Pre-Opening Jitters

Hawk’s Aerie’s Stables


 * The sprawling township of Hawk's Aerie is one of the plushest, wealthiest and most politically important settlements in the realm of Fastheld, poised as it is at the fork of River Road and the Imperial Thoroughfare, with control over the economically vital Fastheld Wharfs and the strategically critical access point of the bridge that spans the Fastheld River to Aegis Road.


 * Founded five centuries ago by Edran Nillu, the bustling riverport town has been a primary source of that noble house's cache with the throne on Caryas Hill and the guilds of the Market District, and has enabled the Nillus to establish themselves as an economic powerhouse. The streets are kept clean of garbage and filthy peasants as much as possible. The elegant stone and wood buildings are kept in fine repair. It is rumored that the ravens of Hawk's Aerie get their talons polished, morning and night.


 * It is a temperate late morning. The air is stagnant, not stirring with the slightest breeze. The skies are perfectly clear

Atop Prestissimo, A fine morning, clear of fog and not too bright. And it seems some people just can't stay out of it. Taran's outside the Thirsty Trout, brushing down Prestissimo and readying the mare for another day of travel. He's pretty affectionate with the beast, smiles and little pats to keep the mare in good temper - not to mention the odd sugar lump from the tavern.

From Rampart's saddle, the weather not deterring the spirits of other travelers. One being that of a ruffled looking noblewoman. Hair tucked up into the russet cloak to try and hide it's pale tones, but only after a few steps from the does it fall down about her shoulders again. The highmount knowing the road better than her rider, already seems intent on seeking out the stables.

Atop Prestissimo, T'is yet a quiet morning, and so one must call it a disturbance in the insert-trademark-here that alerts the bard. Or, perhaps, shouts at him; he pauses, stiffening briefly, before turning to the source. Seeing who it is, he blinks and frowns a bit, opting to watch and wait rather than approach

From Rampart's saddle, it does not take long with the promise of oats and a good brush down, for Rampart to seek out the stables. The noblewoman slides down from the saddle like that of an insomniac searching out the kitchen. Taking a few stumbling steps to her saddlebag, she pulls out many sheaves of parchment, quill and inkwell. The remnants of her first attempts trying to leap for freedom in crumpled masses in the bottom of the bag.

Taran shakes his head a bit. Softly, but pitched to carry, he says, "What troubles you, my lady?"

Celeste jumps, almost spilling the inkwell...it not for the tight stopper, the woman would probably be down one dress. A quick glance cast over her shoulder to the familiar voice, "um...words," she mumbles miserably. "I've never been very good with them, and now they have power," she sighs, "or could."

Taran tilts his head. "They always have power, my lady, else a man like myself would lead much poorer a life. What words are you seeking?"

Celeste cradles the items to her chest, tiredness still displayed beneath her unique gaze with small, dark circles. "A speech for the opening tonight. Words seem to rob me, how does one explain love, or an ideal...or their heart?" She sighs heavily, a slump returning to he shoulders. "Part of me wonders if I'm just being a fool and should just marry myself off to the first man that would have me, and return to hiding." The last of the words a soft confession to the quiet morning air.

Taran tilts his head. "That would be surrender," he says. "And you, my lady, do not surrender. I think you are only tired."

"I...I," Celeste looks about the square for any passing audiences. Her gaze finally returning to her hands, when finding the morning crowds having waned. "I don't know how to explain it, Taran...any of it."

Taran considers this. "...Are you meeting someone here?" he asks. "If not, then perhaps there is a better place to discuss this. Would you be willing to ride to Freehaven today?" Celeste looks back over the square, laughing softly at...well, the ground. "I came here because I believed no one would seek me out here. So no, I do not have any business here today, Master Taran. With Rayk's confession and withdrawal, I find that I usually remain unaccosted here....but we can go to Freehaven."

Taran nods. "I will meet you there, then," he says. "It will be quieter."

Townhome of Taran Songbird in Freehaven


 * A spacious living space with three tall arched windows overlooking the circle outside. The stone walls have, like the foyer below, been plastered over so that they are a bright white, which catches the light from the windows well. Over this brightness, however, are hung tapestries in blue and green and - most notably - bookshelves. Spaces have been set in those shelves for the bard's scrolls, books, and - of course - instruments.


 * Rugs in dark, natural tones of green and blue are laid on the polished biinwood floors, and indeed 'green and blue' sums up the decor of the area quite well - from the rugs, to the rather heavy curtains at the windows, to the furniture. The only dark accents are in the natural wood of the windowframes, doors, and floor, and the spiral wooden staircase leading down to the foyer. To the right is a door leading to the kitchen and dining area, while to the left is the door to the bedroom. Opposite the staircase is a simple stone fireplace.

Taran leads the way into a brightly sunlit area, remarkable mostly for the fact that it's *quiet*. Between the plastering of the walls, and the hanging tapestries, the clatter of noise from the city outside is entirely muffled. The bard takes a seat in one of the dark green chairs. "Perhaps this is more conducive to rest?"

Celeste follows Taran up the stairs, still clutching the writing utensils to her chest. Her steps falter at the sight of the bookshelves, and sighing contentedly. His words calling back her attention and her steps to join him as she slips into another chair. "I did not realize that you had a passion for knowledge that could rival my own, though I should have gathered."

Taran laughs quietly. "Do you know what the bards of old had to do?" he asks. "Seven years of study - not only songs, but legends and histories. Politics and diplomacy. A bard was authorized to mediate disputes, and to judge minor crimes. A bard was responsible for the lineage of nobles and princes - a lifetime of learning. And we were to write it down, in songs and tales, for the next generation of bards to learn."

"I am sure that such tales still rest behind the walls of the Stanchion. Though, I wished that I had seen more of them in my time there," Celeste sighs, looking over her shoulder to the shelves. "It is peaceful here, Taran. Reminds me of a shrine that I once ran across...an aura of peace."

"The writing desk is in there," says Taran, nodding to the bedroom. "I will push it out here, if you like. But you are welcome to tour the place - there is not much in the way of food, I'm afraid. I'm not much of a cook, and go down to the tavern as a general rule. But everything else is here."

Celeste lowers the items to her lap, looking towards the bedroom. "I'd feel uncomfortable touring your home alone, Taran. If you wish to show me, then I would be honored. Otherwise, I fear it would be too bold, even for myself," she sighs, offering the bard a slight smile.

Taran looks skyward. "Again you call it my home," he says. "It is a sanctuary. I have brought you here, so it is as much a sanctuary for you as for me. Come here when you have need of getting away from your other roles for a while." He heads to the bedroom. "Come; see."

Main Bedroom of the Townhome


 * A turret-shaped space jutting from the common room, the walls in this room have been left relatively bare - revealing blocks of smoke black stone. These have been overlaid not with the white plaster of the foyer and sitting room, but with tapestries in rich, dark tones of royal blue and pine green. In the center of this circular room is the canopied bed, with heavy curtains that can be drawn about it. A wardrobe is set against one wall, and chests, and by the room's window is set a writing desk and chair. Rugs in the same colors as the tapestries cover the biinwood floor, rendering the room dark and quiet - though even here, should the curtains be drawn back, the room fills with light well enough.

Taran laughs quietly as he steps inside. "A bit of a dungeon," he says. "I did not remodel much from the previous owner - that dark stone was everywhere when I purchased this place. But as this is meant to be a safe place for a man with...my sort of headaches...it was designed for that. Dark and quiet."

Celeste follows after the bard, nibbling her lower lip again. The flesh worked into a bruised pink from her nervousness given form. "It...it is still lovely, and I would never wish to intrude," she offers, one of her hand resting to the doorframe. "Have you been having more headaches, Taran?"

"It happens," says Taran mildly. "The Shadow is not benevolent and sometimes I must know more than the random flashes I am given. In such attempts, the headaches are a common penalty." He gestures at the writing desk. "Shall I push it out to the main room, then?"

Celeste waves a hand to the bed, "no, that would be too much work. I am even unsure if the words will come to me....or just another failure in a line of them," she mumbles. Her voice dropping low to the final words, more to herself than the company she keeps.

Taran sighs, taking a seat on the bed. "Get comfortable at the desk," he suggests. "And do your prayers; renew your connection to Light, until you are calm. The best words flow from that serenity."

Celeste lowers herself to the chair, turning to face the bard. "You speak like a priest, Taran. Have you still thought about such a course of action?"

Taran lipquirks. "Priests serve the Light," he says. "I serve the Balance, in the end. I would make a very poor priest - my advice to you is because you *are* a priest, and so your faith is at the center of you."

"My Faith is all I have," remarks Celeste ruefully. "Well, almost all I have. So from such, how do you put into words what you intend to do? How far do you plan, or do you fill the air with flowery words and hope that people do not see past the smoke to see your own fear?"

Taran sighs. "Center," he repeats. "I mean this, Celeste. You have your faith, it is sure and certain even when you are not. Return to that. If the light in the other room is more helpful then we can return there. Or if you need a domestic touch, there is the kitchen. But connect to your faith first."

Celeste laughs, another touch of ruefulness. "I'm not sure that making a bit of stew will help me," she offers, the words ending in a sigh. "Right...center," she mutters, placing the writing utensils to the desk and closing her eyes. The tilt of her head allows the blonde hair falls about her face...partially obscuring her face from view.

Taran holds silent and still, so as not to interrupt.

After a few moments, the priest raises her head. The sadness still rests within her sea-green eyes, hints of gold flickering about the irises...and sighs softly. "All steps should be undertaken with the Light as your foremost thought," she mummers to herself, looking back to Taran.

Taran tilts his head. "Feel better?" he asks. "Calmer, maybe?"

"Still scared, the fear is never far away," confesses Celeste quietly. "Night's Edge is where I put my heart, Taran...and I truly do not know how to explain that. So much has happened around it, and now I fear it will fail."

"Why?" asks Taran, quietly curious. "People come to you, and serve you willingly and with enthusiasm. They serve your cause with the same fervor. Why do you fear it will fail?"

"Because I failed at everything else," sighs Celeste...looking back to her hands. "I left the Church because I could not stop them. I left the caravans because I felt that those touched by shadow would seek vengeance and wanted to continue the work that I had done in the service of the Church. Now, I seek to return to the church in a new capacity, but what if I'm doing it wrong again? Should I send Meian and Griedan to Light's Reach to learn? Will they even teach Meian?"

"You're inventing a new game," says Taran, amused. "It's very hard to do it wrong when you're the one writing the rules. Perhaps by the views of the Stanchion, or Sun's Keep, you *are* 'doing it wrong'. But you set out from the beginning to be different from them, so if they condemn it - that's really a sign you're doing what you set out to do."

Celeste growls softly, "that is the second time my life has been referred to as a game. I speak from my heart and am told that I'm -playing-," she growls in frustration. Another darting glance given over to the bard, "Taran, I could care one whit what the Stanchion and Sun's Keep think. It's the new church that resides in Light's Reach that I fear to insult. Yes, I've invited the prince tonight and my matriach, but what if I mess up...or the words come out all jumbled or they rush me." A heavy sigh and slump to her shoulders return, "those are the two that I do not wish to fail, those and the people of Night's Edge."

Taran quirks an eyebrow. "It is a metaphor, not an accusation," he says. "Games are very serious things, at times. Lives depend on the skill with which one plays, and the stakes set on the victory. And you are saying as much in different terms - the speech is a gambit, that can win you allies or condemnation from sources you need. So of course you are worried. The stakes are quite high." He taps his fingers against the carved corner post of his bed. "And games, dear priest, have rules - victory depends upon knowing them, and working them to advantage. This is no different."

"I don't know the game I'm playing, Taran. I was not raised a noblewoman, but as a priest and scourge. -This- is the life I know, offer knowledge to those who are ignorant and protect those who are unable to do so for themselves. Or to give them the means to do so," she sighs. "I was never raised to understand the words of politics and diplomacy."

Taran shrugs. "I am the son of a healer and a potter," he says. "But the game's rules can be learned, if one pays attention. First consider what you want your audience to understand."

"That Night's Edge is a sanctuary to Light," offers Celeste, confusion beginning to knit her brow. "One, that in time, may be able to help those who are Touched to learn how to leave with their taint....and better understand the dangers that they could fall, and that with the Light. Even those like myself, can falter. Such was the case in East Leg."

Taran nods. "Hold that in your mind. Now - how do you intend to do these things?" "Through education, just as the Stanchion once believed in such matters. No, we do not have the extensive libraries but we can teach a man to read, or to protect himself. A place that is welcoming no matter your walk of life, or where you walk in the balance,” says Celeste.

Taran tilts his head. "And you fear to say this to the Prince because....?"

"Because I believe he thinks me a drake worshiper," Celeste sighs. "The last time I saw him, it was something he said. I put up her visage because she /is/ a symbol of light, shining down on /another/ symbol of Light that was adopted by the Regent for the Mark. The two are married in their own way, old and new, and we stand in between." Celeste brushes a hand vigorously through her hair, perhaps the cause of the terrible mussing in the first place with the force that she presents. "As I said, how does one explain an ideal...a heart?"

"By leaving symbols out of it," says Taran gently. "I asked you what you wanted them to understand, and how you would go about the work you plan. Not once did you mention any dragons. I think perhaps it should stay that way."

"I've not even the intention of opening the doors to the chapel until later in the evening. That if such a crowd as I would hope would attend, then we would be too small to accommodate them all. There is also the protection of some that I need to tend to," mummers Celeste hesitantly. "...and a promise that I still need to keep. Dreams and prayers, at times they are one and the same."

"Hmmmm?" asks Taran, curious. "Now you're speaking in riddles."

"The child," mumbles Celeste softly. "I do not wish her name mentioned or have to answer questions of her. She is but a symbol among the others....as I had become the symbol of my brethren to many in Fastheld."

Taran blinks, a bit confused. "Child?" he asks. "I was not aware you had children."

Celeste looks up, wrinkling her brow in confusion. "I don't, Taran. We've spoken about my ability to have such a life. No," she shakes her head, "the child in the glass. The one in the chapel, she was a child I met to help and open my eyes....and I fear that is what people would want to know. Why would a scourge be so moved to teach -openly- against such prejudices. How do you give that words, without lying?"

Taran shrugs. "This work, Celeste...is not about you, in the end. It is greater than you, beyond you. You are the medium through which it happens *here* and *now*, and that is all. I would say nothing of her - nothing of yourself. Talk only of the purpose of the monastery, and how you will guide it into fulfilling that purpose. Does it not cease to be only your home, when you open its chapel to the empire?"

"It ceased to be my home the night you joined me in the remnants of the courtyard, Taran," she offers. "And I am nothing more than a scourge, but the chapel is a step towards trying to bridge hundreds of years of hate. To open the farmer's eyes that his daughter may have been born different, but not inherently evil. No, that is why I wonder at the training of Griedan and Meian. You see, if I become a knight, then how can I tend to all of it? There will need to be more willing to help."

"Then talk of that," says Taran quietly. "Talk of why you feel it must end, and what you hope the chapel will achieve."

"I've also mentioned to the prince that I was thinking of offering it for a place that children from Light's Reach can come for a short time," mumbles Celeste. "They will not know if they are touched by shadow unless they leave the city, and then...it could, well, darken their spirit. What if we could offer teachings of the Light to them by a follower of Light who just happens to also be touched by shadow?”

Taran nods. "It seems reasonable enough," he says. "What had the Prince to say to that?"

Celeste shifts uncomfortably, "I dont' know. We've not had a moment to talk of the matter. He may agree or feel that it is foolish."

Taran smiles. "I think he will not condemn foolishness offered out of a generous spirit," he says. "That is my guess - you are talking about a living avatar of Light, after all. Put forth what you wish to have be, Celeste. What you have built, and why it needed to be built, and what you hope it may become. All you can truly do is lay out what is, and let others make their own decisions. Try it - I will help you alter the words if you like, to convey it better, but first you do need to choose a few."

Celeste sighs, looking back to parchment and quill. "I will see what I can do," she offers. "So you have decided not to become a priest? Is that because of what we spoke of,Taran?"

"It is because the Light is beyond me," says Taran quietly. "But the Balance is not."

"Why do you feel the Light is beyond you? You speak like a priest, almost even live your life like one...is it the shadow you bear that makes you believe his way," questions Celeste gently. Her fingers twitch the parchment along the desk.

"Because I understand the need to kill," says Taran quietly. "And the desire for it. I know what it is to *want* to rip someone apart, very slowly. I know what it is to burn with the need for control of others' lives and choices and I know what power to dominate feels like. But I do *not* know what it is to look into the heart of one who would kill you and find the small part of that heart that could and would be your friend. I am no priest, Celeste."

"You look for what Light still shines," Celeste replies...though her brow draws together at hearing the bard's words. "Do you not believe that others feel this urge to kill at times? That there have been, on one occasion, times that my fingers did not twitch for the feel of the mace on my hip? You are not a killer, Taran. No matter what darkness lives within, you still are cannot take a life so easily...it would haunt you."

Taran shakes his head. "No. It would not. It has not, on those occasions I have needed to, and it will not. I assure you - the only reason that jewel-thief lives is because *you stayed my hand*. Else I would gladly have tortured him to death."

Celeste rises from the table, moving quietly to the bed to join the bard. Her hand gingerly reaches out for his. "Why, Taran? Do you not believe that I failed that night? He should have been given over to the Watch and I took him at his word that he would join his family and leave Fastheld. Why would you have felt the urge to torture him?"

"Because he held a knife to your throat," says Taran simply. "And a man who would do that, in my eyes does not deserve life. Nor does he deserve to enjoy it. And you, and Vhramis, do not understand that."

"He had no intention of hurting me, Taran. The man realized that it was the only escape for his son, would it have been different had it been Stowynne beneath that knife or Meian?" Celeste shakes her head, "I went because I was willing to gamble my life for the man's soul."

Taran's eyes narrow briefly. "You are mistaken if you assume that mattered to me," he says. "He presented an interesting puzzle for a while - but when he refused to speak, he forfeited that." The bard stands, and starts to pace. "Celeste, you can go no farther into the dark than one can see from a sunrise. Yes - it would have been different had it been anyone else. It *was* different until *you* volunteered to be the sacrifice. You do *not* know how - how *tempting* it was, nor do you seem to understand that you are the *only* reason he lives and remains whole, and his kin with him. Because I *could* hunt him down. With ease. I could hunt the lot of them down." He closes his eyes. "Leave this alone, Celeste. It has taken me a great deal of effort to respect your wishes in the matter, and I would like to leave it so. Reminding me that there is one who threatened you and is allowed to draw breath makes me *very* angry."

Celeste nods, looking away from the pacing man. "I will respect your wishes, as you have respected mine. Lord Seamel believes that another may try to hire more men from the district and we have been trying to formulate a plan as to how to find out the who. Did you wish to help us, Taran?" Her eyes slowly returning to the bard, sighing dejected at the distress that she'd cause. "Taran...I have so much to atone for, more than most. Or at least, that is how I feel. Your anger is justified as is Lady Stowynne's, but I could only do what I felt was right."

"You are guided by Light," says Taran, taking a deep breath. "Shadow is therefore beyond you, save in an intellectual sense - the mind may understand but the heart will not. Suffice to say that I understand I am no priest, and that my control is not all I would wish it to be. If it were, you would not have had to restrain me."

"Guided by Light and succeeding in all measures, is not the same, Taran. We all bear a bit of shadow," sighs the priest. "Even a woman of Light can bear her own...shadow that can never be shared or the burden lifted. This restraint you speak of is the same that another, Master Griedan, needs to learn when it comes to those who are Touched."

Taran sighs. "Just...understand that all my control goes toward maintaining this middle ground, Celeste. Farther toward light seems to be beyond me, but this I can hold. For now."

Celeste nods, nibbling her lower lip again. "I ...I understand, Taran. We need to find our own path, and were we stand between the two."

Taran nods, and - with another breath - seems to let the line of discussion go. "Now...where were we. Speeches?"

Celeste nods, rising from the edge of the bed again...a shuffling paced back to the desk. "..speeches," she continues.

Taran nods. "Try...to find an opening," he says slowly. "Where you wish to begin." Celeste nibbles her lower lips, "good question. I was thinking of thanking everyone who came, and then launch into the how the chapel about...but that does not seem important as what it stands for."

"True," Taran nods. "The problem with overly theological or philosophical language is that it can be twisted to mean many things. Better to stick to the practical, in the end. What you hope to do. Though perhaps telling the people why you wished them to witness this event might help."

Celeste hmm's, returning to the nibbling of her lower lip. "Other than a place a touched man comes that he does not lose some part of him to become a part of?" "Are all your guests 'touched?" asks Taran quietly. "Or open to dealing with the 'touched fairly?"

"Openly to everyone, Taran. I do not care if they are touched, kissed or walk somewhere in between," notes Celeste, some of the firmness returning to her soft voice. "The Light is for everyone, not a chosen few."

"Your guests will care," Taran replies quietly. "You are speaking to them, not to the air. You are trying to make them understand."

"Now you see my troubles, I'm used to ministering to one or two...not a crowd." Celeste clamps her mouth over the rest of the words, one finger back to tapping on the parchment. "Right, so a thank you for all who came and trying to explain the purpose...without seeming like I am speaking to air. Cannot I not say that it is open to all, touched, kissed and those who walk between. That is is a place of sanctuary dedicated to the teachings and education of Light?"

Taran purses his lips. "You will need to be clear, very quickly, how you mean that," he notes. "After all, it could be taken to mean that you will encourage the teaching of Shadow arts."

Celeste lifts her gaze, blinking at Taran in surprise. "How could someone take that from my words, Taran? If you mean to say that I would hurt one for ..." She falls quiet again, returning to pushing the paper about. "Now I'm truly confused.

"It is of the nature of Shadow," says Taran simply. "Power without control does harm. Power *with* control is a temptation to use it. At times, storms come in echo to Meian's heart. Now, with teaching she learns not to do this - but that does bring the attendant temptation to call storms when she will. I hear thoughts and feelings. At times, I choose to use this. Do you see? What is your monastery's position on teaching the 'touched?"

"Restraint and temperance," mumbles Celeste. "We cannot always cull the beast within us, and even Shadow can be used for good....but it is a double edge sword."

Taran nods. "This is a good thing to say. Where you are diverging from what most believe, Celeste, you must be very clear what you intend and how you will go about achieving what you intend."

"They cannot change who they are, anymore than I can," replies Celeste. "Just because one is born to the Light does not mean their actions will always be noble."

"That is not in question," Taran points out. "It is the Shadow people fear, and rightly so. It is in providing sanctuary to the 'touched and inviting them to be priests that you are diverging, I do believe. So...how do you justify this move? How will you convince your audience?"

More shuffling of the pages, "the idea sounded so much better in my heart and head. I never thought how I would explain it," mummers the Mikin, uncertainty returning to her voice. "Yet, you considered such a path when you were within Light's Reach, Taran. Because it is the Light that calls to you, and overpowers the shadow. Just because you are tainted with evil does not make you evil. If your heart is given to the Light and that is who you serve...then it should not matter of the taint."

"It should not, but it does," Taran replies quietly. "This is the half of the whole to which I am given. To deny that is to deny a part of myself." Fingers tap along the bedpost thoughtfully. "Say that you met a man who would not drink - a temperate man. This is perhaps a laudable thing, something to admire him for. Now say that you learned he was temperate because once he had been a drunk. Suddenly the meaning of his temperance changes - he is not so much embracing the good, as avoiding the evil, by the same action. This is what the Shadow-touched are like. It is not that it is wrong, in itself, to have a drink now and again - even, every so often, it can be good and right. But it becomes easier to drink again, and again, and forget moderation. This is where I feel your monastery can help, and your sunkissed, because moderation is a very hard thing to learn."

"You wish me to teach them moderation of their abilities? To know when to call upon what lives within them, just as with Master Griedan. A time to action," suggests Celeste. "To understand that there must *be* moderation," says Taran quietly. "That this or that may not be wrong, but the problem lies in the inability to resist...rather like it is quite hard to resist a fourth glass of wine after you've already drunk three."

Celeste nods, looking back to the blank parchment. "Will I even be ready for tonight? It seems so long in coming and now to be at a loss of words," she sighs. The sound soon cut off by a rueful laugh, "probably best to say what is in my heart...and try to explain it as you have said."

Taran nods. "Start there," he says. "What is in your heart to say?"

"That Night's Edge exists from Light and Love, and that with such we need to try and bridge the gap of six centuries of prejudice. That if we are believe that we enter a new dawn, then we should do so with the Light foremost in our hearts," Celeste sighs, deflating some. "That though it is a building built from the love of a single person, the ideal is the same. That if it is the shadow that we fear that we should fight the *Shadow* not the people who have had the misfortune of birth. That we should bring back the Light to these people, and all people of Fastheld without the prejudice of our fathers. No, it will not be easy, but what change really is." She looks back up to Taran, shaking her head. "They may stone me where I stand, Taran."

Taran smiles. "No," he says. You have your points, right there. Now we take each one, and make sure there's nothing in it to misunderstand." He taps his lips. "The building built from the love of a single person - that is misleading, and not exactly true in any case. The efforts of many have gone into its construction."

Celeste smiles warmly to the bard, "each person put their heart into it. But to say a small gathering is misleading as well. I would wish to give thanks to each of them, from Meian to Lord Alin. They each have offered themselves to the ideal that it could bring."

"Then say many," says Taran. "For it is the effort of many that brought it into being."

Celeste nods, looking down to the parchment. She tentatively takes up the quill, tapping it on the edge of the inkwell. "So we should just mention them as a whole, instead of individuals? I guess in their way, there are truly a great deal who have played their roles in seeing that we have found our way."

"Name as many as you like," says Taran with a laugh. "Especially those nobles who have helped, and those shadow-touched and sunkissed. It would be good to show that this monastery has already *become* the cooperation between light and dark that you hope it will continue to be."

Celeste nods, slipping the tip of the quill into the inkwell and placing it to paper. "So mention everyone of Fastheld that has helped...what if I forget someone, Taran?"

"Don't spend all night naming names," Taran smiles. "Name those most representative and important, and add that there are others who are owed no less gratitude, but that the list would take rather too long to recite in a night."

Celeste nods, giggling softly his words. "There have been those that have chosen to be resistant and make those at the house only more stubborn. So those who are most representative. That should be a little smaller, Meian, Kael, Griedan, yourself...not to meantion the noble support of the dukes and my matriarch...and Lord Alin, Varal, and even Sahna."

Taran nods. "Nobles both blessed and touched. Freelanders both blessed and touched. Exactly right."

Celeste nods, the soft scritching of the quill to the parchment. "So then we would need to discuss the prejudice that has overshadowed our lands for so long now, yes? How it has turned father against son all by accident of birth?"

Taran shakes his head. "If it matters to them, they already know," he says. "Speak instead of how the monastery intends to change that."

"That is the hardest part, really. I can speak of names and who we owe so much to, but it is harder to place a meaning to the ideal." The soft scritching to the parchment stops, Celeste looking down to the few words that remain, little more than a list of names. "The chapel was established to teach and educate in the ways of the Light. That together, Light and Shadow, work side by side to see the work of the Light done, and to guide those who feel lost." She nibbles her lower lip, "and that we all must learn in moderation as not to fall to the Shadow, no matter what incarnate we may be along that path."

Taran smiles. "You just did. Just write that down."

Celeste sighs, "but what if they suggest it is not needed. That one could easily go to Light's Reach if they sough such guidance." Tapping the quill to the parchment, she returns it back to the inkwell, and scratches out the few words as requested.

Taran shakes his head. "The touched cannot be guided in Light's Reach," he says. "Their power is out of their reach. It is teaching temperance to a drunk by locking away all the liquor and hiding the key - useful for the first, starting steps, perhaps. But not in learning true self control."

"Some may still not understand that we need the steps along the way," Celeste says. The soft sound of scratching follows her words, and another dip of the quill to the inkwell. "Will you be able to join us tonight, Taran?" The words slipping from her lips while she continues to write.

Taran shakes his head. "I think not," he says quietly. "It should be Meian's time to shine. She has come a long way."

Celeste nods, the soft scritches punctuating the motion. "You could come to listen," she offers. "I am sorry that you felt chased from there the last time you came, Taran. I did not realize that so many would some seeking me there."

Taran looks rueful. "Large gatherings are only good for me if many of the minds are in agreement," he says. "It becomes rather jarring otherwise. My attempts to block the power out are...somewhat spotty in their success rate."

"You fear that there will be a disagreement," supplies Celeste with a wry smile to the parchment. "There will be. I wish only that I knew from which direction it would come." She looks over to the bard, "your presence will be missed, of course. There are few among Fastheld that can soothe a crowd as you do."

"Not without effort on my part," says Taran calmly. "And...truly, Meian should have her chance, would you not agree? She will not know her wings can carry her until she tries to fly, after all."

Celeste smiles brightens ever slightly to the page. "Meian has so many wings, I fear we may never get her down once she learns, Taran. It lightens my heart to see her smile, though." Again the soft scritches to the parchment. "So we have the those who we wish to take and the meaning....yet, still fear that it makes little sense."

"That will be the last part," says Taran. "Once you have all you wish to say down, it is easier to decide in what order things should be spoken."

Celeste frowns, "I'm not sure that I understand what you mean, Taran."

Taran sighs. "You are writing down all the things you wish to say, correct?" he says. "When you have it all down, you may find that the order can be changed so that the whole ...flows better. No repetition, no variation, for a more solid statement overall."

"So why do feel as though I have left something out," mumbles the Mikin unabashedly. More scritching to the parchment.

"We'll keep working at it," Taran nods. "Now...we have who has come to build the monastery, and what it is meant to do...you have why you want people to witness its opening?

Celeste looks down a the parchment, reading over the growing words....and shaking her head. "I believe we are missing that part," she sighs. "Or would it not be part of why the chapel exists?"

"To show there are no secrets within our walls," notes Celeste firmly.

"That sounds like a good thing to add, then," Taran grins. "Along with welcoming questions - don't try to anticipate those, just be ready to answer them if asked."

Celeste groans, shaking her head. "I'm not sure that I can answer questions, Master Taran. I'm at my wits end trying to piece together this simple little speech," she sighs heavily. Her hand brushing briskly through the tangled mass of hair. "So, I should be ready for anything huh?"

Taran nods. "And if you cannot answer all the questions, ask Meian to help you," he says. "In answering those that come. And Griedan. Any that will."

Celeste nods, "allow us to stand as one. That makes sense, and they need to know what will be asked of them in the future. No amount of planning can prepare them for that."

Taran nods more firmly. "This is a group effort," he says. "And though you as noblewoman and owner of the property must have the final say, it likely will not hurt for others to see how much your companions want the effort to succeed. That you do not stand alone."

Celeste nods her head firmly. "Yes, you are right," she mummers softly. Tears well in the corner of her eyes. The soft scritching slowly comes to a halt to the parchment. "I...I think I'm done."

Taran frowns. "...Why are you crying?" he asks quietly, a bit worried.

"I've felt alone for quite some time...at odds in my own skin ever since this power awoke within me," she mummers. "That people see the blessing and not the woman....but I was wrong."

Taran smiles a bit. "Yes, you were," he says. "But it isn't the sort of thing others can tell you. You tell yourself, and then it sinks in."

Celeste stands up, offering the parchment to Taran to read. A blush returns to her cheeks at the bard's words. "This is what I came up with," she says with trepidation. "I'm not very good with words but it comes from my heart....and your guidance, Taran."

Taran accepts the parchment, looking it over. "I hope you will forgive that I am more a teacher than anything else today."

Celeste shakes her head, "you are one of my dearest friends, Taran...and I am always the student when it comes to you."

Taran laughs. "Except when you are the one teaching me," he says. "Tis always best when things go in both directions." He nods as he reads through it. "It sounds good. You should do well with this." He offers it back. "But definitely talk to your friends before you deliver the speech, so they know to be ready to help you answer questions."

Celeste nods, reaching for the parchment. "Thank you, Taran," she says...holding the parchment lightly between her fingertips. "You have opened my eyes in more ways than just a simple speech. Please come to see me soon, and may we talk of music or matters."

Taran blinks. "I am sure I did no such thing," he replies with a laugh. "But - you should ride, I think. The opening is soon, is it not?"

Celeste nods, looking back to the parchment. "Light guide and protect you, Taran," she sighs. Turning back to the desk to gather her things.

''Return to Season 6 (2007)