#romancoin

[alsadeekalsadouk]

The reverse of a Roman sestertius varied greatly, but often depicted religious symbols, mythological figures, or scenes representing the emperor's achievements, such as military victories, public works, or personifications of abstract concepts like hope or happiness. Common examples include the deity Hilaritas, a triumphant arch, a chariot, or the personification of Britain .

We see : Italia ,Dacia , Roma , who is the remaining?

[outlanderfanficrelay-blog]

Outlander Fanfic Relay #15

 Hello lovelies.  @romancoin with chapter 15.  Next in line:  @notevenjokingrightnow

 @whiskynottea and issue #14  

Disheartened, but also marginally hopeful with the solution proposed by Master Raymond, Claire and Jamie left his shop.

 “I operate, so to speak, in the concrete. The factual. What can be explainable through science and logic. This defies everything I’m accustomed to” Claire remarked to Jamie as they strode back to her apartment. “The idea that we need to ‘return’ to a former life in order to fix the present is just…mad!”

 “Aye.  It doesna fit into my own understanding either, Claire  But it’s at least an option.  We’ve no much else.”

 “This amounts to nothing more than magic!” Claire said, throwing up her hands.

 Back at her apartment, Claire tossed her keys onto the table.  They both stood there preoccupied and, if they were honest, afraid.  Jamie took her hand and lead her to the couch.  Leaning back on a pillow, he pulled her against him.  Rubbing his hand over Claire’s back, he kissed the top of her head.

 “Let’s rest now.  There will be enough time later to work this out.”  

 Tears came quickly to Claire’s eyes as she held Jamie tightly.  

 She soon felt his breathing slow and knew he was asleep. She smiled, but understood she wouldn’t find peace so easily – or quickly.  Too much was going through her mind to rest.

 She got up and pulled a blanket from the chest, intent on covering Jamie, when she recalled a different bed warmer filled with hearth-heated river stones, and a mattress of goose down.  

 Wrapping the blanket around him, she instinctively reached for a bible.  She paused, wondering where this desire came from.

“Maybe I will read something.”  

 She shuffled off to her bookcase in the hall to pull down her old lecture notes and textbooks with the hope of finding some clues or a solution more scientific than traveling through stones.

 The remnants of her time at University were strewn throughout the shelves: Anatomy and Physiology, Medical Terminology, Nephrology, Hematology.

 About to pull out Biological Psychology, a large brown leather book, very old, stood out to her.  It was laid horizontally on the bottom shelf, atop others, with a faded gold-leaf cross on the spine she’d never noticed before. She sat down and laid it on her lap.

 “I completely forgot I had this.”

 A few years ago Claire had covered a shift for a colleague.  She called in the favor shortly afterward when the potential for spending a weekend in the warm spring air, rather than in the stale-smelling, disinfectant-laden hospital, overtook her.    

 That Saturday morning she took her time. Breakfast would be nutritious:  oatmeal and freshly made juice. This was a conscious change from her weekly habits: flying by the seat of her pants and eating take out, or worse, hospital food.

At the top of the to-do list would be rare book stores. These had always been a secret pleasure. In one shop she was drawn to a what looked to be a centuries-old book, laying by itself on a podium in a corner.  

 Catching the attention of the woman who had greeted her when she walked in, Claire asked if it was for sale.

 “You’re the first one to take an interest! But yes, it is.”

 Thinking for a moment, the woman recalled that it had belonged to a man who had been a physician.

 “He was quite old and said he couldn’t live on his own any longer so was moving in with his children.  Needed to downsize.”

 The woman then went back to taking a cursory inventory of the many boxes of books that were threatening to barricade the front desk.  

 “That’s probably something on herbal concoctions and tinctures, due to its age.  I’ve not gone through it though” she offered without turning around.  

 With a passion for early medicine, Claire bought it on the spot.  She added it to her already sizeable stock of books with the intention of learning its secrets on her days off. Unfortunately, it would lay there untouched; an impulse buy that would not be immediately appreciated.  

 Now, though, she ran her fingers over its cover gently, reverently.  

 “I didn’t notice this was a bible.  I just took the woman’s word it was holistic remedies.”

 Its large metal latch was sturdy, with a heavy patina. It looked to be made of iron. The center piece was a Scottish thistle.  Turning the book onto its spine she admired the fore-edge painting. It was a landscape of what she thought might be a small fort with a tower, in a beautiful valley, done by someone with a delicate but capable touch.  

 “IHS” had been embossed into the cover but was so worn as to be nearly invisible.

 “I’ve seen this before” she whispered to herself.

 A memory washed over her - being wrapped in tartan, sitting on the floor of a bedroom beside a fireplace. A man’s voice low and warm as he read from it of Israel’s exodus, Joshua’s campaigns, and Jesus’ ministry. Solemn prayers before sleep.

 She knew, even without the memory having perfect clarity, that it was Jamie.  No other voice touched her soul the way his did.

 As if a well had been uncapped, more memories flooded her heart.

 Walking on a narrow path through a field of bluebells and heath-spotted orchids towards a far-off building. A church?

 The gentle warmth of a spring day.

 Birdsong.

 A gown of white silk, the feel of its embroidery in her fingertips as she lifted it gently off of the ground.

 Freshwater pearls around her neck.

 In the distance, rather than screams, was laughter.

 A man she knew somehow, a kind protector with mischievous eyes, as her escort.

 At the chapel doors – her bridegroom?

 Sunlight through a stained-glass window.

 Pews filled with happy people.

A priest, behind a podium, smiling and nodding to her.

 “This bible was on a podium at the church…..where I was married!”

 Now, rather than fear and stomach-turning nausea at her visions, Claire was overwhelmed with joy.

 Undoing the latch, she lifted the heavy cover to see large cursive on the title page in a language she didn’t recognize:

 Bìoball Teaghlach Fhriseil*  

 Several pages of birth and marriage records followed. One entry caught her breath.  

 “Good gracious.  It can’t get any more concrete than this….”

 She carried the bible to the couch, kissed Jamie, and nudged him awake.  

 Rousing, he grazed his thumb along her cheek.

 “Didna mean to pass out so quickly.  Are ye alright?”

 She ran her own hand along his cheek.

 “ Jamie…I think you’ll want to see this.”

  *Fraser Family Bible

[culpers]

Is it the habit of General Cornwallis not to attend an official surrender?

[anoutlandishfanfic]

Message in a Bottle - Part One

I received another wonderful prompt from romancoin the other day! She seriously has the best ideas. If y’all need prompts, ask her. But, anyway, she sent me this completely developed story and hinted she might try her hand at writing fanfic someday… so I strayed a bit from her premise in hopes that I’d annoy her enough to make her want to write it her own way. Ha! I love you romancoin, don’t hate me.

Here’s the premise that she pitched to me: Lonely Modern-Day-Claire (an engineer, to stir things up a bit) goes to Craig na Dunn not knowing it’s hidden powers. Something vanishes thru the cleft in the stone, prompting her to send other things thru. Jamie finds them and sends them back. Love letters ensue and one travels thru the stones to the other.

Day One - July 10th, 2016; Cairngorms National Park, Scotland.

Uncle Lamb and I had relocated to Oxford from Cairo about five years ago. He had taken a teaching position there, while I attempted to graduate early from upper school and begin taking university courses of my own in London. This set me at a complete disadvantage in the friends department, yet managed to earn me a certain measure of unwanted attention in the biochemical engineering department.

I took this summer off from internships, classes, and labs and instead followed my uncle to the Scottish Highlands. It was a breath of fresh air, literally and figuratively, to be back in the field with him.

This location wasn’t really within Uncle Lamb’s usual scope of historical exploration, he was an expert on the intermediate Egyptian dynasties with several books published on the more specific topic of New Kingdom hieroglyphics, but he had lost a bet with a favorite professor friend of his and, so, here we were.

Tipping my head back, I peered up the steep slope of the hill. Hiking was never far out of the realm of possibility with my uncle and I thanked my lucky stars I had worn my boots today. “It’s at the top?” I asked, rather unnecessarily.

Of course, it was at the top. It was always at the top. Except when it was at the very bottom, but, even then, you had to climb back to the top.

“Yep!” Dr Joe Abernathy, an American who specialized Scottish folklore, replied eagerly.

I trailed behind Uncle Lamb and Dr Joe as we hiked the path up to the top of Craigh na Dunn, listening absently to the two of them discuss the myths surrounding the site. They were two peas in a pod, although Dr Joe was significantly younger than my uncle, and were both in a titter about recently found artifacts or some such.

“And you say they just appear at the base?” My uncle asked skeptically.

Dr Joe nodded, “Dead as door nails.”

The thought of poor, dead birds randomly materializing on the ground in the middle of a henge made me shudder.

What on earth had I agreed to?

…

Day Three - July 13th, 2016.

I sat on the ground between two of the outer stones and chewed on the end of my pencil as I tried to get the cleft in the center stone right. It was quickly frustrating me, being almost geometrically proportional but off just enough to make it irritatingly irregular.

Tearing the page out of my sketchbook, I crumpled it up into a tight ball and threw it at the offending rock. It arched perfectly, looking like it was going to pass right thru the divide. I silently congratulated myself as I waited to see if it would land my uncle, who was working on the other side.

A startled shriek escaped my lips as the paper vanished into thin air.

“Are you alright, Claire?” Uncle Lamb stuck his head around the side of the stone.

Pointing above his head, I gaped, “Where the hell did it go?”

“Where did what go?” Dr Joe asked, coming towards me.

“My paper,” I stood as I answered. “I threw it at the stone and it disappeared.”

Dr Joe laughed and patted me on the head patronizingly, “Sure you did, kid.”

“I’m eighteen and I know what I saw!” I informed him.

…

Day Four - July 14th, 2016.

One of my favorite things to do when I was in the field with Uncle Lamb was to go for morning hikes. We were both early risers, but, as he need an entire pot of coffee before he was ready to do anything productive, I used it as my own private, quiet time.

I got to the top of the hill just as the sun was beginning to hit the standing stones. The sunrise painted the already eerie monoliths in an almost otherworldly light and I took out my phone to quickly capture the moment. Something white caught my eye in the corner of the image, prompting me to move closer to the center stone to investigate.

It was my paper.

Mouth open in astonishment, I scooped it up. It was slightly damp from the dew, but very obviously the paper I had thrown the afternoon before. It certainly hadn’t been there before we left, I had scoured the site looking for it to no avail.

I uncrumpled it and dropped the sheet of paper like it was a hot coal.

Someone had finished my sketch, signing their work with five neat letters in the bottom left hand corner.

JAMMF

[alsadeekalsadouk]

Exceptional bronze Medallions 57,58 g; minted in Rome , For Philip the Arab (Marcus Julius Philippus) was a Roman Emperor who ruled from 244 to 249 CE. Obverse scripted : CONCORDIA AVGVSTORVM. Tiered: the draped armored bust of Philip the Arab with laurel wreath and the draped bust of Otacilia Severa with diadem, bust view to the left. Opposite: the draped armored bust of his son Philip II with laurel wreath, bust view. On Reverse scripts : SAECVLARES // AVGG. Chariot race in the Circus Maximus. In the front three teams to the right, one to the very left in the front view. In the middle ground the spina with palm tree and other architecture. In the background the stands and several buildings.

#archaeology #history #ancient #art #Caesar #ancienthistory #archaeological #rome #italy #roman_empire #roma #heritage #roman_republic #archaeologylife #Orichalcum #Roman_mythology #italia #medallion #romancoin #romanarcheology #romanancientcoins#aureus #denarius #dupondius #follis #antoninianus #sestertius #fils #alsadeekalsadouk #الصديق_الصدوق

[anoutlandishfanfic]

Promptly Prompted.

“A non-canon moment where Jamie and Claire are doing the same thing at the same time, he in the past and she in the future. They each can feel the other’s presence and are able to talk to each other, just for a moment.”

Here we go, folks. FIRST EVER PROMPT. Thanks for the nudge @romancoin This takes place in two chapels at midnight: Claire in the chapel she finds solace in (St Finbar? Yes, no? Or is that just the dude’s school in Prince Caspian? Cuz I thunk I just made that up.) in Boston, Jamie in the tiny village chapel in Broch Mordha. Claire begins her first day of doctoral training in the morning, Jamie will hand himself over to the Redcoats come first light. Both come to find peace in their decision.

For some reason the chanting chorus of “Our Love is God” keeps going thru my head as I write this. ( @bonnie-wee-swordsman I’m looking at you) Mostly just the phrase “our love is god”, the rest of the song only tangentially applies.

“You’re not alone... when the morning comes... we’ll plant our garden here... our love is god.”

Claire. My hand slid along the wooden banister as I made my way towards the rows of candles. Their soft glow drew me in, setting my battered soul at ease.

It always did and I could never explain it. Something about the place seem to transcend the barrier of time. Having crossed that divide myself, it was comforting to be in a place that would have looked much the same two hundred years earlier.

Frank had scoffed at my need to come here, but that only firmed my resolve to do so. “You have your first lecture at eight a.m., are you really going to leave the house in the middle of the night?”

I couldn’t sleep. I might as well be here.

I lit a candle, whispering the centuries-old words into the silence of the empty chapel.

Kneeling, I closed my eyes and pictured him standing in front of me.

Blood of my blood, bone of my bone.

“Can you see her?” I asked the man who lived in my dreams, who would always live in my heart. “She’s beautiful and so like you. Its unnerving sometimes, how much her expressions mimic yours. Especially when she smiles. She has your smile, Jamie, and those blue Fraser eyes.”

Wiping the tears from my cheeks, I asked again, “Do you see us from where you are?”

Jamie. I had to come. Not because I feared what lay ahead, nor out of the need to be absolved of my sin. I couldn’t put a name as to why, but I knew I had to be here.

The large wooden doors were unlocked. The small stone chapel had been here for generations and the priest who currently oversaw the parish felt that none should be barred entry to the House of God. I slid into the dark, cool interior of the chapel and stood listening to make certain I was alone.

I walked down the center aisle in the darkness towards a small flickering candle, the reverberating silence urging me forward. Taking the long taper, I lit a second, smaller candle from the flame of the first. I watched the tiny flame flicker and grow as I recited the words in Latin from memory. This rote recitation finished, my eyes slid shut, my knees resting on the cold stone floor.

I give ye my spirit, ‘til our life shall be done.

She stood in front of me, holding our child. My son or daughter would be seven, of an age with Jenny’s twins. My heart yearned to know if Claire had birthed a son or a daughter, and yet I knew it didn’t matter. They were safe, spared from the destruction and famine that overwrought the Highlands following Culloden.

“I see the two of ye everywhere, Sassenach,“ I spoke aloud. “I see our bairn in wee Michael and Janet. I see yer smile in the stars of a night.”

Claire. Something was different, yet nothing had changed from one moment to the next. I was still alone in the darkness. I could hear nothing but the clatter of my heart as it leapt into action, responding to a sudden surge of emotion.

I came to my feet, looking round. He was here. I knew he was.

“Jamie?” my voice trembled as I said his name for the first time in years.

Aye, mo nighean donn, I’m here wi’ ye. I made tha’ vow wi’ my blood an’ I intend to keep it. I will always be wi’ ye, ‘til yer life be done and it isna done yet, Sassenach.

The tears surged down my cheeks in earnest now and I did nothing to keep them in check. There was no one to see them, save the man who had dried them many times before.

“Oh, Jamie.” I sighed, words failing me.

Soon, Claire. I promise ye that ‘twill be soon.

“Where are you?” My arms opened wide, my soul torn into two. “Jamie, I need you!”

I need ye too, Sassenach.

My body shook with every word as I shouted them into the blank darkness.“Then me when, you bloody Scot! When will I see you again?”

I canna say, for I dinna ken. But ken this, mo nighean donn, no’ even death can keep me from loving you.

“Nor I you,” I whispered back, every ounce of anger gone.

an deireadh / the end

[anoutlandishfanfic]

Willie MacKenzie Prompt

“I've always felt sad that the last we see of Willie is when he hugs Claire before she and Jamie leave for Paris. ... I’d feel the void would be filled if I could read of something wonderful and happy happening for him. Maybe becoming a priest himself and pastoring a community?” romancoin

I like this one. Imma gonna keep it. Make it canon. So, guess what, folks? Not only do you get a fun prompt, you get a peek into Part Four of Stones! There will be more of Willie to come.

Spring 1772; River Run, North Carolina. Julia.

“Miss Julia! Miss Julia! Miss Julia!” a chorus of excited little girls interrupted my thoughts.

Laughing, I caught hold of the smallest one, “What is it, Susanna? Has Mr Darcy come to call at last?”

Her brows furrowed in confusion, “Who dat, Miss ‘Ooya?”

“I was teasing you, sweetie.” I set her down and tucked the blonde wisps of hair back into her cap, “What have you come to tell me?”

The three year old’s eyes brightened instantly and she clapped her hands, bouncing in place. “Misser Thomas back!”

My heart clattered to a stop, then started again with a jolt that sucked all the air out of my lungs. He had found a priest. He had been gone for over a month, but he had found one. I wasn’t sure why that surprised me, he promised he would.

Actually, vowed was probably the more accurate word.

“Is he here or still in Cross Creek?” I asked, looking over my shoulder towards the house.

“He’s here, Miss Julia,” the leader of the pack said, a sassy brunette with a yellow dress, “I saw him talking with your Da.”

Oh, Jesus H Roosevelt Christ.

***

“Have you seen my mother, Phaedre?”

“Yes, Miss Julia. She’s in the salon.” She nodded towards the door at the end of the hall with her head as her hands were full.

I held my breath, “With Da and Thomas?”

“And his guest, the Reverend.” She smiled and winked at me.

Blushing, I thanked her and continued down the hallway.

Reverend? He was supposed to find a priest.

I stood at the door, straining to hear the conversation inside.

“There isn’t a Catholic priest to be had, sir. I know he’s Presbyterian, but he’s the only man of the cloth I could convince to come back with me.”

Da was dead set on my having a Catholic wedding, since Bree didn’t have one. I, personally, didn’t really care who officiated the service. It all ended with the same result, didn’t it? Thomas and I would be married whether the Reverend Whoever-He-Is did it or a Catholic priest.

“Having second thoughts?” Bree teased as she came down the hall behind me.

I mentally sighed with relief. She and Mim could talk Da around. I desperately wanted his wishes to be met, but I wasn’t about to go toe to toe with him on this one.

“No,” I smiled, stepping back from the door, “Just preparing for battle.”

She laughed as she looped her arm in mine and ushered us both into the room.

***

“Willie -- er, Reverend William, may I introduce you to my daughters, Brianna and Julia.” Da beamed with pride as he slapped the man on the back.

However I thought Da would react to having a Presbyterian minister marry us, this certainly wasn’t it. I looked over to Thomas, hoping he’d provide a little insight, but he only shrugged and smiled.

Gee, thanks for the help, dear.

Dipping into a curtsy, I caught a glimpse of my mother on the verge of laughter.

This was getting stranger by the second.

“’Tis a pleasure to meet the both of ye,” the gentleman nodded to us.“What’s so funny?” I hissed as soon as I could get close enough to Mim.

“The Reverend is an old friend of your fathers and mine from Scotland. Poor Thomas thought he was delivering bad news, but he was really orchestrating a reunion.”

Da, the Reverend, and Thomas were all conversing happily, oblivious to my confusion.

“So, he’s not upset that Thomas couldn’t find a priest?” Bree asked.

Mim shrugged, “Not terribly, anyway. If it can’t be a priest, it might as well be Willie.”

[gadourynumismatics]

ＬＯＴ 781: 100 Lire, Emissione per Numismatici, Roma, 1926 R, AU 32.25 g.
Ref : Luppino Enum1 pag. 298 (R5), MIR 1115c (R4), Fr. 26 Conservation : NGC MS 64. Rarissime
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