Dave was a survivor, that before all other things. Before, in Fionavar, he’d lived through the war. He was there on Maidaladan, when Kevin went away. He was on the banks of the Aiden when his babies were killed. For so much, he was there, and for so much of it he had been fighting. It was a part of him, undeniable. All things leave their mark ( Read more... )

Time always moved on, which was a both a blessing and a curse.

At the moment, Isolde was taking to be a blessing for she needed blessings, since the tally of blessings looked rather dismal next to things that could be curses. But she was once a girl who should have a been queen in Ireland, and while she knew the value of such things, she wasn't ( Read more... )

[ Isolde awakens to find that once again, she has lost her love. But this time, she is not alone. (timed to this morning and rated G)]

Ian sat in the shallows with Jamie in his lap, the water lapping around the wee lad's legs. Isolde would approve, Ian though; the lass had so much of the sea in her, she'd want her firstborn son introduced early. There were clouds scudding across the sky and Ian felt good with the sun shining down on tattooed shoulders, as he watched the colour ( Read more... )

It was a nice day, but then again, there aren’t an awful lot of not nice days here ( Read more... )

The days since the island party had been a bit of blur for Marian. She had woken early each day for no other reason but to wander, or so she told herself. Her wanderings often led her to the chapel, where she would sit and reflect ( Read more... )

The island had done it again. Whether it was pure chance or benevolence none of them would ever know, but somehow, someway, the place had seen fit to give them all booze again ( Read more... )

Idleness and Arthur Castus did not often mix with much success. Hours full of leisure did not warrant the former commander's dislike, but empty hours did. In Britain, there had been no such thing as a vacant minute, let alone a full hour. Though industriousness did not fill every moment of their lives, every moment was conscripted, tallied up ( Read more... )

The truth was, Veronica Mars had nearly forgotten what day it was. She had class later, Spanish and Forensic Anthropology. She had taken Taser for a walk, then let her dog roam on her own, the way she seemed to like doing. It was a Friday, perfectly ordinary, like so many Fridays before it ( Read more... )

It wasn't much of a desk.

Ian had woken up a week ago to a wooden box heavy at the foot of the bed and, when he'd opened, his eyes had widened. He'd spent a long while up in Fraser's Ridge putting together a box similar to this, a box containing all of the tools which a man who wished to work with wood would rightly need. He'd made furniture for ( Read more... )