Niniane bids Angusel farewell in RAGING SEA Ch6/Sc1 #amwriting #Arthurverse #ASMSG

Graphic overlay (c)2015 by Kim Headlee. In Arthurian Legend the Lady of the Lake is the person most often identified as having raised the young Lancelot, equipping him and sending him off to meet his destiny.

The following excerpt from the second to last stanza of the section titled "Lancelot and Elaine" in Idylls of the King by Sir Alfred Lord Tennyson has for decades shaped my view of the relationship of Lancelot to the Lady of the Lake:

Mine own name shames me, seeming a reproach,
Lancelot, whom the Lady of the Lake
Caught from his mother's arms—the wondrous one
Who passes through the vision of the night—
She chanted snatches of mysterious hymns
Heard on the winding waters, eve and morn
She kissed me saying, "Thou art fair, my child,
As a king's son," and often in her arms
She bare me, pacing on the dusky mere.

In Raging Sea, Angusel's name has become a reproach to him too, and the recovery of his identity forms a central theme in the book. A glimpse of that struggle is reflected in today's excerpt.

Previous excerpts of Raging Sea  Chapter 1: Scene 1 | Scene 2 | Scene 3 | Scene 4 | Scene 5 |Chapter 2: Scene 1-A | Scene 1-B | Scene 2 |Chapter 3: Sc 1-A | Sc 1-B | Scene 2 | Sc 3-A | Sc 3-B |
Chapter 4: Sc 1-A | Sc 1-B | Sc 2-A | Sc 2-B | Sc 2-C |
Chapter 5: Sc 1-A | Sc 1-B | Sc 1-C | Sc 2 | Sc 3 | Sc 4-A | Sc 4-B |
Raging Sea Chapter 6, Scene 1©2015 by Kim HeadleeAll rights reserved.
THE messenger arrived at vespers on the calends of April.

Niniane was within a prayer of completing the worship service when she noticed him and his taller companion. Neither man carried weapons. They remained standing near the doors, well away from the sisters, heads bowed and hands clasped, though not in the manner of supplicants. The messenger was wearing a plain if well-made blue tunic and leather leggings, boots of the same hue, and a grass-green cloak crossed by gray and black. His blue-ringed silver dragon badge gave the only indication of his affiliation with Arthur’s forces. His companion stood dressed in a standard legion cavalry officer’s scale-armor tunic, undyed undertunic, and scarlet cloak—though the black boots weren’t the typical foot gear for a Brytoni soldier.

She wondered less about that oddity than about what message could be so important that Arthur had sent his fleet commander to deliver it.

For Bedwyr’s benefit she added: “Lord God, we humbly beseech Your divine mercy for all those whose work sends them onto the sea to guard us from raiders and invaders. Please grant these brave men shelter under Your mighty wings from storms and rocks and enemies and other perils. Keep them safe, we pray, so that they may return to their homes and loved ones when their work is done. Lord, in Your mercy . . .”

“Hear our prayer,” chanted the sisters. Bedwyr mouthed the response. Whether he uttered the words aloud, Niniane couldn’t tell.

She concluded worship with the benediction. As was customary, some sisters remained kneeling to continue private prayer and meditation while the rest rose to return to their duties, which at this time of day related to the preparation and serving of the evening meal.

Many of the sisters greeted Bedwyr with nods and smiles laced with recognition and gratitude. Niniane wasn’t surprised. In the past two years, the priory had seen enough terrors to last two lifetimes for every woman who lived here. Any man known to be a proven bulwark against the chaos—especially if he didn’t appear to be battling the chaos at the moment—was a welcome sight.

Bedwyr’s companion raised his head at Niniane’s approach. She stifled a gasp.

“Angusel?” He had arrived at the priory last year in a ruined ebony battle-tunic of the style favored by his people. His boots, it seemed, forged the final link to his past, and Niniane dared not broach that subject lest it reopen a wound that might never close. “Your new uniform becomes you,” she said. Working for the sisters and training with Elian and Gull all winter had caused him to fill it out well, though she kept that observation to herself.

“Thank you, Prioress.” It grieved her to see the gratitude in his golden-brown eyes eroded by the undertow of sadness. She wished she could do more for him but knew he would have to find a way to deal with the sorrow on his own terms. “For the healing and . . . for your faith in me.”

“Always, my son. Always. You return to your regular legion duties, then.” She glanced at Bedwyr as the three of them walked toward the chapel’s door. “At headquarters? Or some other posting?”

While Angusel held open the door, Bedwyr shook his head. “He stays to help defend Maun, along with the extra troops I’ve brought from their winter homes.”

Niniane held her reply until they had stepped outside, out of earshot of the praying sisters. She shut the door and leaned against it, whispering, “Arthur expects more trouble here?”

Bedwyr too kept his voice low. “Arthur is being cautious. We have confirmed that Cuchullain is rebuilding his fleet.” His gaze turned frank. “Where he will send it, and when, is anyone’s guess.”

Sighing, Niniane closed her eyes and tilted her head back against the chapel’s door. “Dear Lord, defend us . . .” She regarded her visitors with a brief smile. “And in Your mercy, defend those who defend us.”

Bedwyr returned her smile, but Angusel did not. The young man laid his right fist over his heart and bowed his head for a long moment. As he raised his head and lowered his hand, his eyes glittered with renewed purpose. “Prioress, I will return as often as I can to continue helping you and the sisters.”

“I appreciate that, Angusel. We all do.”

“Ainchis Sal, my lady. Optio Ainchis Sal a Dubh Loch, Third Turma, Manx Cohort. That is how the duty roster reads.”

Niniane nodded, wishing that the path to healing didn’t have to switch back upon itself, yet knowing that wish’s futility. The deeper the pain, the more convoluted the journey.

“If you don’t collect the rest of your gear and leave soon, lad, you’re going to get the lash for being late.” Bedwyr’s tone was not unkind. “Report to my ship at dawn if you change your mind.”

Angusel gave him a sharp legion salute. “Aye, Fleet Commander.”

“Go with God, Angusel—Ainchis Sal, my son,” Niniane said. “And with my blessing.”

He nodded, turned with a swirl of his cloak, descended the steps, and was gone.

Niniane regarded Bedwyr. “Change his mind about what?”

***To learn about Sir Robert Alain de Bellencombre, hero of Snow in July , and my unique challenges in writing about him, please visit the RLF Blog. (And help me earn "Top Blogger" points there, thanks! :)
***Enter this great Rafflecopter giveaway for a $25 gift card!
a Rafflecopter giveaway
  ***
All this month, you are invited to...
— Follow Kim on Twitter
— Add Kim to Google+
— Subscribe to Kim's YouTube channel
— Leave a comment on any page of The Maze, especially if you have done the Twitter and/or YouTube follow
...and each action this month is good for one chance to win an e-book copy of Snow in July . Please enter often, and good luck!