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Cyneheard Frealaf: Anno mcmxlii, se xvii dæg þæs monþes þe mon nemneð haligmonað [Jan. 31st, 2009|08:38 am] [ Tags | cyneheard frealaf ] [ mood | melancholy ] Estrid has taken wing, Mindred says for the last time tonight, to talk to the winds and the clouds while they still talk to us, which will be perhaps for another hour yet. I wonder if they would still speak to me, it has been a little time now, well, years I suppose, since I have needed to try. While Estrid lives, there is no need to try, and no time. No time before they are taken for a time by my sister's accursed grandson, her true image and faithful heir. Afterwards, if Estrid does not live, it will take more than I by far to rouse them. My sister was always angry that it's the children of the mists who do this most easily, rather than us, the Frealafs who were most human, most like to the King. Well, so she argued. I've never made any claim to be like to the King: I live on His lands, which respect me as long as I am gentle to them, in remembrance of Him. It is a kind of love, but not His kind of love, which is not gentle or patient, or conditional for that matter. I am merely his custodian, in the absence of someone like my grandmother, or like Estrid, the land needs a custodian, or asks for one, while it waits. And that was my sister's real problem. She could have been custodian rather than me, certainly would have been in fact, but that was not enough, she had to have wings. My dear, you stole many many things from us, all those many years ago, but you never did steal that, did you? Fæderswice. I see so little in any event, and of tonight I see nothing. Nothing but darkness, and in the darkness the wind rustles, but I cannot make out if it is the sound of wings in the distance, or merely the wind dying down forever, and how I have tried to tell these last few days. Estrid sees more than this, but says less, not even to Mindred, who is left with the lost daughter, to try and explain what she does not know already. Gillian, I would talk to her if I could, who else can tell the right stories? But there is no time. link post comment

Mindred Frealaf: 16 September 1942 [Oct. 28th, 2008|12:27 pm] [ Tags | mindred frealaf ] [ mood | concerned ] Estrid cares less than she should about her dreams of the castle. The Kyteler prince is still there after all, and his father's other children and the younger ones of their court, and even if the heirs are at home, many of the Lady of Avalon's court too. And Gillian's brother for all that he may be Fæderswice's son to his bones in the end, and her friends too. She dreams of a blow here too, and I can hear it in the wind and in the trees, and they need us here and I hardly propose to leave or even send them aid. But sending them word would be sensible. link post comment

Mindred Frealaf: 14 September 1942 [Jul. 17th, 2008|08:27 am] [ Tags | mindred frealaf ] [ mood | curious ] We're home, and every seer from Scotia to here must know it, and the birds say that some of their brothers are in Cornubia, so there too at least. And it is well, because the other signs are all of lightning and fire and falling, even Lord Frealaf and I can see them and Estrid can't not, every moment. I hope we can learn soon what Gillian is able to see, perhaps better than us. If she is one of Fæderswice's lost daughters, she may be able to see what we cannot, of her son. link post comment

Cyneheard Frealaf: Anno mcmxlii, se xiv dæg þæs monþes þe mon nemneð haligmonað [Jun. 9th, 2008|08:50 am] [ Tags | cyneheard frealaf ] So one of her children is ours after all. I hope Estrid is not wrong, or rather, Estrid cannot possibly be wrong in a matter like this, but I cannot imagine how it can be. One of her children coming home. I had thought that one day she'd certainly send for them, or now that one of her heirs would, hard as it is to believe that she's dead. I have known where they all are, all this time, and of course Gillian and Warren Greenwood aren't literally her children but rather great-great-grandchildren, I am not Pyramus Mathers and I know the difference (how can the Board let him teach so long? That's the kind of mistake a Frealaf would be prone to, but you wouldn't think that the Dees and their ilk would tend that way). And it appears I should have sent for them much sooner, or sent for their mother, poor wretched thing, or perhaps even her father. But I am not Lord Frealaf as Estrid will one day soon be Lady Frealaf, I am a sort of a caretaker and not king, because His land always has queens. As she pointed out to me, many times, but she was no queen of it either. And so I didn't know that they were our people, or rather, that they were Estrid's. Or His. How can any of her people come back? Well, I will see soon enough. Aegenwulf can still go to the Forest, he says, and we do not have to go to the Leffoys for it before we have even met with Her. I will have to explain all this to Estrid at long last, the story of what she knows already. But what on earth I am going to say to Gillian Greenwood? And if she can come, why can't Warren? That question we had best answer very swiftly. I had thought that both of them would go to her heir, I had thought they had no choice, but if one can come home, perhaps so can the other. link post comment

Lizzie Loveday: Wednesday 9 September 1942 [Oct. 18th, 2007|08:59 am] [ Tags | elizabeth loveday ] [ mood | distraught ] Why did you go to her in the end Marcus? You told me I saved you from her. I was meant to save you. I did everything they told me while I was away because if I did I thought you'd come and save me. It was my turn. But you went to her. link post comment

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