Not just by us. Not just by you. By the people outside this Cathedral. By the wonderful people outside of our home right now, who have congregated at our gates every day this week to be together, to honor him, to bring flowers to a boy they should have had the time to meet. I’m so sorry you haven’t. You should have. He would have loved to meet you… He loved attention.”

I laughed, just as I felt two tears escape my eyes, and tried to catch them in my gloved hands as fast as I could, but my voice was now strained, shaky.

I stared at the paper, at the wishes of better days that would surely come, every word made more bitter than the last. So I didn’t read them. Instead, I thought of what my brother would have wanted.

“If I was a better person… Better yet, if I was Louis-Adolphe, I would finish this with an optimistic reminder to all the good that is yet to come despite the pain we are in today. My brother would want us to know that we can come together through hard times and come out stronger than before.”

But that was the biggest tragedy: my brother had wanted a lot of things. He wanted a graduation, parties, trips. He wanted to come out to our parents and to be his truest self while helping our country grow and thrive. But he would never have that chance.

“But I am not him. And I will continue to try to be the better version of me he thought I could be, but today, I am not.” Another tear fell down my cheeks, as I struggled to speak through an aching throat. “Today I am just his sister, who won’t get to see him graduate from University in six months, who won’t get to stand with him on his wedding day, or tease him when he inevitably became an annoyingly protective father. Today my parents lost their only son, my sister, who is too young to be wearing black, knows what grief feels like, and far too many people with a lot of love for my brother in their hearts, don’t know where to put it.”

In my seat, Lourdes was crying again. Our mother reached an arm around her shoulders and, this time, Lourdes didn’t flinch.

“Today I understand W. H. Auden when he said, ‘The stars are not wanted now; put out every one… For nothing now can ever come to any good.’ I understand Frost’s ‘Nothing gold can stay.’ Today I just… miss him. So, yes, as Louis would remind us, there will be good. We will come together. But today?” I sighed, as I caught another tear in my cheek. “Today he existed, he was real. And maybe just for today, that’s enough.”

There was a moment, a few seconds long, of silence, where I realized I didn’t know how to end it. So I merely looked down, and back up before saying, “Thank you.” And moved to leave.

As I turned, seeing the look on the Archbishop’s eyes, I remembered I was supposed to introduce the next song, so I turned around, back to the pulpit, just as we heard a loud, distant rumble from outside. Confused, I looked around, checking if there was some kind of emergency, but the doubt was quickly extinguished. It was the crowd outside. They were… cheering.

I looked at my father, uncertain, but he was smiling up at me with a sad look in his eyes.

“In honor of my brother, our dear family friend, Constance Parrish-von-Bernstein, will now perform one of his favorite songs to destroy at karaokes.”

It was Drops of Jupiter, and she did an amazing, if very Constance, job. My friend was wearing a midi length black dress and her short, freshly blonde hair, had been styled with fifties curls that matched the simple, round, black fascinator with a see-through fishnet partly covering her eyes. She was accompanied by the Cathedral’s orchestra, and started as poised as the occasion, and her look, demanded.

But after the first chorus, there was a drum beat, violins, and a soul vacation, chasing her way through a constellation, and I don’t think Constance could have sand the words ‘plain ol' Jane, told a story about a man, who was too afraid to fly so he never did land’ with any less energy than she did, which is precisely why she was the right person for this, because that was the only way my brother ever sang that song, if in a much worse voice. By the time she sang the bridge, Constance’s voice was louder, her hands were in the air, her eyes closed, and her performance so beautifully her own we couldn’t help but smile.

My cousins then took turns leading the standing congregation on the Lord’s Prayer, before a minister delivered a short message of togetherness on the face of tragedy. Then there was another song and by the end, my father stood and walked to the pulpit, ready to deliver his own eulogy.

He walked calmly, stood before the pulpit with unshaken hands, looked up with sadness in his eyes, and started speaking about Louis. He spoke strongly, clearly, but not without some nostalgia to his words. Every ‘was’ instead of ‘is’ in reference to my brother was, after all, a dagger to the heart. My whole life, my father had been a steady, stoic presence; it was in his nature, it’s how he was raised. He was born to be king and kings had a duty to be an unwavering sign of comfort and strength. At times such as today, it was hard to remember this facade may be just that: a mask; something he did for the country, not for us, not for Louis, nor himself.

“And thus, my son,” he went on, lively, if sadly, “was a powerful light through the darkness, not only in our lives, but I’m sure, in yours as well. In the lives of all those lucky enough to have met him. From an early age we knew he had in his heart a natural love for his home that so many of us can relate to, a need to see Savoy and its people standing strong, well represented, well cared for. It’s what he did, it’s who he was. A carer. I wish--”

He gulped, and one of his hands came up to cover his mouth in an anxious move. His hand was shaking.

“Today, I am sure Louis-Adolphe would have rested easy, knowing our future rests in good hands...” He paused, dramatically, staring down at his printed speech, “...that of my brave, intelligent, capable daughter, Crown Princess Marie-Margueritte of Savoy, who, as his older sister, helped us teach my son to love his home and, I have no doubts, will excel in this new role as she has in everything else in her life.”

Feeling my heart beating in my throat - and the eyes of the entire Cathedral on me -, I didn’t stop looking at my father. His eyes found me now.

“Her brother would have been as proud and supportive of her as we are.”

I looked down, motionless. He continued to speak for another while, before thanking the country for their support and stepping down. When he reached us again, he stopped before me, grabbed my hands in his and pulled me to my feet, enveloping me in a quick, strong hug, before stepping away again, back to his seat, his eyes avoiding mine.

I was so utterly confused it took me a long time to realize we had to stand up again. The Archbishop led us in a final prayer, blessed my brother’s coffin, and soon the choir was singing again.

I tried to focus, to center myself around the only thing that mattered today -- Louis. But just as I risked a look up, my eyes found Harry again. His lips moved calmly to the song, his eyes on the lyrics on his program.

‘...my brave, intelligent, capable daughter, Crown Princess Marie-Margueritte of Savoy’, the words ringed in my ears just as Harry looked up, his eyes darting straight to me, with purpose. When they met mine, I could see it: his hands on mine, his lips on mine, his life with mine, as one.

I felt a chill down my spine just as I remembered my father’s voice again, claiming his conviction that I would ‘excel in this new role as she has in everything else in her life.’ Painfully, I took my eyes from his, feeling my palms sweating again.

My sister asked if I was okay and I didn’t know how to respond. For a whole week, feeling lost and helpless, he had avoided me. Delegated his own son’s funeral to me, demanded no one call me Crown Princess, allowed my mother to self-exile in her room, avoided any request to meet with me, refusing to answer any pertinent question because it was ‘not the time’. One week when all I had was a moody teenager and a lot of plans that needed to be made, and I had nothing from him. Even in private, in his office, in our home, I was left alone.

One week when not only us, but the entire country mourned and waited with baited breath, probably wandering, as I was, if I was capable of my new role. All I wanted, all I had needed, was for him to tell me I was. To explain what I needed to do, what was coming, and all I had was nothing.

Lourdes pulled me to my feet as the royal guards prepared to carry the coffin out again; the funeral was over. The choir still echoed the words of Blest Are They as we filed behind my parents to make our exit, and I felt sick to my stomach. Walking out of our seat area, down the steps to the aisle, I stole one last look to the life I could have had; Harry was already looking at me, my sadness in his eyes. His brother was looking at him, intrigued. I gulped, and stared ahead.

I wanted to remove my gloves, but Lourdes was holding my hand and refusing to let go. I started biting my lower lip, trying to keep it from trembling as I felt a knot in my throat. We started filing out, the coffin leading the way, my parents behind, and each of us in the order of the line of succession, but I stopped.

I couldn’t move. My feet felt too heavy on the floor, the memory of my brother’s body inside his new wooden home, too heavy in my head. How was I meant to believe I could take on any of it? My own father couldn’t say it to me, even if he did seem to be able to say to the entire world. Did he even mean it? Or was that line about just one more thing he did for the benefit of the country?

On my left, Lourdes was holding on to my hand and asking if I was okay, reminding me we had to move. I felt myself breathless, heart beating painfully in my chest, when another hand reached for my right one. I looked over, finding Christopher.

“Hey, bunny.” He whispered, a small smile on his lips. “Are you okay?”

He’d been sitting in one of the first rows, close to Peter and Faye, right after the initial rows with our extended family members. It was almost right next to this spot I seemed to have frozen.

“It’s okay, love,” he added, grasping tighter to my hand with both of his, “I’m here, I’m right here with you, we can do this.”

He passed an arm around my shoulders and led us out of the Cathedral.

I didn’t stop to remember it was a bad idea. I didn’t think that Chris wasn’t family, and so had to wait until we were all out before he could leave with the other guests, I didn’t think of the optics. He was there, warm hand in mine, reminding me my life had been calm and happy once, when he was in it, and if so I could get there again.

So I just held on to the past and tried to ignore the awful, heartless present.

--- ---- ---

The burial was private and fast. The Priest who baptized Louis made a final prayer. My mother cried harder than I had ever seen before. Lourdes fell apart, but allowed me to hold her. I watched, struggling to breathe, wondering if we would ever feel anything other than that pain.

We didn’t have time to compose ourselves, we were just expected to, and then had to be presentable for the post-funeral reception where we stood, side by side, as a family, while our guests came by to give us their condolences and say nice things about the service.

In between people, I tried to talk to my parents, but never could. My father always had an advisor or politician in his ear about work; my mother was still glassy eyed and distant, and seemed to notice none of my words, just how my hat looked. Even if they did seem to listen, I found myself having to choose between them and Lourdes, who was neither eating or drinking, and eventually started to look like she was about to faint, so I found Natalie and had her and her sister Sarah take her to her room and make sure she rested.

Eventually, when we were done talking to people, I cornered my father before another official approached.

“Papa,” I started, as softly as possible, trying to remind myself to be delicate in these trying times, “I want to talk about your eulogy today.”

“Was it bad?” He asked, fixing a strand of hair behind my ear. “You did wonderfully, honey.”

“I need to talk about… this. About my new position, my new title–”

He sighed. “Not now, Maggie.”

“Why?” I asked. “You were willing to talk about it to everyone from the pulpit today--”

“The advisors told me there had been unrest about… all of this. Some assurance of our support was needed.”

“Is that it?” I asked, almost laughing, humorlessly, “Is the support even real or-?”

“I told you, not now, Maggie.”

“When? It’s been a week, I have questions, I have… a job–”

“Margueritte.” He admonished, harsh, but whispery. “Your brother’s body hasn’t been in the ground for one hour, I think you’ll find this can wait.”

Schooling his features to be as stoic as the public knew them to be, he turned away from me and the conversation was over.

I felt guilty almost immediately. I told myself he was right. It was too soon. There would be plenty of time. We didn’t need to rush this just because I was impatient… but my hands shook. A knot so big took over my throat I could no longer breathe. I turned around, ready to find the next person I had to talk to, but couldn’t. So I left the room in hurried steps and, alone in the hallway, ran towards the South staircase, taking off my shoes as soon as I could so I could run faster.

I knew this was stupid, I knew I was needed. It was my job, my duty, to stay and make conversation, build a sense of togetherness with our family and supporters. Still, my throat hurt from the knot I was trying to suppress, and my head hurt too much, and I was so tired of pretending to be fine when I wanted nothing more than to explode into a million pieces.

In the upper floor, closer to the South wing, there was a set of simple double doors to the servants’ passages, a set of corridors that in old times were used to get through the palace without being seen, and staff today used as shortcuts. It was emptier, more private, so I walked in and climbed up the stone stairs towards the west tower, no clue where I was going, but glad to be alone.

My shoes became too heavy in my hands and my head hurt too much, so I dropped my shoes to the floor, telling myself I could come find them later, and started trying to pull out the bobby pins in my hair to remove my fascinator, but there were too many of them, and my hands were shaking, and it was all too much, and I was afraid to trip on the steps, and finally I could only pull my hair and scream, throwing the few pins in my hands to the floor, closing my eyes tightly and hoping I could just pass out and wake up months into the future when things were… better.

I painted, breathless, and finally allowed the tears I’d been suppressing to fall freely down my cheeks.

“Marie--?”

Jumping slightly, I turned back to see Harry. He had my shoes in his hand like we were in Cinderella, if Cinderella had been in the middle of a mental breakdown when the prince found her.

Overcome by shame and regret, I cried harder, letting out a cold, sarcastic scoff.

“Mon Dieu, of course you’re here!” I patted my cheeks with my cheeks with both hands, trying to dry them as I continued up the stairs.

“Marie, I just want to help--”

“I’m fine!” I told him, not turning back, but he raced up, past me, blocking my way.

“You’re not,” he whispered, “and that’s okay.”

“I’m telling you, it’s fine, I’ll be fine!”

He held onto my arms when I tried to move past him, and I felt the knot in my throat get worse, and more tears escape my eyes, and my knees buckle as, back to the wall, I slid down to sit on the stone steps, now crying openly, against my will.

“I’m fine!” I said, rather uselessly, amidst a hiccup, “I’ll be fine, just go away.”

He sat down in front of me, still holding onto my arms, unbearably close.

“Okay.” He said. “If you want me to leave, I’ll leave. I just wanted to say… that you don’t have to be fine right now…”

I shut my eyes as the pain moved away from my throat through my whole body; I gave up trying to contain my tears, it wasn’t like he couldn’t see them, anyway. So, before he got up, I just reached over and grabbed two fistfulls of his suit and kept him in place. I didn’t so much lean forward to cry on him, as I just… fell. As if I didn’t have the strength to sit up anymore. As if his chest was magnetic; as if my head belonged in the crease of his neck.

His arms wrapped around me and, miraculously, I wasn’t ashamed anymore. I wanted to be, I felt I should be, but I wasn’t. I felt… hurt. Broken. Lonely. But not ashamed. I felt his warm palms smooth over my back in a calming motion, and my crying only got louder.

“I can’t do this.” I cried. “I can’t do this…”

“Hey, hey…” He whispered, “Of course you can.”

I shook my head, “My brother is gone, Harry.”

His arms tightened around me. “I know.”

“I can’t do this.”

“Of course you can.” He repeated. “Even he knew it. You were one of the smartest people he knew.”

“Even my father doesn’t think I can.”

“Your father is only human.” He looked down, cupping my cheek with his hand so I’d look at him. “He is flawed.”

I was unprepared for the blue hue of his eyes up close, after so long. I could almost count his faint freckles. The sight was so astonishing it almost calmed me. I sat back up, leaning back from his only slightly.

“And if he can’t see how amazing you’ll be at this, then it only proves it. I can see it… Your brother could see it… Those people outside of the Cathedral today could see it. Didn’t you hear them cheering for you?” His lips curled into a smile at the memory, “They can already picture you in a crown.”

I shut my eyes forcefully again. “It’s not, not that simple… I have a job, I have--”

“Marie.” He stopped me, holding on to both my hands with his, “I know. I know this is a lot… but there’s no part of this that I don’t think you can do.”

We let the silence sit still for a moment. When I looked at him, his profile illuminated by the window behind him, I was reminded of how handsome he looked in a suit. Feeling ashamed of this very thought, I raised my hand to feel my hair, realizing it was as messy as I had left it when he surprised me. I started trying to pull out the bobby pins when he looked at me.

“Heavy hat?” He asked, a soft attempted smile in his lips.

I scoffed, sarcastic, “Heavy is the head that wears the… hat.”

He sat up, coming closer to me, and tentatively, started to feel around my hair slowly with his hands for the pins. Finally realizing just how dramatic the moment had been, I finally felt the full embarrassment I had earned in the moment. But the silence was... comforting; it felt warm, and the touch of his fingers made me want to lay my head in his chest and fall asleep.

“I know it’s a lot.” He said, whispery. “But for whatever is worth, I liked your eulogy.”

“...I improvised.”

He smiled. “I thought you may have. It was good, sincere, and appropriate...ish.”

I took my eyes from his chest, finding his eyes focused on my hair, “I’m glad you’re here.”

He looked at me. “Here in… the stairs?”

“In the country. For the funeral.”

He nodded. “Me too. I wasn’t… I wasn’t sure it was, appropriate.”

“...Ish.” I teased, making him smile.

“Had to fight for them to let me come. They only said yes because you guys were over only a couple of days before.”

He pulled a couple of pins, and put them in his pocket to free his hands.

“...Did you ever wonder?” I asked; his eyes found mine, but he focused on my hair again quickly after. “What you would do if, God forbid, if this happened to you?” I explained.

His hands stopped moving; he brought them down, putting another couple of pins in his pocket. He seemed thoughtful for a few seconds, but still not any closer to an answer.

“No, of course not.” I answered for him. “Changes to lines of succession are such a thing of the past. With all our security and the eyes of the world on us, who could ever think something like this was possible?”

He sighed, and I thought his eyes might look watery, but it could have been my own.

Eventually he pulled the last pin and ran his hands around my hair one more time, slowly.

“I think that’s it. How do I--?” He pulled out my fascinator, and I smoothed my hands over my hair, feeling the presence of one more pin that I didn’t have the energy to pull out.

He held out his hands to give me the pins, but I was too busy looking into his eyes, so instead he put them all in his jacket pocket, and the hat next to my shoes.

“I want to say something, but all I can think of is asking if you’re alright.”

When I scoffed, sarcastically, he shook his head, blushing. “I know, stupid question. I just…” He looked at me, “I want to say something, but I don’t know what.”

“Me too.” We sat in silence, when I tried to lighten the moment. “Though I’m surprised you can’t think of anything. No inopportune questions? No sage wisdom about how to survive grief in the public sphere from the expert?”

He grinned. “Right, the expert… Prince Harry and his perfectly functional childhood, who never went to Vegas or wore a terrible costume to a party…”

And then I laughed; a sincere, heartfelt, short laugh. Can you imagine?

“I don’t know… you turned out okay.”

“I’m obviously not a great person to ask… but,” he sighed, “I guess, distraction. Distraction would be my best advice.”

“Use distractions to suppress the pain, got it.”

He laughed, something that still felt rare and exciting, even amidst all of this.

“Not what I said! Just… you know… time will do most of the work, you know? In… well, I hate to sound like a therapist, but in healing. You’ll need time. It’ll feel like too much time. It’ll feel like time is slowing down, but… time is the only thing that helps. And until time passes, there will be... a lot. The press, the rumors, as soon as they can’t milk the funeral for headlines anymore, they’ll start to make things up. So, from the pain and from the outside mess, I suggest…”

“Distraction.” I completed his sentence, and he looked at me.

“Yes.” He nodded. “And… try to be honest. About your feelings, with the people you love and who love you.”

I had to look away; it felt to me there was a question that needed to be asked here - are you one of those people? - but I couldn't ask it. So I looked away, leaning back to rest my back against the wall.

“Yesterday was supposed to be our first date.”

He gulped, and looked at me intensely for two brief yet long seconds, before looking away.

“Maybe in an alternate reality we would be going on our second one right about now.” He added.

From his tone, it was clear he hadn’t meant for this kind of distraction. But I couldn’t help it, I was desperate to talk about it; that alternate reality we almost had.

“I would have chosen the passion fruit sauce salmon.”

He smiled. “I would… I would have thoroughly researched the wine list to chose something fancy and make you think I’m sophisticated.”

I laughed again, softly, feeling my cheeks blush.

“And then would have ruined it by ordering something dumb like… like the French onion soup that would make you not want to kiss me later.”

His words hang in the air like perfume as our smiles faded. My eyes were on his, but he refused to look at me.

“I would have kissed you.” I whispered, and now he looked at me.

I knew I had nothing he wanted anymore. Or, better yet, I knew I had a lot he didn’t want now. I knew it should be enough to stop this conversation and make us both focus on our now very different realities, but it wasn’t. Because our reality at that moment was one: we were there, sitting in the stone, narrow steps of a staircase, facing each other, thinking of what we could have had which, only a week before, was all we had ever wanted. That was the only reality that existed in that very fleeting moment, and it was such a comforting one, such a peaceful one, that I wanted to stay in it. To drown in it. To forget any other existed. So I let that novel hope take over my heart, and leaned forward to press my lips to his.

“Marie--” his hand cupped my cheeks as he leaned back.

“I’m so tired of feeling pain.” I confessed, whispery, kissing his neck when he looked away. “I just… I just need to feel something else.”

I kissed his neck softly, running my hand up his leg as I did, moving up to his ear; his grasp became tighter, now in my hair. His breath came out heavy; his familiar smell taking over my every sense, “Help me.” Looking into his eyes, I brushed my nose against his. “Help me feel something good.”

But just before I could kiss him, his hands were in my arms again, this time pushing me ever so slightly away.

“Marie…” He said, looking away, his breath tantalizing as it his my lips. His hand resting above mine, pulled it away from his leg. “I just… I don’t…”

I looked away, now more ashamed than before, and gulped. “Of course. I understand.”

I grabbed my shoes and hat, and got to my feet.

“Marie, please, let me--”

“I get it!” I shouted, flinching at my own volume. “Sorry. I get it, it’s okay.” I said, calmer. “Of course it’s okay. Really.”

I climbed the final steps up, trying to will the floor into opening up and swallowing me whole.

I opened the first door out of the stairs space and walked out into a semi-chamber with cement walls and a set of wooden doors. I marched towards the one in the general direction of my room.

“Marie!” Harry called, following me in hurried steps. He held onto my elbow, pulling me back. “Please, Marie, just--”

“Stop calling me that!” I pulled my arm from him, feeling the familiar threatening knot on my throat as my eyes watered.

“...Marie?” He asked, confused. “It’s your name.”

“Yes!” I nodded, looking to the floor as I felt my cheeks wet again. “...but you never used it before.” I confessed, softly.

I cleaned my tears to avoid his eyes.

“Ma--” he stopped himself, so I never found out which version of my name he was going to use.

“I get it.” I told him, calm. Then, drying another tear, I tried to smile. “I know it doesn’t look like it, because of the crying, but I do, I promise.” I nodded, emphatically.

He looked at me, eyelids fluttering, eyes sad, hands fidgety.

I shrugged, still trying to smile. “I get it. Last week you flirted with a girl who was free to flirt back. I’m not free anymore.”

Turning around, I opened the door and walked out as fast as I could.

By the time I walked into the shared sitting room in our apartment, I had already cried again and dried my cheeks as well as I could. The dogs were walking around, playing together. In one of the sofas, scrolling through his phone, was Christopher, as if I had traveled in time back to when I came home to him everyday after work.

He looked up at me, and smiled. “Hey, baby.”

I walked over to him, dropping my shoes and fascinator to the floor. He put his phone away, brows creasing as he inspected my features.

When I got to him, his hands cupped my cheeks softly, as they’d done so many times in the past. “You’ve been crying?” He asked, concerned, before delicately kissing my forehead. “It’s okay, bunny. It’s gonna be okay.”

Reaching up, I pulled his hands from my face, and laced our fingers together. I made my way to my room, pulling him after me.

Then I closed the door, hoping to leave the pain outside.

--- ---- ---

Outfits

[A/N: Sorry about the delay! I’m home and so grateful to you for reading!!!! Let me know your thoughts????? THANKS]

#Princeharryff #prince harry fanfic #prince harry fanfiction #princeharryfanfiction #Princeharryfanfic #prince harry #brf #modern royalty au #modern royalty fanfic #fanfiction #OPITCphff #chapters

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ladycumhangabhainn · 3 years

Text

Dans un autre monde - Part 11

The ride back from Craigh na Dun was spent in relative silence, except for Roger quiet sobs. Mrs Graham was sitting in the back seat with him while a red eyed Reverend drove the Anglia back to Inverness. As much as he had believed everything Claire had told him, actually seeing her and the girls passing through the Stones had made things even more real.

As they pulled into the rectory’s driveway, they noticed a forest green Land Rover parked by the entrance and a young couple waiting.

“Father, look! It’s Auntie Claire!”

The reverend had barely stopped the car before the little boy opened the door and ran toward the young woman who, while looking incredibly like Claire, was clearly too tall and looked much younger.

“Auntie Claire! I knew ye’d be back! Where are... Ye’re not me Auntie Claire!”

The young woman smiled warmly, crouching to the little boy.

“No, I’m not your Auntie Claire. My name’s Clara and you, dashing wee gentleman, must be Roger. I heard a lot about you, young man.”

“Ye ken my Auntie Claire?! She just left with the girls...”

“I... You could say I know her... Here, this nice man is my cousin, who’s also named Roger. If you ask nicely he’ll show you around his brand new Rover...”

The little boy didn’t need to be told twice and ran toward the redheaded young man.

“May we help ye, Miss...”

“Fraser, Clara Fraser from Fraser Press. And this is my cousin, Roger Murray. It’s an honour to finally meet you, Reverend Wakefield.”

“I imagine ye are nae here to bring me new published books...”

“No, I’m not...”

“Well, we should all get inside, right Reverend? Roger, lad!”

Both Roger turned toward Mrs Graham, making Clara Fraser laugh softly.

“A Diah! There’s two of them now... Come, both of ye!”

***

Clara Fraser and Roger Murray were seated in the sitting room of the rectory, waiting for Mrs Graham and the Reverend. The former had taken wee Roger to his room while the latter was fetching his best Scotch.

“I cannae believe it, Clara! It’s Roger Mac and he’s a wee laddie!”

“Hush, Roger! You know we can’t let them know about that... But you’re right, it’s quite bizarre. Wait ‘til we tell Grand-Père...”

The Reverend and Mrs Graham finally joined them, bringing a decanter and glasses.

“So... Miss Fraser, Mister Murray...” started the Reverend. “If I remember correctly from what Claire told us, I would assume that ye are both related to her...”

“You are correct. Both Roger and I are descendants of Claire and James Fraser. I... I don’t know what we should and what we shouldn’t tell you... This whole time travelling...”

The two cousins exchanged looks before coming up with an answer.

“Clara is a direct descendant of Claire and Jamie’s first son, Fergus. As fer me, my da is a direct descendant of Jamie’s sister, Jenny, and my ma is Clara’s aunt, a descendant of Fergus.”

“So ye must ken that Claire and the wee lasses left this morning...”

Clara nodded.

“As you must know, Fraser Press was first established as a printshop by Fergus Fraser, Claire and Jamie’s son... Our many times great-grandfather... When he first started it, his mother gave him and his descendants a task, an important task. She gave Fergus a large chest, containing hundreds of letters she wrote for a man who wasn’t even born yet. Fraser Press kept this chest through the year until it was time to bring it here and give you the first of the letter.”

She searched her handbag and handed him a letter sealed with wax.

“This is the first letter... We have a very specific timeline for each of the others. We will post them accordingly.”

The Reverend looked at the wax seal bearing the crest of the Fraser of Lovat and their moto, Je Suis Prest.

“Reverend... May I ask ye something?”

“Go ahead, son...”

“What is she like? Claire, I mean... We saw portraits, there is a rather large one at Lallybroch and another one at Grand-Père Fraser’s house in Edinburgh...”

Mrs Graham was the one to answer, seeing as the Reverend was clearly taken by emotion.

“She’s quite the lady, our Claire. Ahead of her time, even by today’s standard, right Reverend?”

The old man nodded, trying very hard not to broke down and cry. Finally he raised his glass.

“To Claire Beauchamp Fraser... A unique lady, ahead of her time!”

*****

To my dear Reggie,

If you are reading this letter, then my plan worked and my Fergus’ descendants were able to keep the hundreds of letters I wrote to you through the years. Although for you I just left this morning, for me it has been many, many years. I am now even older than you currently are. My hair is still as thick and curly as ever, but now it is streaked with grey. But to Jamie I am still his Mo Nighean Donn.

I am now an old woman, an old woman who had the joy and privilege of watching my children grow up and start their own families. But I want you to know that I never forgot you, neither did the girls. Each of my children and grandchildren grew up knowing about their Uncle Reggie without whom I wouldn’t have found my way back to my Jamie.

You should received the first letter I wrote to you in a week.

Please kiss Roger and Mrs Graham for me.

Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Fraser

TBC...

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mapsofthelost · 3 years

Text

Qui suis-je?

You’re walking through a tourist town, Edinburgh or York or London, and have to dodge around a family stood on the pavement talking in French, and looking at the kind of map that you get from the tourist information centre.

You stop, and ask them in fluent French how you might help, and they tell you and you give them directions and they ask you what part of France you’re from, is it Aquitaine, and you laugh and say no, you’re from the UK and they thank you and head off back to their hotel.

You stand there on the pavement a while, and feel very unsettled and strange, because you have never learned or spoken French in your life, and you shiver when you ask yourself the question: was it me who spoke?

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scapegrace74-blog · 4 years

Text

Ginger Snap, Chapter 5

A/N Know what this fic needs? More Geillis. No really, I think you guys are going to like where I’m going with this. Just bear with me. Only one more chapter to go after this one, plus an epilogue. Thanks for coming on the journey with me! With due credit to Sia, this chapter’s title is Fire, Meet Gasoline.

Previous chapters are best enjoyed on my AO3 page, because I have a bad habit of going back and editing them after they’ve been posted.

Geillis Duncan drove much the way she approached life, which was to say without much regard for rules and at white-knuckle speed. I gripped her Range Rover’s leather cushion and swallowed any exclamations of dismay as we ricocheted through Edinburgh’s late afternoon traffic. When we finally slid into an underground parking spot and emerged into the bustling festivity of the Princes Street Christmas Market, I felt the tension of imminent disaster abandon my shoulders.

“Where to first, then?” Geillis asked, looking far too animated by the prospect of accompanying someone while they did their Christmas shopping.

Geillis and I had kept in touch and met for coffee a few times over the past months. When I explained that I wouldn’t be taking any more cooking classes at Ginger Snap because Jamie was giving me at-home lessons, her reaction was a moonbeam grin.

“Look at ye, wee vixen! I ne’er wouldha thought ye had it in ya, Claire. Tho I canna say as I blame ye.”

No matter how much I protested that I was together with Frank and that my relationship with Jamie was purely professional, she refused to believe me. The ongoing absence of a ring from my left hand didn’t help.

“Now,” Geillis exclaimed once we’d taken in the sights and sounds of the market, “let’s have a keek at yer list. Where should we start?”

I pulled out my phone and opened the Notes app. As she read, my friend’s nose wrinkled in confusion.

“Trouser socks, shoe stays, Moleskine notebook, Rive Gauche... who are ye shopping for, yer grandparents?”

“No,” I protested. “The first three are for Frank. The perfume is for me.”

When I explained that Frank had made a list of the items he would like to give me for Christmas, Geillis grew incensed.

“Ye mean he has ye doin’ his gift buying fer him? Tha’s the least romantic thing I’ve e’er heard. Do ye even like Rive Gauche, Claire? And dinna lie tae me, fer I can read yer feelings all o’er yer face.”

Truthfully, I didn’t much care for the flowery scent. My personal taste ran more towards woodsy or herbaceous aromas. But it was Frank’s favourite, and it pleased me to please him. Or it had. I was beginning to wonder when it would be my turn to please myself.

“Right,” Geillis interrupted my thoughts. “Marks and Sparks will do jes fine for yer wee granny list. And then you and I are going shopping fer yer real gift.”

Geillis was a force to be reckoned with in a retail environment. She navigated like a guided missile from one department to the next. Twenty minutes later, we were back on the pavement, which glistened with the colourful reflections of decorations strung above.

“Your car is the other way,” I explained as Geillis turned left.

“Aye, tis, but our destination is right o’er here. House of Fraser. See? Tis practically calling yer name, Claire.”

Inside the venerable old building was an astonishing multi-tiered arcade reaching over five stories to a massive skylit ceiling. The central space was dominated by a fifteen metre-high Christmas tree (a Fraser fir, of course) and every archway of every arcade was dripping with lights. The impression was like stepping into a Fabergé egg.

Geillis dragged me, slack-jawed, towards the ladies’ wear section. Circling the racks like a hawk on the wind, she eyed my body, sizing me up quite literally, then thrust several pieces into my hands.

“Geillis,” I hissed, wary of the sales staff hovering nearby, no doubt smelling an excessive commission in the offing. “I don’t need a new outfit. And I certainly don’t need,” I shook the garments in question, “something like this. Wherever would I wear it?”

“Well, fer starters, ye’d wear it tae dinner t’night. I dinna wish tae offend ye, Claire, but I canna in good conscience allow ye tae set foot in the Timberyard dressed fer a job interview as a primary school teacher.”

With that she shoved me in the direction of the changing rooms. Deciding to humour her, I was unbuttoning my top when two lacy bits of nothing came flying over the door.

“Start wi’ these. And dinna think I willna notice if ye’re no’ wearing them!”

I stripped down to my panties, bemusedly wondering how she knew my exact bra size.

Upon seeing me exit the dressing room in her choice of clothing, Geillis let out a squeal of delight. She insisted I rip out the tags and leave the store wearing my new outfit, declaring it was her Christmas gift to me.

I felt tremendously self-conscious as we walked towards the restaurant. The aubergine velvet jeans clung to my legs in an unfamiliar way and the black turtleneck, while technically not revealing, hinted at kink with its many heavy zippers and fastenings. Together with my unruly hair, unstraightened for once, I felt like another woman entirely. I didn’t recognize her, but I felt like she might be someone I’d like to get to know.

The Timberyard was a modern restaurant in a rugged old warehouse, not far from the farmer’s market I’d visited with Jamie. We were joined there by several of Geillis’ friends, and we ate, drank and laughed until my sides were sore.

As I wobbled to the loo, I noticed the bartender following me with an appreciative gaze. It had been a long time since a man had looked at me that way, and it gave me a guilty thrill.

We left the restaurant just before midnight. I pulled Geillis into an impulsive hug.

“Wha’ was that for, hen?” she asked.

“Nothing. Everything. Just, thank you for being you, Geil.”

“Och, tis my pleasure, lass. I only want tae see ye happy. Now, what do ye say to a digestif?”

After only a slight protest on my part, the two of us piled into an Uber. Our destination was another restaurant, this time in a converted whisky warehouse by the harbour in Leith. It was well past last sitting, but when I mentioned this to Geillis she explained away my concern.

“I ken the owner, who’s also the chef. Tis a popular spot fer locals in the restaurant scene tae meet after they close up fer a few drinks afore heading home tae their beds.”

Inside, the walls were rough stone, supported in places by industrial metal beams. The kitchen was open to the main dining area, and I grinned as I thought of Frank’s strong opinion on the matter. Near the back of the room, lit by dim naked bulbs and the glow from several open fireplaces, was a huge square table surrounded by nearly twenty chairs upholstered in bright yellow plaid. Around the table was gathered a motley assortment of men and women, all talking and laughing and sipping on a variety of drinks. And in their midst, his copper hair shining in the firelight, sat Jamie.

A shout went up from the table as Geillis approached. I hung back, tugging at the hem of my new turtleneck as though I could stretch it to cover my arse. Besides Jamie, I recognized Jenny, Angus and Murtagh, but I only had eyes for the big ginger chef. He sat at one corner, probably in deference to his long legs which were stretched out before him, wrapped in black denim. A black leather jacket hung over the chair behind him. He looked dangerous. It was a very good look for him.

Dragging me by the elbow, Geillis nudged and bumped Angus to one side despite his vulgar protests, then practically pushed me down into the chair directly next to the chef. With a smug smile of satisfaction, she then retired to the opposite side of the table.

I looked anywhere but directly at Jamie, but I could feel his butane eyes on me. I was certain he would scorch right through my outer layers and down to where Geillis’ choice in lingerie burned against my tender skin. The noise from the rest of the table faded away.

“Ye look bonnie t’night, Arsonist.” His voice was low and gruff and it sent a quickening through my veins.

“Thank you, Jamie. It was Geillis’ Christmas gift to me, and I feel, well... let’s just say it isn’t my usual look.”

“It suits ye, I think.” He reached out and lightly touched the silver tab of a zipper that ended near my wrist, setting it swinging. I swallowed and looked frantically around. Several open bottles of liquor stood nearby. Grabbing the nearest one, I poured myself a generous serving and knocked it back, all in one go. I tried to steady my breathing.

“Look, Jamie...”

Just then a blond man in chef’s whites called to Jamie from across the table. An exchange involving a lot of Scottish cursing and an off-colour reference to someone’s lobster pot ensued. I tried to convince myself I needed to leave. It was late, I was half-drunk, and whatever I intended to say to Jamie should definitely wait for another moment. Maybe never.

A hand on my thigh broke my preoccupation.

“Sorry, Arsonist, ye were sayin’ something?”

I wet my lips, frantically trying to recall anything but the feeling of Jamie’s strong fingers, stroking me through the velvet of my jeans.

“I...”

At that moment, the woman on Jamie’s far side broke into song. The rest of the table cheered and clapped along, and it was impossible to hear anything except the concussive pounding of my heart against my eardrums.

Jamie grabbed my clammy hand.

“Come wi’ me,” he instructed, grabbing our outerwear and pulling me towards the door. Geillis watched our departure with all the excitement of a child on Christmas morning.

Outside the air was dense and cold, a briny slap after the stuffy warmth of the restaurant. Jamie obviously had a destination in mind, and we walked hand-in-hand along the cobbled streets for several minutes before finally emerging at the port. A jetty struck out into the inky sea, and it was there that we ended up. Besides a few gulls and the winking of a nearby lighthouse, we were all alone. The sodium street lights caught Jamie’s curls and made them burn.

“Forgive me, Arsonist. I couldna hear myself think in there. Tho, come tae think of it, tis no’ much better now.” Rather than release me, as he spoke Jamie stroked my hand, running calloused fingers over each vein and every knuckle. I don’t think he even realized he was doing it, but it stole every thought from my head.

“No ring,” he remarked, stroking the finger in question.

“No,” I whispered in response.

And then it burst out of me, like a tidal wave of feeling that I never saw coming. I told him everything. My childhood roaming the globe with my uncle, pre-occupied and rootless, dreaming of stability. Meeting Frank at Harvard, and realizing that he represented all the things that my life to date had lacked: structure, security, a solid foundation, a home. And how it took moving to Scotland and coming into contact with a group of near-strangers to make me realize that the price I had paid for that stability was higher than I’d ever imagined. I’d given up my dream of becoming a doctor. I’d become so lost in Frank’s vision of who I should be that I’d almost lost sight of who I actually was.

By the time the flood of words left me, I was in Jamie’s arms, crying into his leather jacket. He hushed me with quiet murmurs and languorous stroking of my hair, as one would a child who has woken from a nightmare.

I stepped out of his embrace and rubbed my sleeve across my face. I must have looked an absolute mess, but he still watched me with those earnest, patient eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I began, “I don’t know what...”

“Claire,” he interrupted. I’d never before realized just how many consonants were in my given name. “Ye dinna need tae apologize tae me. But ye may want tae consider an apology tae yerself.” At my raised eyebrow, he continued.

“I’m no’ the kind of man tae tell another what they should and shouldna do. But ye strike me as someone who’s made decisions fer the right reasons, yet ended up in the wrong place.” Here he paused, as though carefully weighing his words. “There’s no sin in changin’ yer mind, Arsonist. Tis very well tae be hungry, so long as ye ken what ye hunger for.”

“And what do you hunger for, James Fraser?” The provocative words had left my lips before I had the chance to censor them. His answer came in the form of a blistering look that left no doubt as to its meaning. Then he gathered himself, banking the fire I’d unconsciously ignited.

“Many things. Regular, ordinary things, mostly. My family’s health and happiness. A faster bike. My own restaurant.”

“Like Tom’s there?” I asked, gesturing towards the harbour.

“Och, Tom is a braw chef, and worthy o’ every accolade tha’s been showered upon him. But the hospitality scene in Edinburgh is cut-throat, an’ suitable locations cost a fortune. Nah, Jenny and I want tae buy back our childhood home in the Highlands. Tis called Lallybroch, and when our Da passed, our Mam sold it tae her brother. We’d turn it inta a country inn, wi’ Jenny running the lodging side o’ things and I the dining. Tha’s the dream anyway,” he ended with a shrug.

I rested my hand on his forearm. “That sounds like a wonderful plan, Jamie.”

Before he could reply, an enormous yawn burst from my lungs.

“Time tae get ye home tae yer bed, Arsonist,” Jamie grinned. “Come, I’ll give ye a ride.”

“Wait, haven’t you been drinking?” I inquired as we walked back down the jetty.

“Three years sober,” he explained with no hint of embarrassment. “I went somewhere pretty dark after my Mam died, an’ it took a near-fatal crash tae scare me straight.” His eyes squinted in a poor approximation of a wink as he added, “Besides, there are better ways tae chase a rush than in the bottom of a bottle.”

“Such as?” I asked brazenly.

Which was how I found myself on the back on a black motorcycle, my arms twined around Jamie’s waist. Rather than take me directly home, he steered us north, following the coast. It was very late, with hardly another vehicle about. We merged onto the motorway, and Jamie picked up speed. My thighs tightened around his lean hips, the vibration of the motor beneath us shivering up my spine. As we emerged beneath the hastate lights of the Queensferry Bridge, I stretched my arms wide, icy air ripping against the sleeves of my jacket. I laughed, although no-one could hear me. I yelled, and only the wind yelled back. I was flying.

***

It was nearly dawn when Jamie pulled up in front of my flat. My legs thrummed, my eyes were dry with fatigue, and my heart ached, but I felt better than I could ever remember. I handed Jamie back his spare helmet and shook out my curls. He watched me in that half-sleepy, half-vigilant way of his that I now recognized as desire.

“I don’t know what I could ever say to thank you, Jamie.”

“Ye needn’t say anything at all, Arsonist. Nae matter what ye decide, it has been my very great honour tae get tae know you.”

Without another word, he kick-started the engine and drove off into the early morning mist.

“Goodbye,” I whispered to his vanishing shadow.

***

The lamp above the couch was lit, and Frank lay still beneath its glow. I realized he had fallen asleep waiting for me to come home. Instead of regret, what I felt in that moment was pity.

The sound of my jacket being unzipped woke him. He blinked in confusion and then in shock.

“I’m very sorry if you were worried,” I began.

“Worried? Do you have any idea what time it is? My God, Claire, I don’t know what to make of you these days. You’ve never behaved irresponsibly before, and now you’re out at all hours and you’re wearing,” he gestured wildly with his hand at my new outfit which I had, quite honestly, forgotten I was wearing. “And your hair, Claire!” he finished, as though the manic state of my curls was definitive evidence of my fall from grace. Despite my exhaustion, I stood tall.

“Frank, we need to talk.”

#my writing #outlander #ginger snap

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