#llscavengerhunt

[whiteraven-s]

A. Malcom │ Reunion Scavenger Hunt #10 @thelallybrochlibrary 

#2

[caitbalfes]

LALLYBROCH LIBRARY SCAVENGER HUNT Item 9: Create a poster advertising Outlander fan fiction

[thekingparrot]

The art of Tasseography

Sireadh Broch Tuarach: An Outlandish Scavenger Hunt!

21. Write a piece of fan fiction that includes a mention of The Lallybroch Library (one shot)

Lallybroch Library wasn’t a large depository of books but included on its stout wooden shelves were some rare antique tomes containing details of the activities of the Fraser clan in the battles leading up to Culloden in April 1746.

Ellen Fraser took great care of the books for which she felt responsible. She wanted to preserve these precious books, retain the patina of age and guarantee their future.  She regarded the books as others might admire a valuable piece of antique furniture or an old family portrait.  Her box of tools contained soft, lint-free cloths to gently wipe the books, particularly the more valuable volumes with gold leaf on their covers.  She also had a few small, soft toothbrushes to gently clean the spines of the books and some dirt erasers to gently wipe pages clean.  And she never used white gloves on the antiquarian books – which is why she was standing her ground with Dr Frank Randall.

Frank Randall had come to Lallybroch to refer to some of the books in Ellen’s care.  She found him quite humourless, even stuffy, and when he’d taken his white gloves from his briefcase, he had the look of a smug academic who knew the secrets of librarians.  And he didn’t appreciate Ellen correcting him: “At my university college in Oxford” (he placed emphasis on Oxford, seemingly to give himself some badge of importance) “we always use white gloves to avoid damage” he told her in a somewhat snooty tone.

Not to be outdone, Ellen produced a small booklet from the British Library discounting the use of gloves when handling aged books.  In fact, it explained that the use of gloves was a recent development and could cause damage to the aging paper.

Dr Randall’s wife, Claire, watched as Frank and Ellen faced off, neither of them prepared to give way. It was Claire who suggested: “Frank, it’s clear that Ellen takes great care with the books for which she’s a custodian.  I think she knows what she’s doing.”

Frank looked at her with disdain: “Claire, I’m a history professor.  Please don’t undermine me.”

Claire felt a lump in her throat, but continued: “Frank, the books belong to the Fraser family not Oxford University. I think we should respect the family’s wishes.”

Frank threw his gloves back in his briefcase, making it clear that he would comply with Ellen’s wishes even though he was right.  Ellen found the volumes he wanted to refer to, laid them on the oak table in the centre of the library and suggested that she and Claire go into the kitchen for a cup of tea and a slice of cake.

Keen to overcome the discomfort created by Frank’s pomposity, Claire admired the beautiful Aga stove and the old pine dresser, covered with vintage china.  Ellen enjoyed pointing out her favourite pieces, and the two women discovered that they shared a love of Oolong tea.  Ellen made a large pot of their favourite brew and suggested Claire drink her tea so that she could read the leaves for her.

As they drank their tea, Ellen told Claire that reading the leaves, or tasseography, had been an art form in the Mackenzie family for generations: “Even if I say so myself, my dear, I am really rather good at it.”

Claire drank her tea and handed her cup to Ellen: “Tell me all. Don’t hold back”, she smiled.

Ellen looked closely at the leaves.  A slight frown appeared on her face: “Well, that’s a most unusual pattern. Where did you say you were from Claire?”

“I’m from Oxfordshire, Ellen.  My maiden name was Beauchamp”, Claire replied.

“And you’ve never been to Scotland before?”, Ellen asked.

“No, never”, Claire replied.  “Why do you ask?”

“Well, according to the leaves, your Past, Near Future and Distant Future all have the same pattern. That’s most unusual.  I’ve never seen or heard of it before”, Ellen explained. “And there’s …”

Ellen didn’t complete her sentence.  Frank appeared in the doorway: “Can both of you come into the library please?  I’ve found something quite extraordinary that I want you both to see.”

Ellen and Claire followed Frank into the library.  Open on the table was a book with a portrait of a man in full Scottish regalia and a woman in mid-eighteenth-century dress.

“Claire, this woman looks remarkably like you”, Frank said.  He turned to Ellen: “Who are these people Mrs Fraser?”

“You’re looking at James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser, Lord Broch Tuarach also known as Red Jamie, and his Sassenach wife, Claire, Lady Broch Tuarach”, Ellen said in amazement.

She heard the front door and a voice called out: “Ma, I’m home”.

Ellen smiled: “That’ll be my son, James.”  

[hollanovskat]

Strangers Like Me

The Lallybroch Library Scavenger Hunt 2019

21. Write a piece of fan fiction that includes a mention of The Lallybroch Library.

Author’s Note: This little Tarzan AU ficlet is for the amazing @lady-o-ren. You inspired my Claire in this fic, love!

Claire sat perched on the edge of the cot, legs drawn up to her chest. Propped up on her knees was a sketchbook, and the tips of her fingers were smudged grey from the small bit of lead she held. With a practiced hand, she continued to draw the pencil across the paper.

Her movements stilled after a moment to take in the small adjustments she had made to his eyes. “Still not right,” she mumbled under her breath as she stared down at it.

She glanced up at him for the dozenth time, her own eyes knowing exactly where to find him in the large tent. He had been sitting with uncle Lamb for near on an hour, completely enamored with the latter’s zoetrope. Around and around it spun, but his eyes - the ones she had tried over and over to translate on paper - never left the mark from where he viewed the animated motion.

Claire was determined to capture the essence of him. But without perfecting his eyes, it would be a complete waste.

They were the first thing she had noticed when she had met him in the jungle just the week before. The way they had studied her, complete shock and awe radiating from him. How they seemingly penetrated her soul each time he had looked at her since, as though he could see beyond her simple physical characteristics to the depths of who she was.

It was an odd thing for her to come across a man who was so willing to listen and observe. Her years in academia had made her resent many of the men around her; she always had to speak louder and be more forceful than she would have wanted. But with Jamie it was entirely different.

She wasn’t a fool, she knew his curiosity and willingness to listen to her came from never having interacted with another human being before. And all of their possessions were new to him, awe enveloping his looks as he tested each one out for himself. But she wouldn’t deny how wonderful it was to be able to teach without being questioned or interrupted.

He had been teaching her the last few days also. Showing her what life had been like for him over the last two decades. It was amazing to witness the skills he had learned in order to survive, and the family he had found among the animals of the jungle.

She hoped that he would return with them to England once they left. But a large part of her knew he wouldn’t. And because of that she wanted to remember everything about him. Take a piece of him back with her.

It was a seemingly impossible task. How do you show the true being of a man in just lead and paper? He was so much more than that. Not a thing to be studied, or have a book written about him only to sit idle on the shelves of great libraries like the one at Lallybroch.

A soft sigh escaped across her lips, and the sound of it drew his eyes towards her, once again, piercing her soul, and her heart.

@thelallybrochlibrary

[greenglasslov3]

Visit Original Link

It’s no secret that I absolutely adore @kalendraashtar‘s fics, but there’s one I think of every time I listen to Ed Sheeran.  Pardon my terrible, trashy Philly accent - this is Kal’s Happier.

[renee-writer]

Fanart for @ladyviolethummingbird 's School Trip. And a plea for more!😀😀😀

[xlisaleinx]

„Ellen?“ he whispered.

Her name sounded strange in his ears; he hadn’t uttered it out loud for many a decade, and yet his tongue still remembered the way to form the syllables, calling her picture to him until he could see her as clear as day, as if she was standing right in front of him.

And she was. Or wasn’t she? It couldn’t be. But, Dhia, he could see her so clearly. The evening sun setting her red hair ablaze, illuminating the pale skin of her face. Like pearl. She was moving around the filthy bodies of sailors and other folk on the other side of the filthy street, gracefully, a shining fairy among dull and grey figures. Tall and so familiar. An old, calloused hand, sunburnt, came to rest over his trembling lips. Was this death? If this was his final hour and she had come to take him home, he would go with her, and gladly so. He hadn’t really lived for twenty years anyway.

„Ellen“, he said again, more than a whisper this time, but still inaudible to anyone around him, tenderly spoken in his hoarse and broken voice, raspy from disuse. She couldn’t have heard him.

His eyes never left her face, drawn to her by age-old forces. And when their eyes locked, a soft whimper escaped his lips. The familiar sensation of looking into a loved one’s eyes after such a long time nearly undid him - but what brought him to his knees was the realization that it weren’t Ellen’s eyes that were looking back at him.

Staring at her, wide-eyed, he was struggling to stay conscious. The painfully anonymous glance of a stranger locking eyes with another on the street for a millisecond turned into a look of concern when she saw his knees buckling. She ran to him, and all he could do was stare at her. She crouched beside him in the dirt, reaching out to him, and rested a steadying hand on his forearm. „There“, she said gently, in a voice he had never heard before, with an accent he hadn’t expected. He could feel the heat of her long fingers and smooth palm through the sleeve of his worn shirt. Seeing her face so closely in front of him, he noticed the differences. The nose and the high cheek bones, aye, he could have drawn them freehand. The slanted eyes. But…another whimper. The sight before him took his breath away. „Is there anything I can do for you, sir? Are you in pain?“ A Dhia.

„Jamie…“ he rasped, extending a trembling hand towards her face. A flicker of surprise - or maybe shock - danced across her eyes. Then they were boring into his with a familiar intensity, her jaw set, and he couldn’t help but let out a breathless laugh. Her voice barely reached him over the humming in his ears. „Jamie…? What - what…“ She briefly closed her eyes, obviously gathering her thoughts. Her glass face sent the image of another long-lost loved one to his mind, with a pang that sent him reeling all over again. God in Heaven. He could feel two solitary tears crossing paths on his cheek before losing themselves in his thick beard. „Christ, lass, ye are their spitting image“, he said, his voice hoarse with awe.

They kept staring at one another, still next to each other on their knees, time and place forgotten, oblivious to the noise of the town and the curses of people maneuvering around them. She swallowed hard before she started to speak again, both of her hands now gripping his forearms like vices. „I don’t know who you are, but you…you are my last hope. You…know my parents? James and Claire Fraser?“

His eyes spilled over again. Hearing their names, hearing them together in one breath, hearing them uttered by this supernatural creature that must be their daughter, who was made from their flesh, who had their blood running in her veins, joined forever - it knocked all air out of his battered lungs. There were a thousand questions burning in the back of his throat. Why, how was she here, where were her parents? Were they alive? Was Claire here, too, in this time? Were they together somewhere? Were they within reach? Was there a chance to complete the task he had failed so many years ago, when they had taken him away from him? But all those questions could wait. No matter how, she was here. The bairn he had been praying for for the past twenty years. All of the pain he had endured in the course of that time, all the sorrow and all the bitterness fell off his shoulders, and, relieved from this burden, he could feel new energy flowing through his weakened body. The yearning had become a part of him, an open wound that had been sucking the life out of him for endless years - but now this lass was here, with a heart beating as fiercely as her parents’, and she was breathing life into him. He was an old man and his bones were tired. But fate had given him a purpose again. Someone to protect, someone to live for. And maybe, maybe, he would find his way back to his family. To their family.

Slowly, carefully, he removed her hands from his arms, cradled them in his and laid them to rest over his heart. She followed them with her gaze, then looked into his eyes again. She was still unsure, fearful even, but so brave and determined. A Dhia. What had she gone through? It was time.

„Aye, lass. I do know them.“ She let out a sob, her whole body shaking with it. He made a Scottish sound deep in his throat, not quite knowing how to handle her sudden outburst. „Mmmph, weel. There, there.“ He awkwardly patted her hands. „Tell me yer name, aye?“ „My name“, she sobbed, „is Brianna Ellen Ran- Fraser.“ He stilled for a moment, then felt himself grinning like a fool, while another teardrop joined its fellows in his thick grey beard. There she was, after all. Ellen was pulsing through her granddaughter’s veins, eternalized in blood and name. Brianna Ellen, daughter of James and Claire Fraser, was still sobbing. „Shh. Dinna fash, lassie. Murtagh is here. There’s the two of us now. Let’s go find yon parents, aye? I dinna ken - OY!!!“, Murtagh shouted, darting to his feet in an impressive fashion, given his age and still wobbly knees. A particularly filthy man had shoved them aside, nearly making them topple over. „Watch where ye’re goin’, ye clotheid!“ Feeling more like himself than he had in ages, he looked back at Brianna to see if she was alright. The beaming smile she gave him through her tears made him realize that all this time he’d spent in darkness had been worth it. He had been reborn.

Oh my GOD, you guys. This one-shot is my contribution to the @thelallybrochlibrary‘s scavenger hunt. My first attempt at writing something Outlander related, and the first time I’ve ever written in English. This THING has been sitting in my drafts for over a week and it took a large glass of whisky and my boyfriend’s *very* insisting encouragement to finally post this tonight. I’M TERRIFIED. 🙈

Item no. 19: Write your first ever piece of fan fiction.

[cantrixgrisea]

An Outlandish Scavenger Hunt!  #LLScavengerHunt

9. Create a poster advertising Outlander fan fiction

 @gotham-ruaidh It is for you!☺

@thelallybrochlibrary I'm sorry if I misunderstood assignment. But you all know that I'm stupid with languages, so I hope you forgive me ☺☺