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The Upstairs Archives

~ A random repository of how-to-write and geekery, with an occasional snippet of accidental wisdom.

The Upstairs Archives

Monthly Archives: June 2014

Of Peter Pan and College Admissions

30 Monday Jun 2014

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Living Life with Passion, Uncategorized

≈ 28 Comments

Tags

catholic culture, college, controversy, counter-culture, education, homeschool culture, insanity, job searching, life, living life unexpectedly, long rants, peter pan, work

Now, I know some of my friends must be concerned. After all, Erin left the age of minority behind a few months ago, she will be attending college (again) this fall (after having attended under the early-entry clause at the age of 17) and working for a while… yes, this is a lot of stuff going on.

But the answer is no, I don’t have any intention of “growing up” any time soon. After all, didn’t Our Lord say that we should aspire to be childlike (in a good way)? And then there are all the Disney movies which praise immaturity, she says sarcastically.

On the other hand, though, I feel that in many cases, and in some ways, I was actually more mature than the people I met at college, even though I was far more naive than any of them. Perhaps it was because I was actually better prepared for college than they were? I don’t know.

That leads into my next point. I think that homeschooling has taught me more effective ways of thinking. My high IQ is not the result of native intelligence, perhaps, but the result of knowing how to exercise that intelligence. Also, I’ve been in a more mature role, one that has pushed me into more responsibility and forced me to be more proactive. In a sense, I never had the childhood that other children do. Rather than just “being a kid”, I’ve been preparing to be a successful adult all my life.

And yet, I had the childhood that “other children” never had. I was sheltered, but nurtured. I suppose that if I had a point of comparison, I would call the homeschool experience superlative. And best of all, it has given me a grip on both the best of childhood and the better part of adulthood, so that I will never forget what it’s like to be young. It has given me a means to be immature in a very mature way, so to speak. This is the essence, I think, of Peter Pan. Except that he isn’t under the same pressure as the otherwise-normal children around the world who are pressured by the Zeitgeist into wearing a sophisticated, dirty mask. Here and now, in the ultimate anonymity of this blog, I’m taking off my mask. You may not see my face, but you know who I am.

After all, worldview and attitude give more to identity than does all the sass in the world.

So, here’s to Peter Pan and his Masquerade, the Masquerade of which I am a proud member. Here’s to the beautiful counter-cultural experience of homeschooling. Here’s to being a rebel for a reactionary cause.

Hooray for Peter Pan! And hooray for shocking people in admissions.

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Time for Humor!

27 Friday Jun 2014

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Living Life with Passion, Uncategorized

≈ 53 Comments

Tags

animals, baronness emma orczy, bbc merlin, bbc sherlock, brian jacques, cats, cute babies, despicable me, disney, dreamworks, frozen, humor, j.r.r. tolkien, lord of the rings, pixar, redwall, star wars, superheroes, the scarlet pimpernel, turtles

There should be something here...

This gallery contains 19 photos.

Okay, I’ve been doing tons of serious stuff recently. I think it’s time I did something just for fun. 😉 …

Continue reading →

Teens Can Write Too!: Books or Movies?

25 Wednesday Jun 2014

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Living Life with Passion, Story Dynamics, Tales of a Wandering Bard, Uncategorized

≈ 24 Comments

Tags

a&e, alice in wonderland, baronness emma orczy, bbc, bbc sherlock, c.s. forester, c.s. lewis, courageous, disney, dumas, film, filmmaking, fireproof, horatio hornblower, hornblower, independent films, iris, j.r.r. tolkien, james fenimore cooper, jane austen, joe morlino, lewis carrol, movies, navis pictures, novels, pixar, plans of trust, pride and prejudice, seaward, sherwood pictures, star wars, steven graydanus, susan cooper, t.h. white, tangled, teens can write too blog chain, the chronicles of narnia, the last of the mohicans, the lord of the rings, the once and future king, the scarlet pimpernel, the sword in the stone, the three musketeers, the war of the vendee, through the looking glass

First of all, I’d like to say that if my books ever get published, and if I ever get a proposal to make movies based on my novels, I definitely want to be in on the process. Not only do I want my books to stay at least reasonably like the books–I don’t mind characters who don’t look like they did in the books so much, as long as they act like the characters in the books–and not only have I seen too many movies where the essence and messages of the books were lost, but I’m also fascinated by all things filmmaking. 😉 See Plans of Trust. Also see The War of the Vendee, from Navis Pictures, and the Sherwood Pictures films. All of these movies are done by independent groups and have more charm and in most cases better acting than Hollywood movies. I have not seen Plans of Trust yet, but Vendee, Courageous, and Fireproof are among my favorite films of all time. Thank you, Mr. Morlino! And I know that was off-topic… In the case that I have passed away by the time my books catch the eye of some director, then I hope my estate will definitely be consulting. (My de facto, informal will at this time is pretty much that Iris inherits all my writing stuff, including unfinished texts, with the hopes that she will continue them. Also, anyone else may build on my work with Iris’ permission. The rights to my completed poems and novels go to my family, to help support them.)

Wow, I just got really off track. I’ll blame it on my cold. (The same cold that Obi-Wan also caught and is still recovering from… *sigh*)

Now, I think that it’s only fair if we judge the movie by its own criteria and not by the industry in general. There have been marvelous adaptions (aka, The Lord of the Rings and the Hornblower series,) and there have been bad ones (Alice in Wonderland… *shudder* Frankly, I’ll take my chances with the Balrogs and mumakil. I don’t want to face a Jabberwocky or a Mock-Turtle. Ever again. But maybe I’m unfair, even if the movie sucked. The books was almost as creepy… Sorry, I just can’t read Alice in Wonderland, Through the Looking Glass, or any of the book clones *cough* Seaward *cough* without suffering nightmares. The book destroyed my childhood, and the movie freaked me out.)
The adaption of The Lord of the Rings is a great movie, but it does play free with certain parts of the books. And yet, at the same time, it goes very well as an adaption of the books. It can stand alone, yes, but it also ties in very well with the books, if we can stay our bookish-snobbishness for the time being as we watch the movies. The only thing that really annoys me is if someone takes only what happens in the movies as “canon”. To me, the books will always be the only canon. People love to hate on The Lord of the Rings for eliminating Tom Bombadil, having other elves than Legolas at Helm’s Deep, the too-early deaths of Sauruman and Wormtongue and Frodo telling Sam to go home on Cirith Ungol (yes, those last two are my own private pet peeves), but frankly it’s probably the best book adaption out there if you use both epicness and true-to-the-book-ness as your measure.
The A&E adaption of The Scarlet Pimpernel, starring Richard E. Grant, is another really good adaption, if you can temporarily suspend your sense of disbelief and/or your booksnob attitude. True, it plays free with the situations, historical accuracy, and (to an extent) Chauvelin’s appearance and character, but if you like action and historical movies, this is your cup of tea, courtesy of the BBC. (To balance out the blah-history-ness in the third movie of the trilogy, Mademoiselle Guillotine, I highly recommend The War of the Vendee, above. Also, this same movie has the best villainess I have ever seen in any movie! She almost beats Lady De Winter from The Three Musketeers for sheer evil and disgustingness and oh-heaven-I-so-want-to-slaughter-her!)
The Hornblower movies, also from A&E, are perhaps the only franchise about which I will ever say “I actually liked the movies better than the books.” The C.S. Forester classics, while good reading, can be very dark and a little depressing at times, not to mention the blood. C.S. Forester is nothing if not honest. Not necessarily family-friendly material. However, if you ignore the four-letter words (which, let me promise you, is pretty much limited to just ‘hell’ or ‘damn’), you find yourself in the middle of a movie just about everyone can like. If there is one disappointing thing about this series, it’s that it didn’t follow the course of all the books and take the unfinished one–Hornblower During the Crisis–which would have had Horatio as a spy *swoons*!–into the cinema world as a full blown story.
And I need not even mention Sherlock, which is sheer brilliance!
Now, for the not-so-good.
The Chronicles of Narnia (the old BBC adaptions.) While these were charming movies and re-created the charm of the books quite well, they weren’t all that imaginative, and they cut some of my favorite scenes from the books. Also, the series was discontinued, leaving the count at The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Prince Caspian, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, and The Silver Chair. And… *cough cough* I would like to see anyone try to make a movie of The Last Battle. It could never be as awesome as the book!
…Ahem.
The Sword in the Stone. It is a cute family movie, but let’s face it–except for bits of the face-off between Merlyn and Madame Mim (Yes, I spelled Merlyn right! This is how he’s spelled in the T.H. White-verse–probably to differentiate from the falcon species… which does appear in the book…), this movie is absolutely nothing like the book. It lacks the book’s charm and humor and incredible detail. It cuts out chunks (the more interesting ones) from the book, it completely mutilates Kay… I could go on and on. Not that I have any particular hate for this movie. Like I said before, it’s a nice little family movie. It’s just not… all that memorable. Unlike the book. I’m glad they stopped there rather than trying to make the whole Once And Future King cycle into animated movies. It’s a movie about Merlyn educating the Wart. It’s not a movie about the Wart, the Wart and Kay, or even the Wart and Merlyn. It’s not exactly character-oriented, which is probably why it’s less than memorable. (Though Archimedes was adorable. Which is almost sacrilege, to a fan of the books… No spoilers. >:-D)
The Last of the Mohicans. (The animated one.) It’s another charming family movie–and not really forgettable–it might even be a cult classic–but it’s just not the book. Characters were different. Different people died. (More people die in the book, which gives it a more complex aspect. No spoilers. :-3) Again, recurring theme here, it lacked much of the humor of the book, such as SPOILER Major Heyward trying to impersonate Hawkeye END SPOILER.Now, the book might be both sexist and racist, but let’s face it–almost anything could be labeled sexist or racist in one way or another. And it’s a classic, and a good read besides. Need I say more?
But about the movie, I did rather like it. But if I’m looking for entertainment when I’m not absolutely worn out by Raya’s antics, I’m going to the book.
Pride and Prejudice, starring Keira Knightley. Most Austen movies tend to be very close to the books, but this one… All I can say is pretty much… meh. The acting may be good, but the story is pretty much insipid–at least to someone who’s seen the version with Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy. Its only advantage above the latter movie is that it’s shorter–and some people wouldn’t call that an advantage. (I only do because I’d really rather read Austen than watch Austen. No offense, people.)
This movie is also fairly good, but next to the A&E version… it does not stand a chance.
I would like to present a new set of criteria for judging movies (and especially book adaptions) as a whole, which is based on the way Steven Graydanus breaks down the good and the bad in his film critiques. It is based on systematic evaluation of the message, the way it executes the story, and the divergences, which should be justified. While critiquing any art form is in itself an art, this should at least simplify it for people who don’t have much experience with critique. Be forewarned, though, it takes a little math, and some familiarity with negative values.
  1. Message. Is the message true to the book? On a scale of one to five. How good or bad is it? (Yes, add points to score; no, subtract points from score. If the message is virtually unrecognizable or mangled into a twisted dark clone of itself, subtract up to ten points.)
  2. Trueness to the book. (Yes, +0points; no, -1point unless it’s really really bad. Then -3points.)
  3. Diversions from the book. (Yes, +0points; no, -1point. Come on. It’s a movie. It is a separate entity. And if it has no diversions, it’s unimaginative.)
  4. Execution of diversions from book, on a scale of one to five. (Well done; +points. Poorly done; -points.)
  5. Execution of book canon portions, on a scale of one to five. (Well done; +points. Poorly done; -points. Superbly done; +7 to 10 points. Extremely badly done; -7 to 15 points. Yes, I’m a cynic. The real question is… are you?)
  6. General inventiveness, on a scale of one to five. (Well done; +points. Poorly done; -0points. Unless it’s completely unimaginative, in which case -up to 5 points.
  7. For Christians, believers in moral absolutes, and concerned parents only! Moral value, on a scale of one to five. (Moral value positive: +0 points. Moral value extremely positive: +5 points. Moral value negative: -up to 7 points.)
  8. Special effects, on a scale of one to five. (Good; +0points. Poor; -1point. Poor but ignorable; -0points. Poor for a reason–such as to emulate another era or style of film– +1point.)
  9. Other. For depressiveness, euphoria, simple beauty, etc. + or – up to 5 points.
Bear in mind, this system is not perfect. Different people will most likely get different scores on the same movies. Lord of the Rings scored 20 (17 without morality points), and the BBC show Sherlock scored 27 (24 without morality points), due to its sheer inventiveness and addictiveness. Alice in Wonderland, on the other hand, scored a -11, or a -13 without morality points. *shudders* I really, really dislike that movie.

So, in general, I am a connoisseur of movies, and a lover of books, but I have my limits. And some things (such as blatant departures from book canon without any justification, or book canon so badly done it doesn’t even recall the book canon,) just drive me nuts. In general, I’m not as hard on fairy tale adaptions as I am on book adaptions (Tangled scored a princely 23, 22 without morality points–yes, I only gave it one morality point, because she runs away from the only parent figure she’s known and disobeys and rebels–she got the point because she’s a peacemaker and willing to sacrifice herself), but that’s mostly because folk tales belong to everyone and sheesh, I know what it’s like to slave and suffer over a book for months and years and then realize it’s not what you want and overhaul it and spend blood from your paper cuts and tears from your text cuts on it! A book is a little piece of the author’s heart. With something that personal, it needs respect. Just as movies are little pieces from the hearts of everyone who worked on them.

I hope you enjoyed the post. Be sure to check in for the other bloggers’ posts in this blog chain!

5th – http://nasrielsfanfics.wordpress.com/

6th – http://theloonyteenwriter.wordpress.com/

7th – http://sammitalk.wordpress.com/

8th – http://thelittleenginethatcouldnt.wordpress.com/

9th – http://insideliamsbrain.wordpress.com/

10th – http://maralaurey.wordpress.com/

11th – http://charleyrobson.blogspot.com/

12th – http://taratherese.wordpress.com/

13th – http://theweirdystation.blogspot.com/

14th – http://fairyskeletons.blogspot.com/

15th – http://musingsfromnevillesnavel.wordpress.com/

16th – http://novelexemplar.wordpress.com/

17th – http://magicandwriting.wordpress.com/

18th – http://mirrormadeofwords.com/

19th – http://www.brookeharrison.com/

20th – http://miriamjoywrites.com/

21st – http://eighthundredninety.blogspot.com/

22nd – http://unikkelyfe.wordpress.com/

23rd – http://aaronandtamarabooks.blogspot.com/

24th – http://www.butterfliesoftheimagination.weebly.com/

25th – https://erinkenobi2893.wordpress.com/

26th – http://turtlesinmysoup.blogspot.com/

27th – http://missalexandrinabrant.wordpress.com/

28th – http://teenscanwritetoo.wordpress.com/ – The topic for July’s blog chain will be announced.

Thanks for reading, and God Bless! 🙂

Archivist of Selay’uu’s Journal: Textiles?

23 Monday Jun 2014

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Tales from Selay'uu, Tales of a Wandering Bard, Uncategorized

≈ 21 Comments

Tags

battlefield of the soul, bbc merlin, bbc sherlock, healthcare jokes, lord of the rings, politics, selay'uu, sick, star wars, sweaters

“Sherlock, I want my blazer back.”

“Too late, I’ve already experimented on it.”

“Ah-choo!”

It’s kind of odd, I think, how a full-grown man can have such a demure sneeze. Even if he is half Elf. (Full-blooded Elves don’t sneeze, in the first place. And let me tell you, there is nothing more annoying than an immortal hovering around you, solicitously cheerful, when you are sick as a dog. Except bad health care plans.) Almost more amazing is how such a simple, demure, retiring sound can so swiftly attract the attention of Sherlock’s Boswell…

“Sherlock! You shouldn’t have dissolved the blazer in acid, or whatever it was you were doing. Now Obi-Wan has a cold–and from the sound of it, the beginnings of either bronchitis or…” Obi-Wan coughed again. “…possibly pneumonia, or laryngitis. Most likely laryngitis.” John finished.

I had heard enough. Dropping my pen and freezing the screen so nobody could mess up my work, I hurried out of my room and threw my big blue robe around Obi-Wan’s shoulders. The sleeves don’t look quite as long on him as they do on me–his shoulders are broader than mine–but the length is a bit too long for him. The hem of the cloak trails on the ground even when I’m wearing it–it doesn’t just trail, it pools. The fleece lining always comes in handy, in my opinion.

And that’s why at six p.m. last night, I was helping Gaius and John take care of our resident Jedi Master. (It’s also why Battlefield of the Soul has been delayed so long. Sorry…)

Bound to the Flame, Chapter V, Part I

20 Friday Jun 2014

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Bound to the Flame, Tales of a Wandering Bard

≈ 30 Comments

Tags

bound to the flame, insanity, procrastination, stories in progress

I told you it wouldn’t take so long this time! And look, just for you: a longer chapter clip! 🙂 Enjoy!

Bound to the Flame

Chapter V

Part I

                The silence was ominous, thunderous. Rowan rode ahead of her, eyes straight forward, dark and brooding. The air seemed oppressive, heavy.

“Rowan?” Margery asked, after a long silence, in a small voice. “Are you angry at me for being determined to come with you?” Instantly, she saw the boy’s lean back straighten, as if he had suddenly become aware of her presence.

“No,” he said. “No, I’m not angry. Anger would be entirely unproductive. I was irritated that you wished to come, though there was no good reason for you to do so, except for the bonds of friendship, and so many reasons why you should not come along. If you—if both of us—are not cautious, we could cause what is generally euphemistically termed a ‘diplomatic incident.’ Still…” Rowan paused. “I am grateful for your aid, and company.” He smiled, somewhat cautious, a little shy, at her, sealing the pact. Margery smiled in return, relieved.

“But my going with you should be taken as a sign of our goodwill toward your kingdom,” she said, pursuing the conversation.

“It all depends on how our parents take it,” Rowan replied. “They might see it that way—they might see it as an impropriety.” Margery was silent. It was clear that Rowan was in the habit of thinking things through far more thoroughly than she was in the habit of doing. Rowan continued pensively, though not to Margery; he was thinking out loud, she realized. “Julian was taken, not me. That makes precious little sense. Why? My position was unpredictable and they could not find me anywhere? Troubling. The intimate familiarity with our plans and schedule that this theory suggests hints at a traitor. Why even be in the Ertraian camp at all? Were they trying to start a war with us? Was it meant to provoke… or was it… was it a threat? More frightening still, was it a warning? Or is it merely a ploy, to distract us from the real threat?”

“If it’s the last one,” Margery ventured, “then we may have made a mistake, rushing off like this.”

“My mother will not view it that way,” Rowan asserted. “Julian is her son by bond if not by blood, and besides, we never leave our own unaided in Ertraia. We take care of our own clans.” Margery nodded.

“That’s what my mother always says, too,” she said. “I guess we have more in common than some people would like us to believe. But… you know… it always made me feel a little strange. What about people who you don’t know—who you’ve never even met in your life before—who are your kin as well? What if you had to choose between a family member you didn’t know, and a friend who you’d known your whole life but wasn’t of the same blood? What then?” Rowan shook his head, slowly.

“I don’t know,” he said gravely. “The heart is a fickle servant. It can lead you truly, or it can lead you astray. You would have to weigh both options carefully and then choose—not that it would make the choice any the easier.” He sighed. “I feel a little strange, too, when I meet someone whom I’m apparently related to but have never seen in my life before. It’s a queer, hollow sort of feeling. For much of my life, I’ve been kept in seclusion, to keep me safe. I don’t know how many people outside the ones I knew in the castle. Even the castle itself was very remote… I grew up in a stronghold in the mountains, far from the palace in the capital city of the nation.” Rowan took a deep breath, fidgeting with the collar of his cloak. “In fact, other than someone who visited when I was still very young, I think you’re the first person I’ve known who was close to my own age.” Suddenly falling silent, Rowan stilled.

“What is it?” Margery asked.

“I’m not sure.” Rowan replied quietly. He lifted his staff from where it had been lying across his knees and slid it into one of the saddlebags. He stood up slightly in the stirrups, looking carefully about him at the clearing they stood in. The black horse moved uncertainly. “Quiet, Obsidian. Steady,” Rowan murmured, casting about in search of something. He slowly slid from the horse. As he dismounted, he passed the reins to Margery, scanning the ground carefully. He limped awkwardly across the clearing, searching the grass, the standing plants, the tall flowers, the bushes, the trunks of the trees. He gave a soft, slow, satisfied sigh at last, then lay down on the ground, full length, with one ear pressed to the forest floor. “It’s as I thought,” he said, rising slowly and painfully, though not without a satisfied, justified expression. “They passed this way, sure enough. The birds and the beasts are still discussing it, in their own language, and the trees still shudder in fear and pain. I can not hear any murmur of their feet, no matter how distant, but the other signs do not lie. We’re on the right track; this is no false trail.” With Margery holding Obsidian’s head for him, Rowan mounted, then they set off once more.

They rode in silence for a while, then Rowan said, “We—or rather I—won’t be able to use magic on this quest, from now on, for safety’s sake. We don’t want the men we are pursuing to catch us as well, or notice us passing through. Indeed, I hope that our presence will go undetected. Magic is far too visible and obvious, and its active use can be sensed from miles away.” Margery grinned, guiding her mount gently around a broken stump that protruded from the ground in the center of her path.

“So we’ll be doing things the old-fashioned way, then.” she said.

“Your way.” Rowan smiled, amused. “Right.” They lapsed back into grim silence.

“What will we do when we catch up to your brother’s kidnappers?” Margery asked, after a pause. Rowan glanced momentarily up at the lowering sky overhead, jarred out of his own private thoughts.

“I don’t know,” he said solemnly, stubbornly. Margery looked at him, hoping that he was joking, and was jarred out of her complacency by his stern expression.

“You don’t have a plan?” she squeaked, then bet her tongue. Rowan gave her a candid glance.

“It sometimes helps if you don’t plan too far ahead,” he said. “At the moment there are at least two hundred possible scenarios, of which about sixty or so seem a little more likely than the others. There are thirteen which seem very likely, but I can’t tell until we’re there. I have some idea of what I’d do in any given event, but I am not sure yet which event will come to pass.”

“You’re keeping all those possible contingency plans in your head? How can you ever keep them straight?” Margery said in awe. Rowan barely glanced at her.

“I have a good memory,” he said, his voice flat. It was impossible to tell if he was joking or not. Margery frowned.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Rowan. What is it like, being able to use magic? Rowan paused, silent, for a while, before answering.

“In a sense, you know already,” he said. Margery stared at him, puzzled. Rowan sighed. “Everyone is interconnected. That’s the main feeling, one of unity. It’s not just like feeling at one with nature—it’s also feeling nature, together with the world around you, being able to feel other living creatures—every living creature tends to draw in loose magic. Every person has some magical potential, but not everyone is aware of it, or has the patience to develop it. It takes dedication, patience and willpower. The weak-willed don’t last long in magic lessons, ever. It tends to unearth hidden flaws and cause tension along latent fault lines, and a master who could be so callous as to ignore his student’s distress and allow him or her to continue in the practices that were troubling him or her would be a pretty poor master indeed. On the other hand, Margery… you happen to have a slight magical aptitude yourself. I don’t know if you could ever be a Wielder, but you probably have an innate ability to sense and diffuse and even evade magic, on a very instinctive level.” Margery stared blankly at him. Rowan sighed. “It’s complicated,” he explained. “Very much so. I thought you should know,” he said defensively. “It’s how you got past the border wards—on a subconscious level, you felt the wards and bent them around you, willing yourself through. It’s very clever, come to think of it. Those wards are designed not to break under any circumstances, but they can be temporarily lifted in places to allow people in and out—and apparently, they can also be bent around a person in order to slip past them undetected. We thought our greatest danger was when we lifted the wards—but now, it seems that the greatest danger is that those wards are permeable, if one moves gently enough… Perhaps that is how the spy got into Ertraia?” Rowan paused. “I wish we had some way of getting a message back to my mother, but since we can’t use magic without the risk of detection, I can think of no practicable way.”

“So, familiars are just legend as well?” Margery said.

“Precisely. It is possible to magically bond with an animal, but it should not be done, and rarely does it make sense to spend so much time with one creature as the word ‘familiar’ would suggest.” Rowan took a deep breath.

“There may be no traitor in Ertraia, after all,” Margery said, anticipating him—or rather, stumbling along in his wake, catching his drift only with some difficulty and almost inordinate pride.

“Indeed, but I’m afraid that we can’t dismiss the possibility so lightly, unpleasant as it may be.” Rowan fell silent, pensively, and Margery did not break the silence. She sat in mingled wonder, awe, amazement, and fear. She could not help but feel somewhat overawed. Rowan’s mind seemed to work on a very different plane from hers, a more complex and sophisticated one; it was humbling to admit it, but true nonetheless. He was very intelligent and had made good use of his studies, which embarrassed and shamed her by comparison. She could not help but feel inferior next to him. Then again, the way he had trained his mind was very different from the way hers had been trained. Margery sighed inwardly. Single-minded, focused, ordered; that was Rowan. Scatterbrained; that was her.

“That’s almost insulting,” Rowan commented. Margery blushed. She swallowed, furious with herself. Had she been thinking aloud?

“No,” Rowan replied, “but it’s pretty obvious what you were thinking. Your train of thought is very clear. I have a bad habit of addressing people’s thoughts rather than their words, and some people find it… disconcerting.”

“You can read my mind?”

“No, but it’s hardly my fault if you don’t keep your thoughts to yourself, isn’t it?” Rowan retorted. Almost against her own will, Margery giggled. Rowan stared. “You are a very strange person,” he said. Margery nearly fell off of Celad, she was laughing so hard.

“I’m not strange!” she protested. “You’ve just never met a girl your own age before, haven’t you?” Rowan shrugged. Margery grinned. “I knew it!” she proclaimed.

“So, basically, you’re saying that all teenaged girls are strange?” Rowan asked, confused. Margery burst out laughing again.

“No!” she exclaimed. “I’m just saying that we must seem strange to someone like you, at first. Oh, and that not everyone is as sensible and logical as you—thank goodness,” she added as an afterthought, for good measure. Rowan promptly relegated it to the intricacies of an outside world he would never quite understand and dismissed it from his mind. He paused, and Obsidian stirred beneath him, stamping one hoof in impatience. Rowan reached down and patted the destrier’s neck, reassuringly. Obsidian pawed the ground, scratching a furrow in the damp forest loam, but stood still. Rowan glanced around, as if to ensure that they were headed in the correct direction, then nodded and urged Obsidian forward.

“I wonder if my father and mother are all right, where they are, if they’re still in council, what they are doing, if they even know yet that Julian has been kidnapped. It seems as if we’ve been continuing on like this forever.” he said thoughtfully. “I hope they’re not looking for me, that they didn’t waste their time in sending out search parties.” Margery snorted.

“I know my parents won’t,” she said. “They’re used to me vanishing for odd intervals, even for days at a time, sometimes. They generally don’t worry about me—they know I’m off adventuring and will be back, perfectly well and in good spirits sooner or later, with lots of new yarns to spin.” Rowan listened, his face hard to read, though not unpleasant, or undisposed to listen, and certainly not disapproving or antagonistic.

“It sounds like a pleasant arrangement,” he said, neutrally. Margery hesitated.

“I mean, it’s pretty obvious you’ve never been away from your family before,” she said, cocking her head on one side. Rowan shook his head.

“No, I actually have. Before I was injured, I used to ride far and wide, exploring, in between my studies. Mother was comfortable with it, as long as I told her before I left and came back to her straightaway after I had traveled to my heart’s content. I used to ride out with Father and the Rangers, or the Knights; I knew Ertraia like the back of my hand. It is true that I have lived in seclusion for much of my life, but I was never confined to the castle. Just because I have never been outside Ertraia before doesn’t mean I have had no experience with adventures. However, Margery, this is not an adventure. This is deadly serious. It’s a rescue attempt. My brother’s life may be at stake. There is no room here for error, or foolish heroics, on either of our parts.” He gave her a long, even look. Margery nodded, seriously.

“I understand. I’ve read enough about history and military operations to know that much.” she scoffed. Rowan grinned.

“Indeed. I’ve never really understood why such a vein of knowledge could be frowned on as part of a princess’ studies, or for that matter, why it should be frowned on for a prince to work in a garden, or to know how to mend his own clothes, if need be. I couldn’t quite follow why it sent the housekeeper into hysterics when I cleaned my own room. I like my room the way it is. She had a different idea of cleanliness entirely.” Rowan snorted. “She never could make up her mind where things should go. I swear they wound up in different places every time, and certainly never where I wanted them.” Margery giggled.

“I think all housekeepers everywhere must be related, somehow,” she joked. “They all seem to tidy up in a way that only leads to a bigger muddle!”

“Perhaps it’s their way of ensuring they stay in work?” Rowan mused, dryly. Margery burst out laughing.

“That has to be it. Either that, or none of them has any sense.” she laughed. Rowan laughed softly, a pleasant sound that did not seem at all out of place among the woods.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” he said, then noticed that Margery was staring at him. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just that, well, I think that has to be the first time I’ve heard you laugh… I mean really laugh.” Rowan frowned.

“I must have laughed before, at some point,” he said. Margery shook her head.

“No, I don’t think you did,” she replied. Rowan was silent for a while.

“Am I really that serious?” he asked at last. Margery sighed.

“I think you are,” she said. “That, and you have a very wry way of delivering your humor.”


Sorry, this feels a bit like a filler chapter. But it’s kind of necessary. You’ll find out why sooner or later. ;-P

Thanks for reading, and God Bless!

Quote

Mocked Guardian Meaning

19 Thursday Jun 2014

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Uncategorized

≈ 13 Comments

Tags

c.s. lewis, disney, g.k. chesterton, j.r.r. tolkien, lord of the rings, pixar, poetry, star wars, the chronicles of narnia, wreck-it ralph

Fairy tales do not tell children that dragons exist. Children already know that the dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children that the dragons can be slain.

~~~~G.K. Chesterton

Trapped

Two days ago, I posted a poem I called Mocked Guardian, and I asked people to guess its inspiration and its meaning. Some guessed it was situations from stories (specifically involving Obi-Wan). No. Others guessed it was a life experience, or a dream. Not quite.

Mocked Guardian, in essence, is a collection of themes from nightmares, certain stories I’ve read, and life experiences, but there is a broader message. Mocked Guardian is a commentary on a trend in popular culture, something that is all too common today; the destruction of all safeguards against evil, and the defamation and vile slander of all childhood heroes. You could say it was the outcry of a man’s silent, boxed-away conscience; it could be the ignored guardian angel whose existence is denied. It could be the lament of an Aragorn whose necessity is denied, along with the existence of real, present, vicious evil. It is also the cry of pain of a child whose heroes are cruelly ripped away and defaced, while the villains are glorified. It is a nightmare in which all the heroes have been removed, all the protectors have been banished, allowing the myriad evils of the world to come down in shrieking hordes, ripping, tearing away like harpies, bringing fear, while the undefended children have not so much as a Rosary to fall back on.

But it is also a ringing cry of defiance, a rallying cry, a lament with a background message of hope.

To me, storytellers! To me, lovers of art, literature, and fiction! To me, lovers of history and lore! Don’t let them take away our heroes. Keep fighting. Because if we don’t protect our heroes, who will?

If you don’t agree with this message, if you feel attacked, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to attack you. Like Galadriel, I’m not dangerous myself. You brought your own danger along with you. And if you feel attacked… this is some friendly advice… maybe it’s time to drop the baggage?

And to those who don’t believe in moral absolutes, no offense, but your ideas are a boatload of eggsy moonshine!

About the picture: The above drawing is sort of related to the poem. Only sort of. Depending on your point of view, it’s either a nightmare Obi-Wan had a few months after his master’s death on Naboo… or it could be a Star Wars and Wreck-it Ralph crossover fanfiction that I haven’t written yet. You decide. 😉

I know that the proportions are wrong, and the line thickness is somewhat distracting and also a bit too variable, but compared to some of my other art, it’s pretty good. I still need to practice my poses, and drawing shouting people and crying people and people in despair, etc., though. 🙂

Aren’t Chosen Ones Getting a Little Old?

18 Wednesday Jun 2014

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Living Life with Passion, Story Dynamics, Uncategorized

≈ 128 Comments

Tags

bound to the flame, characters, editor, harry potter, j.k. rowling, kysherin, realism, star wars, story dynamics, writer, writing

Seriously, it’s starting to get on my nerves. It’s cliche, and cliches bother me. Does it bother you too? No? Well, let’s see. The post is young yet! *sinister grin*

I give you exhibit A: Anakin Skywalker. The chief mistake they made with this one was telling him that he was the Chosen One. He was sweet in The Phantom Menace, but by the time Attack of the Clones came around, he was bratty, spoiled, disrespectful, and disobedient. Not to mention disgustingly and awkwardly lovesick. And in Revenge of the Sith, Obi-Wan’s gotten to the point where he’s just trying to hold things together, and Anakin’s not helping. And he turns to the Dark Side. We can blame Palpacreep for that, though. He cuts his son’s hand off, for goodness sake! Oh, and we (or at least, quite a few of us) love Obi-Wan better than him. 😛 Maybe it’s the inherent tragedy of Obi-Wan’s position, or that Obi-Wan is a shining example of what an “ordinary” person can be, but… we do. Perhaps it’s that Obi-Wan is even more human than Anakin and still succeeds where Anakin fails. (Oh, by the way. Ever notice how you rarely, if ever, see a poorly-written or grammatically incorrect fanfiction with a lame plot that stars Obi-Wan, but Anakin has lots of those? Not that Anakin-starring fanfictions are all bad, but… food for thought.)

Frankly, Anakin seems just… overrated at times. And it doesn’t help much that Obi-Wan and Luke are the true Christ figures of Star Wars. (Obi-Wan gets the title because he sacrificed his own life to save Luke and ultimately Anakin as well, and Luke gets it because… dun dun dun! he ultimately saved Anakin, in his own weakness. I love these beautiful paradoxes…)

And now for exhibit B: Harry Potter. Now, I’m fairly sure there wasn’t exactly a prophecy included here, but you know what I mean. (To whom it may concern: I have not read the Harry Potter books and have no intention of doing so. From what I understand, they can be violent and cast doubt on traditional values, not to mention that there are what seem to be veiled attacks against the Catholic Church, and there is no way I can condone that! See Harry Potter and the Paganization of Culture, by Michael D. O’Brien. Bear in mind, though, that I am not attacking the author of the Harry Potter books or those that read them. I’m certain that the readers find the books good entertainment, and J.K. Rowling is a well-meaning lady. It’s simply that I object to the books, on religious and spiritual grounds.) Apparently this case is different; they didn’t start calling him that until what? The last two books or so? But from what I’ve heard, they don’t seem to fight the villain with integrity; more with whatever will give them victory. (Recurring theme here; Anakin thought the Jedi “inadequate” and to be “holding him back.”) This is in stark contrast with the way Gandalf, Frodo, Galadriel, and Elrond decide to fight the War of the Ring; they refuse to fight the Enemy with his own weapons. From the reports of the Harry Potter books, not only does Harry indulge in this general lawlessness, but so does everybody else. Yeah, they win in the end… but at what cost? As opposed to Star Wars, where the only victory is by doing the right thing. (I know I’m going to get shouted down for judging without reading, but I really do not need another obsession, or even just more clutter on my mental landscape.)

Exhibit C: Lloyd Garmadon. Despite the Eastern spiritualism perpetuated in the Lego Ninjago series, it really has quite a few redeeming thematic features. I can safely say that I think this is the best portrayal of a “Chosen One” in modern popular entertainment. Lloyd, the son of Garmadon, the supposed “Dark Lord”, is “destined” to “destroy evil” (though, predictably, that hasn’t happened yet or the series would be over!)

Lloyd struggles with his destiny, quite a bit. He is very human indeed (not to mention cute… shhh. 😛 ) He feels rather left out and there are times when he just wants to be normal. He struggles with self-control, and has times when he snaps under the pressure of training. There are days when he just fails. In short, he isn’t perfect, which is a common feature to all humans, and he realizes it, which is a redeeming feature. He realizes his errors and tries to become better. Ultimately, he ends up defeating evil by realizing his own weaknesses, and in the sequel (Ninjago Rebooted,) his powers actually become the team’s greatest weakness. This turn-about, added to the fact that the former Dark Lord, Garmadon, has been redeemed and is now the team’s main “Sensei” after Wu was captured, is nothing but pure brilliance. I’m not obsessed with this show, but I do love the way they suddenly whipped things around fast enough to make the watchers’ heads whirl.

But even without his powers, Lloyd would be quite the character in his own right. He’s mischievous at times, charming, kind, endearingly rascally, occasionally brash, and most of all, he recognizes his shortcomings. Even without the added abilities, Lloyd would have been a valiant defender of the people of Ninjago in his own right.

In my experience, Chosen Ones tend to be humans with a superhuman destiny. They have their own lives, free will, and fallibility, just like other humans. Only occasionally have I read a story in which the “Chosen One” is a supernatural or superhuman being, who has been sent especially to defeat evil, or for some other “mission.” Invariably these supernatural, “perfect” Chosen Ones are side characters, and for good reason. If they are infallible, they’re not loveable. They’re not human enough for human readers to get to like them. You simply can not write a story with a perfect protagonist, because if you do, then what? Nothing even happens. There is no point, no reason to fight. The protagonist must change with the story, they must defeat their inner demons and fight with their flaws. Occasionally, there won’t even be a fight because the Mary Sue takes out the bad guys, end of story. So what if it kicks behinds? It’s still just a fight scene, not a story.

So, what am I calling for?

  1. For the Chosen One (if human) to have to understand that their powers are not limitless, and that they are still fallible, and to accept that.
  2. For Chosen Ones to have to work at controlling their powers before they can actually use them.
  3. For humbler Chosen Ones, or at least for Chosen Ones whose lack of humility brings in bad results.
  4. For good mentors to work with the Chosen Ones, punishing them for disobedience or disrespect, basically knocking them into shape and making them accept the consequences of their actions, as well as providing emotional support. (Obi-Wan is the best, but fails partly due to his lack of practical experience.)
  5. For destiny not to be written in stone. In other words, the Chosen One must have the free will to deny his or her destiny. He or she must doubt destiny, and have the choice that they can make of their own free will to choose this road of destiny or to live a normal life instead (and those who decide not to choose destiny should be pitied, not judged.) They must have the chance to deny destiny. They must be fallible creatures.
  6. Most of all, I’m looking for Chosen One prophecies that are realistic. In other words, the Chosen One’s destiny is not to defeat evil, but to hold it back, or to make some vital stroke in the battle of good versus evil. (To refer to the Bible, Christ came to make a definitive blow against Satan, to open the gates of Heaven, to call on sinners to become saints. He did not come to destroy evil once and for all–that would destroy free will, and must wait for the day of Judgment–or to collect those who were already doing good, but to save all of us, to give our good actions true merit, and heal sinners.) After all, a perfect and absolute victory leaves no room for a sequel, now, does it?

These six points are the reason why Rowan, the protagonist of my novel Bound to the Flame, is not really a “Chosen One.” Yes, he is special. Yes, he is gifted. Yes, there may (or may not) be a prophecy about him. Yes, he probably will change the course of this alternate history he’s living in. But his role is really more of a protector and strategist, not the person who is supposed to single-handedly save the world. And if the story does change into him needing to do that… you’ll be the first to know, my dear readers. ;-P But seriously, if he does end up needing to save the world, you can trust that he’s going to do it by God’s strength, not his own. He’s going to find that out, anyway–he’s still learning the lesson of humility.

I think that should be the true message of a “Chosen One” story–you can only find true strength by realizing your weakness, and in some cases, by embracing it.

I’m pretty sure there are other books, movies, and series out there involving faulty portrayals of “Chosen Ones.” Which is your favorite? Which do you like to bash? Please, tell me! 🙂

Thanks for reading, and God Bless!

Mocked Guardian

17 Tuesday Jun 2014

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Living Life with Passion, Story Dynamics, Tales of a Wandering Bard, Uncategorized

≈ 79 Comments

Tags

completely random posts, confusing nonsense, poetry, rambling musings

Hello, everyone! I originally thought that I wasn’t going to post today, but I decided to post after all, because I love you all so much. :-3

This is my first attempt at free verse poetry. Tell me what you all think! 🙂

Edit: Meaning and inspiration for this poem now up. 🙂 Read here!


 Mocked Guardian

Screaming out voiceless into the night

Pleading my freedom behind glass walls

No light shall shine upon my hopes

And dreams all die away

None can hear my voice again

Trapped behind these invisible walls

Unseen, unfelt by any hands

My grace fades like the twilight away

Unheard as in a genie vase

With pain I call; shadows grip about me

Dragging me down into depths unknown

Where back behind oblivious minds

Their shadows call away, mocking, mocking

With voices none but I can hear.

They trapped me here behind their minds

A guardian who no longer walks free

To guard from evils the heedless ones

Who say that evils do not exist. Liars!

Before they locked me away, they mocked me

And doomed their world to spin away

Leaderless, helpless, into excoriating black,

Since they deny that black exists.

None shall follow now.

I can not protect that future until the past is reconciled.

I lie trapped behind the walls of hate

Of those who say they do not hate.

They have numbed their minds; they do not see

What lies before them, what fate they set themselves,

What doom they forged for their children’s children,

Covered over with the glamour of countless lies,

Cemented with the blood of countless children.

And here I will lie, screaming unheard, unfelt,

Beyond the reach of sound, unseen,

A light cast by no shadow here, invisible,

Unknown, unthought, wishing to be unmade

Until at last the walls crumble down, leaving me free,

Free, to dissolve away at last, free, to throw myself on empty space,

Free to discorporate into bodiless light, seek oblivion,

And pray once more to cast myself, alone, unnamed, unbodied

Stripped of all that once I thought was me

Naked before the Throne and empty, alone,

At last of all these illusions free

Between my self and eternity

The truth: A servant of the Divine.

The lie, nonexistence. I cast myself on God’s mercy,

And He shall hear and succor me.


Yes, there is a story behind this. But I want to hear all your guesses first. Maybe I’ll post tomorrow and tell you what the inspiration was if you make lots of good guesses today. No, that was not a bribe. Oh, who am I kidding, it totally was. 😛

Cheerio! See you all tomorrow! 😛

Archivist of Selay’uu’s Journal: Closet Locking

16 Monday Jun 2014

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Living Life with Passion, Tales from Selay'uu, Tales of a Wandering Bard, Uncategorized

≈ 49 Comments

Tags

closets, humor, j.m. barrie, peter pan, selay'uu, star wars

“Erin, let me out! Please, let me out! I’ll take back what I said about your hair and your writing and your squeaky, scratchy pens and your pet hedgehog! Just let me out and I’ll be good for the rest of my natural life!”

This is Anakin, when he’s locked in a closet with no prospect of release, or any food or drink other than bread, water, and lettuce. If I keep him in here for over twelve hours, I will give him either a hard-boiled egg or beans, but that’s it. I think I rather like holding him prisoner. It’s pretty obvious that he’s lost his lightsaber, again, too–or he wouldn’t be begging, no matter what the Council says about destroyed doors. I lean in close to the door and shout back at him.

“And if your life isn’t natural, what then?”

“I’ll be good all the same! Just please, please, please no more lettuce!” I grin and walk away. There’s a chamber pot in there, so I’m not worried about anything at all. Anakin can meditate in the time he’s in there. Do him good.

Now, you may be wondering why I locked Anakin in a closet. Well, the answer is simple.

He destroyed my IRL job search. And I mean destroyed. All browser windows closed. All progress deleted. All browser history gone. I didn’t want to do it, true, but I knew it had to be done and for goodness sake, I just wanted to have it done. I have never been more mad in my life than I was at Anakin.

And if you want to know how I dragged Anakin into the closet, the answer is, I didn’t. I chased him in. Yup. The Chosen One. Running. From me.

Admittedly, I am part Irish, but still. Must’ve been humiliating to run from a girl, but Anakin was too scared to care. Yes, this is the guy they nicknamed the Hero With No Fear. The Hero who doesn’t think is more like it!

There is blissful calm all evening. It lasts through the night and partway through the next morning, until Obi-Wan (finally back from his mission) notices how quiet it is.

“Where’s my shadow?” he asks. Or wait–that was Peter Pan. I forget what Obi-Wan said. I would’ve helped Pan if it meant I could keep Anakin in the closet longer, but you all know Obi-Wan, as single-minded as the day is long and twice as stubborn. I wound up releasing him. And Anakin did apologize, very profusely…. hiding behind Obi-Wan the entire time.

Sigh. Maybe I shall imprison Palpatine next. Or raid the kitchens with Ahsoka… whichever comes to a head first.

Bound to the Flame, Chapter IV, Part III

15 Sunday Jun 2014

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Bound to the Flame, Tales of a Wandering Bard

≈ 26 Comments

Tags

apologies, bound to the flame, life, minor annoyances, stories in progress

Hello, everyone! Sorry about the wait… when real life intrudes, the blog suffers. :-S Even when the blogger has 30k plus words up her sleeve to post… Sorry, once again. There won’t be much this time… Chapter IV was a short chapter.

On to Rowan!

Bound to the Flame

Chapter IV

Part III

                He met Margery as she was coming back out of the camp. “Rowan, where have you been?” she asked.

“I know Adyn’s safe,” he said. Margery registered irritation at him.

“If you knew that before, then why ever did you go off on a wild-goose chase?” she said, frustrated.

“I didn’t know before,” Rowan said coolly. “I couldn’t know before I looked for him myself. My mind was not clear, and I could not risk trying to search for him mentally.” Margery shrugged.

“Where were you, anyway?” she asked.

“At a place I’m glad Adyn did not go,” Rowan replied. “My mind has been blurred, clouded, ever since we came here, but now it’s perfectly clear. We must find my brother Julian.”

“Does being among a big crowd usually distract you?” Margery asked.

“It wasn’t the crowd,” Rowan assured her as he led her through the Ertraian camp. In a few minutes, they arrived at the royal pavilion. A few smaller tents were grouped around it, in a small circle. “None of us sleeps in the pavilion,” Rowan confided. “My parents share a tent with me, and my foster brothers have a tent to themselves. Fortaine is probably with my mother in council, but Julian was on duty late last night. He’s probably sleeping right now. You might want to make yourself scarce, if he is. He’s a bear when he’s first woken up of a morning.” Rowan continued toward the tent; Margery remained behind. “Julian?” he asked, out of courtesy, before entering. No answer. Not a sound. Rowan pulled aside the heavy canvas tent flap. He gasped and dropped to his knees. Margery looked over his shoulder and gave a cry of shock.

The tent was a scene of chaos. The small wooden folding table that stood beside the cot was overturned, and the pitcher and basin lay on the ground, shattered. The grass was still damp, but the dry ground had already sucked up all the water. The broken pieces of a smashed chair lay mixed with the pottery. The sheets of the cot were thrashed, and ripped to shreds. Even the second cot, the one that should have been untouched, was in a shambles. The tent was empty.

Julian was gone.

Recovering, Rowan stepped into the tent, careful not to disturb anything. He examined the bed closely, looked at the table, chair, and broken jar and basin. At last, he cautiously lay on the bed, leaped up with more speed than Margery would have thought possible, moved to the other side of the tent, brushed his elbow up against an imaginary jar, leaped sideways, paused once more to examine the signs of the struggle again, began to move again, laying smaller steps into place, tracing the movement of one who had been there before, moving gracefully and yet purposefully about. Tiny pale flickers followed his every move, darting here and there, forming shy, glimmering lines. Margery watched, entranced. “What are you doing?” she asked in a loud whisper. Rowan gathered some of the glimmering dust into his palm and blew it outward into the open space of the tent. It swirled around, forming the shapes of an un-tipped table, an unbroken pitcher and basin, a chair, an un-rumpled cot, and the figure of a man lying on it. Margery could not see the apparition’s face clearly, but she could tell that the shining outline was meant to be Julian. The man stirred at what appeared to be a sudden sound, though there was no sound in the re-creation, and leaped to his feet. His elbow brushed against the pitcher and it fell, smashing silently into shards, which flew outwards, outlining their solid counterparts in an unearthly glow. Shadoy figured raced into the tent, strangely soundless, overturning the table and overcoming the brave knight, knocking him unconscious and dragging him from the shelter. The pale glow slowly dimmed, faded away; Rowan held up a hand. On his face was a look of intense concentration. The lines flashed out again and went dormant. Walking quickly to the table, Rowan grabbed a sheet of paper and a quill pen. The ink bottle was mercifully unbroken, and Rowan penned two notes with astonishing swiftness. Laying one on the bed, he tucked the other into his belt and walked swiftly from the tent. Margery preceded him out. Turning at the entrance, Rowan made a swift gesture, as if sliding something closed with both hands, open palms facing forward. The tent flaps closed and tied themselves in an intricate fastening. Rowan walked swiftly to his own tent, with Margery following. “What did you do?” she asked, curious.

“I bound the memory spell so that it would last, and then sealed the area. No one will be able to enter it and disturb it before my mother comes.” He laid the second note down on his cot and walked swiftly away, a slight limp the only reminder of his long-since injured and never fully healed leg.

“What are you doing?” Margery demanded.

“No one else will come for a long time,” Rowan replied. “They’re all in the Council meetings. I’m going after my brother.” They made their way to the stables, Margery trailing hesitantly behind her friend.

“Why can’t you wait?” she asked. “It’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous or not, the longer we wait, the greater the head start Julian’s kidnappers will have. Besides, I’m not exactly defenseless.” Rowan shifted his cloak, briefly. A dagger glinted at his belt, then was hidden once more. “He’s my brother. I have to help him.” Rowan took down the saddle from its hook and laid it on a jet-black horse’s back, patting its neck reassuringly as he did so. The horse whinnied softly.

“I’m coming with you,” Margery declared. Rowan froze, caught halfway in tightening the girth.

“What?” he asked.

“I said, I’m coming with you,” Margery repeated stubbornly.

“But… you can’t, you have to stay with your family… what would your mother think?” Rowan stammered.

“She’d think I was off on another adventure, and that I’ll come home safe. I always do,” Margery said self-assuredly, saddling Celad as she spoke. Rowan took a bow and arrows from the wall, slinging the quiver across his back. He slipped a sling into one of the saddlebags and slid a long sword in its scabbard through the waiting loops in the saddle.

“But Julian has no claim on you,” he protested. “I should go alone.”

“No Ertraian has any claim on me,” Margery said. She locked eyes with Rowan. “But there is one Ertraian whom I consider my friend.” Rowan’s mouth curled into a twist. He was not pleased with the decision, but he would bow to her wishes.

“Very well,” he said. He slid one foot into the stirrup and slung the other over the saddle with the practiced ease of an experienced rider, flicking the reins, signaling the coal-black horse into a trot. Margery followed suit, and Rowan led her off through the camp, into the woods.

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