“This is the beaton’s place. It has a cot there in th’ corner to sleep.”
The young man looked at her and stumbled, remembering who he was speaking to.
“Of course, ye need not stay here, mistress, as you have yer own rooms,” he stuttered.
Claire smiled lightly and shook her head. “If I didn’t have my daughter waiting for me, I’d have no problem staying here. Especially after a long day.”
“Ah, aye, the Gatherin’ will keep ye busy, but didna be afraid to ask fer help, mistress. Himself would not be pleased to ken that you’ve been working yerself to the bone.”
“Thank you, Mister MacKenzie.”
“Please, ye may call me Willie, mistress,” said the young man, a bright smile across his face. Claire smiled back, happy to see a kind face amongst strangers. While everybody had been polite and had not caused her any unpleasantness, they were reserved around her, always reminding her that she was an outsider. One with powerful relatives, but an outsider all the same.
“I think I’ll stay here for a bit and see what needs to be replenished,” Claire said lightly. “Would you mind letting my companions know where I am? They stayed back finishing their breakfast. I don’t want them to worry.”
“Aye mistress, I’ll let them know.” With a slight bow, Willie left the dungeon, closing the door with a loud clang. Claire took a deep breath, sitting down on the large bench. Looking around at the rundown, dark dungeon, she knew she’d be spending most of the day cleaning and throwing away most of the items around her, especially those on the table in front of her. It was really no wonder that the last healer had been mostly ineffective and died of a simple illness. Everything around her was useless in healing, only serving to frighten anyone coming in to seek help. She picked up one of the jars near her and peered through the murky water. She could see pieces of what seemed like a frog’s leg floating around there, along with other unrecognizable, mushy elements. She shuddered and placed the jar lightly back on the table.
“Perhaps I should’ve stayed with Uncle William longer. I’m sure he wouldn’t have minded,” she muttered. “He likes me well enough, I suppose. Although I don’t think I could stay too long with my other uncles there. Bastards.” She sighed again, stood up and began putting the jars into her basket. She’d need to empty and boil them by before she could store useful poultices in them.
Jamie must have had little sleep, for it was the only reason for his inattentiveness when a large white beast pushed him to the ground. Intense pain filled his senses, and he was unable to hold back the groan of pain that escaped him.
“Och, are ye alright lad?”
Alec’s face appeared above him, pale and worried. If he wasn’t in so much pain, Jamie would have laughed at how strange he looked with an emotion he rarely showed.
“Apologies lad, this horse has a mind of his own and only the mistress can control him,” said a rough voice above him. A man, one of Mistress McCarthy’s, peered down at Jaime. He went to help him up, but as he took hold of Jaime’s right arm, another shot of pain left him struggling for breath.
“Ifrinn, that damn horse,” muttered the man. Motioning to Alec, “We must take him to my Mistress, she’ll fix that arm up in no time.”
They carefully raised him up and led him out of the stables.
“What happened?” Jaime finally asked.
“Gideon, the horse,” clarified the man, seeing Jaime’s confusion. “Doesna like the small stalls, ye ken?’ He’s beast and has been coddled by the mistress since he was a foal. He does what he want.”
“Does he no’ like redheads?” jested Jaime, grimacing in pain as they jostled him through the castle. The way to the dungeon was much longer than he remembered.
“Doesna like anyone, more like,” muttered the man.
As they rounded the corner towards the dungeon, the surprised yelp of Mrs. Fitz stopped them. She stared in horror at Jamie and immediately went up to him and began inspecting his injuries.
“Lad, what happened?”
“Just a shoulder out. We need to get him to Mistress McCarthy,” stated the man, impatiently trying to maneuver them around the woman. Mrs. Fitz moved to stop them, pushing them towards the kitchen instead.
“The lass is outside, by the river. She needed to gather some of the flowers that grow there. Here,” she said, pushing Jamie into a chair. “Stay here lad. The men can go fetch her. No need to make this more painful with all the jostling.”
As Old Alec and the man left in search of the healer, Mrs. Fitz brought Jamie a warm cup of tea to drink. To relax you a bit, she had said. Jaime closed his eyes and took a deep breath, wincing as his chest and shoulder moved. The pain was becoming more unbearable and Jamie was sure he lose consciousness at any moment. He was aware of Mrs. Fitz bustling around the kitchen, as well as his granddaughters fussing near him. She had just arrived and after a loud wail that grated on Jaime’s ears, she had not left his side and continued patting his injured arm in hopes that she could soothe him. He had no energy to push her away, continuing to wince every time she touched his shoulder. He was eternally grateful when the man walked back into the kitchen and lightly pushed Laoghaire out of the way.
“His shoulder just popped out mistress. I didna want to break his arm by trying to push it back in.”
Warm, delicate hands lightly traced his shoulder. Jaime could smell hints of jasmine and a mixture of herbs, all immediately soothing him from his pain. He took another deep breath, inhaling the scent around him.
“I’m sorry, but I’ll have to pop your shoulder back into the socket,” said a crisp, British voice. Mistress McCarthy. “It will hurt more for a few seconds but them you will feel much better.”
Jaime nodded, too tired to open his eyes and see what was happening. The mistress’ hands firmly grasped his forearm and began twisting it. A choked groan of pain escaped Jamie’s lips. She had been right, it was much more painful. He could hear Laoghaire’s crying in the background, trying to make them stop. He ignored it, instead focusing on Mistress McCarthy’s low voice, telling him to breathe and relax. With a strong push, the pain was over. Jaime opened his eyes in amazement and inspected his arm. He lifted it slightly and was relieved to feel no more pain. He looked up and froze.
Warm, whisky eyes smiled up at him. A pretty pert mouth moved, saying something he couldn’t concentrate on. He blinked slowly, trying to get his mind to stop staring and concentrate on the words she was saying.
“Are you alright?” she asked worriedly. “Did Gideon hit his head as well?”
The man next to her shrugged. “I only saw it kicking his shoulder, no’ the head. Should we take him to lay down?”
“Just dazed...from the pain,” said Jaime quickly.
The woman nodded in understanding. She rummaged through her bag and took out clean bandages. “I will need to strap your shoulder down. It will be sore for a couple of days, so you will need to place warm compresses on it daily. I also recommend not using your arm. It’s still weak and will easily pop back out if you push too hard.”
Jaime nodded, silently watching her tighten his arm against his chest with the bandages. He quickly looked away as she leaned over him to tighten it around his neck, cheeks reddening as her chest moved closer to his face.
“There,” she stated, moving back to look him over. “That should do it. I’ll give you some willow bark, in case your shoulder hurts too much.”
Jaime began to respond but was interrupted by the man next to him.
“You’ll be sore lad,” he said. “You don’t feel it now but you will in a few hours.”
Jaime nodded and stood up, coming face to face with his healer. Mistress McCarthy was a head shorter than him, still tall for a woman. Her curly brown locks, which had been carefully styled and dressed for the dinner the night before, were now hastily piled on her head, a few curly strands framing her face. He was close enough to see the few freckles that adorned her cheeks and nose. He was wanted to stay there forever; to be able to gaze at her until the end of his days. She shifted and broke eye contact, leaning down to collect her bag.
“I am very sorry about my horse,” she said lightly. “He is a bit headstrong. If you need anything, please come see me. I’d be more than happy to help.” With a slight nod towards the man, she walked out of the kitchen and down into the beaton’s dungeon. Jaime couldn’t help but stare longingly after her. A cough from the man snapped Jaime out of his gazing. The man raised an eyebrow and Jaime couldn’t help but duck his head, feeling like a sixteen year old lad instead of his age of twenty two.
“Come lad,” said the man, leading Jaime out of the kitchen. “Help me get Gideon into the stalls.”
At Jaime’s startled look, the man laughed. “Dinna fash, I’ll not let the beast near ye.”
With another laugh, they made their way to the stables. Away from the intriguing Mistress McCarthy and towards her enraged beast of a horse.
Hey everyone. Sorry for being MIA again, work is really taking over my energie but i am still writing so that’s fine :). I am writting part 2 of Choose Your Side and the next part of Trouble in the town’s Bar (well this one is just trying).
So we all find out recently that SPN is ending after the 15th season and it hurt a lot. I just want you to know that like everyone here it had been a important part of my life and like the actors say i believe that family doesn’t end even with the show ending. I believe it because here we are all trying to show kindness and most of the time helping each other in different ways. So I am very grateful that we are who we are now thanks to the show, the actors, everything they had been doing for the past years, and everyone we met because of it. I am glad i met you. But it isn’t an end for me it’s a beginning of a new adventure that we will all help get throught just like we are doing it right now. So don’t be sad for the end but be happy for what we have right now.
much love Tia
tag : @secretlyfurrydragon, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @ariannnawinchester, @izawrites, @thing-you-do-with-that-thing
Magnus’s Friday goes as usual: he wakes up at an ungodly hour but his scowl soon transforms into a smile as he looks through his phone’s notifications. There’s a text message from Alec timestamped just before midnight.
I had a really good time tonight, Magnus. I can’t wait for lunch next week.
Magnus relaxes against his mountain of pillows, using the hand not holding his phone to rub the sleep from his eyes.
He takes a few minutes to respond, finally typing I had a lovely time too, darling. Wednesday can’t get here fast enough.
Unfortunately, he has a roomful of no doubt eager students waiting on him, so Magnus climbs out of bed and goes through his morning routine. After checking today’s weather, he dashes to his closet and pulls his Alexander McQueen raincoat from its hanger.
He leaves the house with ten minutes to spare and decides that’s enough time to swing by Starbucks. Thankfully, the line isn’t too horrendously long and it only takes a few minutes to order and grab his coffee. Magnus is just taking a sip of his venti iced americano when the passing newspaper stand stops him in his tracks.
He comes to a halt and inches closer, looking furtively in both directions. Thankfully, everyone else out this early has places to be and no one pays him any mind as he reaches out and picks up the magazine whose cover had caught his attention.
It’s a tabloid, one of the sleazy ones who make their money using morally questionable methods with photographers willing to do anything to hit pay-dirt. In bold letters the headline screams America’s Favorite Superstar Out on the Town with Mystery Man.
Magnus fold the magazine in half and hurriedly pays for it, walking just a little faster to campus, especially as rain starts peppering down. He’s very aware of his surroundings but thankfully doesn’t notice any paps in the bushes or anyone looking at him with more than casual interest.
He makes it to his office twenty minutes before his class is due to start and tosses his briefcase on the chair by the door before placing his coffee and magazine on his desk. He doesn’t even take the time to pull off his coat before he’s unfolding the paper and taking in the cover in more detail than he’d been able to on the street.
Underneath the huge headline is a picture of him and Alec from the previous night. It’s blurry as fuck, grainy to the point of being almost unrecognizable. It helps that this particular picture was taken just a little too far from a streetlamp, the darkness helping to disguise him. He’s walking away, head turned towards the ice cream shop and Alec is standing in the middle of the sidewalk watching him leave. Alec is far clearer, standing just under the light. Magnus can’t help but smile a little as he sees that Alec had lingered, just a minute, watching him walk away.
The smile drops from his face in the next minute as he thinks through the ramifications of this photo. Magnus isn’t an idiot. He knows that being a celebrity isn’t all it’s cracked up to be and the paparazzi are one of the biggest disadvantages to fame. He’s been a fan of Alec’s long enough to realize that Alec plays his celebrity up quite well- he knows how to give an interesting soundbite and keep everyone wanting more. However, he also guards his privacy intently and needs time to be mundane-- last night was evidence of that. For God’s sake, the man had gone to one of the busiest libraries in the country and had done a remarkable job of fading into the background. He’s not a novice at this shit.
But Magnus is. Magnus has never had to worry that a date or the day-to-day minutiae of his life would fall under a microscope that the whole world loved to peer through.
It’s a little unsettling.
Magnus doesn’t hide but he also likes his personal life to be kept just that. Personal. There are one or two skeletons rattling around in his closet and he doesn’t want anyone to find them.
He’s spent quite a lot of energy laying them to rest, thank you very much.
Magnus simply can’t be flippant about this. He likes Alec and he hadn’t been lying when he’d said he had a good time.
The question is, how much is he willing to deal with for the sake of possibility? He’s barely friends with Alec-- is he willing to put himself out there, deal with the pressure and scrutiny that an association with America’s musical darling would bring?
It’s a lot to potentially handle.
If he's being honest with himself though, Magnus had already made up his mind when he'd first given his number to Alec at Uptown Java. It's just that this is a visceral reminder than he and Alec and whatever this thing is between them doesn't exist in a vacuum. It's a warning that things can-- and most likely will one day-- get very messy.
Magnus glances briefly at the clock and sees that he only has ten minutes before he needs to leave for class.
He spends that time reading the two page article, noting in relief that the press really doesn’t have anything on him except a blurry photograph of his back. Everything is supposition and innuendo. He’s just mentioned as Lightwood's flavor du jour-- Magnus scoffs. As if he’s anyone’s boytoy.
Grabbing his coffee, he’s just about to leave his office, leaving the trashy tabloid on his desk, when his phone rings. As he looks down at the display, he’s both surprised and not when Alexander pops up on the screen.
Lightwood must be a pro at damage control by now.
He debates on just not answering-- he has class in six minutes and his career always comes first-- but something tugs at him and before he knows it, he’s swiping right and accepting the call.
“Alexander,” he says warmly.
“Magnus, hey. How are you this morning?”
Magnus raises a brow but can’t help but smile. Alec is trying to be blithe and breezy but he can detect the tense undertone in his voice. This definitely isn’t a social call.
“Oh, I’m fine darling. I’m actually just leaving my office now to head towards class. Can’t keep those eager minds waiting. On today’s syllabus, we’re discussing Napoleon. There’s so much written about him but I prefer a little mystery in a man, don’t you?” Magnus can’t resist teasing Alec, just a little. It’s a serious topic, but if he can laugh about it to anyone, it should be the person who got him into this mess.
He hears Alec’s sharp intake of breath, can only imagine his wince.
“So you’ve seen that magazine article this morning?”
Magnus hums, holding his phone between cheek and shoulder as he opens the building’s door and starts walking up the stairs to the second floor.
“Yes, Alexander, I did see a little article about your latest conquest. It was rather vague, though.”
Alec blows out a breath. “I am so sorry, Magnus. I know that we’ve just become friends and that this is a lot to put on your shoulders for someone you barely know. So far, they only have your silhouette. If you wanted to put a stop to things, if this isn’t okay with you, I completely understand--”
“Alec.”
Alec’s voice comes to a halt and the silence on the line is a little jarring. Magnus has a split second to reconsider, but he’s already made up his mind. Really, it wasn't even a question. Magnus stands just outside of the door to his class and sees that most of his students are already in their seats. He nods to someone as they duck into the room, taking the last empty chair.
He turns away from his students and instead looks at the blank wall in front of him while he answers.
“While I appreciate your consideration,” he starts, “I’ll have to stop you there. I’ll admit that those very thoughts were rolling around this morning as I read that article. I don’t like it, Alec. I’ll be honest about that. And, it’s true that we’ve really just started this friendship of ours. But I like you and I really want to see where this leads.
“I want to stay friends. We’ll just need to be a little more discreet, darling, because while I like being with you I also like my anonymity. I don’t need paps harassing me at work or those I love. I’ll be a little more honest with you and admit that there are things I’ve done, things in my past, that I don’t need coming to light.”
He can hear Alec on the other end like he’s about to interrupt.
“But,” he says. “I’m willing to continue things with the understanding that we don’t advertise to the world. We can still go out to lunch and whatever else strikes our fancy, but let’s use common sense, okay?”
Alec sighs and Magnus smiles a little, also relieved.
“I’m really happy that you said that, Magnus. I know that not everyone is willing to put up with the media, and I appreciate that you’re not cutting me out. This is new, but I really like talking with you and hanging out. I am more than fine with using a little more discretion in the future.”
Magnus is just opening his mouth to respond, but Alec isn’t quite finished.
“About what you said-- about your past. I want you to know, obviously, that you don’t have to tell me anything and I’ll do my damnedest to keep your name out of the press until you’re ready. There’s no pressure here, Magnus.”
Magnus swallows hard. Nothing that Alec said was revolutionary but it’s been a long time since someone sought to reassure him. It’s nice to know that Alec respects his decision and is just as keen to continue their acquaintance.
“Thank you, darling. Don’t worry, I’m not quite done with you yet.”
Alec laughs and Magnus echoes it, feeling warmth flood his chest.
“So we’re good,” Alec asks tentatively.
“We’re good,” Magnus confirms.
Alec huffs out a breath. “Thank Christ,” he says fervently. “I was worried that you’d see that headline and those photos this morning and run as far away from me as you could get.” He laughs, bitterly. “It wouldn’t be the first time, after all.”
Magnus leans against the wall as he replies. “I’ll admit that I thought about it. I’m risking a lot, after all, if anyone finds out anymore details. But you know Alexander, I think you might just be worth the risk.”
“Thanks, Magnus. I only hope that you don’t regret those words.”
Magnus grins. “If you know one thing about me, darling, it should be that I like to play with fire. Now, I’ve got to go. My class should have started four minutes ago and I can feel my students getting antsy. I’ll see you next week Alec-- don’t be a stranger.”
“Alright Magnus, enjoy your class and teach them everything they need to know about Napoleon. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Oh and Alexander,” Magnus calls out before either one has the chance to end the call.
“Yes?”
“I like it when you call,” Magnus says and hangs up, pocketing his phone and pushing off of the wall.
There’s a smile on his face and some pep in his step as he turns on his heel and enters the classroom. He’s no fool. He knows that this decision has the potential to blow up in his face. But, he just can’t deny that magnetic pull he feels.
He wants to ride out this wave and sees where it takes him-- where it takes them.
Magnus pretends that he doesn’t see the curious stares of his students-- Dr. Bane never starts class late. He might crack jokes and bemoan early mornings, but he’s the consummate professional. It’s unheard of for him to cancel class or start any later than right on time. His students must be dying to know what’s going on.
Magnus smirks and unbuttons his raincoat, hanging it on the back of the chair in the front of the room. He rolls up his shirtsleeves as he starts his lecture, not needing notes or an outline as he begins speaking, picking up where they'd left off Wednesday seamlessly.
Magnus keeps a steady pace for the next seventy-five minutes, his voice and the scratch of pens against notebooks the only sounds heard in the room.
In the back of his mind, Magnus revels in the everyday academia and prays it all doesn't come crashing down on him.
