The crowds were returning, as dinner was about to be served. The whole keep was babbling in excitement of the exploits of Peredur, the great Fool. Ah, he sounds like a fervent one. Good to get him among Artoros’ rhyfelwr and soon. The more true believers he can be surrounded by the better. I head out of my room arranged very proximate to the king's personal quarters and newly-minted chapel, which I am hoping to redecorate from its drab austere surroundings very quickly. The hallways, darkening with only flickering torch-light at intervals, leave pools of reflected fire on the floor and wall interupted by deepening shadows. Near the stairs two voices rose, strangers-- a man and a young woman. My eyes narrowing I appraise the young girl. Over the years, I have honed my skills at determining weaknesses and proclivities of others for which I use to manipulate them. It began as a gift for which to help the poor souls, especially in the confessional or in private spiritual direction. My brethren in studies at Henllan, we were amazed at my insight into people’s hearts and minds, nay their souls. What I see before me is a mystery, which bothers me a bit. I do not like mysteries or surprises in my plans and all of Ehangwen hall have parts in my plan within plans. The maid is young, though quite nubile and thin in waist and rather petite for the normal denizen of the land. She has black hair cascading down her back as she speaks to her man in a tired voice. She turns and I see her skin peeking out of her wrists and her delicate bosoms seeming to strain in a newly apportioned brocade court gown, as if she had borrowed it and her fullness could not be contained. Hmm delicious. Then, I look at her face. As I step forward, warning bells loud as a tower bell ring in my head. She smells dusty and earthy and almost like the scent of fruit, and though I hear the warnings, I step forward, regardless. As I look in her face, quite expecting to see either the mouse-caught look most of these ladies of the court have or at least the sneer of those damn pagan Ysgrithrau, I see warm, yet calculating, dark eyes, almost purple. To myself, or so I thought, almost involuntarily I purred “Hmm, and who are you my pretty? A new jewel in Artoros’ sword belt?” The lady’s purple eyes flashed brighter at the insult, warning like lightening. “Who are you to ask? Some lapdog that needs to be taught some manners?” She began to whisper to herself in a quiet sibilant tone. Suddenly the hall got as cold as a blizzard day and the torches flickered as if affected by a winter wind. She rose up tall and as straight as her small self could as the top of her head only reached the bridge of my height of my nose. Suddenly I felt cold invade my chest and pull at my gut and heart. I gasped for breath like a fish out of water. Suddenly my vision is overlaid for a moment with the image of the virgin Mary, matching the statue in the vestibule of the church I grew up and took my lessons in. Her mantle blue as the sunshine sky. The statue or court lady began crying blood, I could not tell. Horrified, I looked at the fresh young girl before me wondering what evil dewiniaeth she was casting. Maybe, she was a vision I had long since turned away from! Involuntarily, the priest whispers in choked breath “Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum.”** The cold and the constriction lessens like a small seepage, slowly. I straightened and shook my self, for it seemed like an eternity but lasted only a moment. This little chit could never be Mary, the holy virgin. For a moment, I felt myself being pulled back to my naive fervent days of youth when I believed the power of Crist and his mother could actually change lives. “So, Artoros has picked up a little mongrel girl has he?” I replied snarling. Seeing immediately that this one's weakness would be pride, although she looked to be strong in nature. All the more fun to break, like a weakened filly. Modron spying the glimmer of the cross at his chest, she rejoined “Ah, you must be the cleric of that weak dead god, Iesu Grist. No wonder you have no ysbryd but a darkness and deadness to match your weakling god. What god lets others kill him and put him on display? And to correct you Syr, I am a princess and emissary from my father the king of Avalon. You watch yourself syrah. I am not a chambermaid to bow to you.” Her eyes flashing again she spun on her heels and stomped away in the opposite direction. My anger flashed over my face, at my weakness in succumbing to that witches’ vision and heat at having someone worthy of a challenge finally in this household. The heat spread to my groin as it leapt in anticipation of the dominance and subjugation I will devestate on this little magical putain. It will match the subjugatation the all of the pagans and thier disgusting ways. In my heat of anger, I hear a door open and see the king emerge. I quickly school my face to its cool, appeasing, obsequious façade. “My king and lord! I was just going to find you! We have much to discuss do we not?” ---------------------------------------------------------------- putain= (n.f.) harlot, prostitute, whore rhyfelwr= (n.m) warrior ysbryd= (n.m.) spirit syr= (n.m) sir Iesu Grist= (prop.n.) Jesus Christ dewiniaeth= [f.](n.) witchcraft, divination, augury, magic, necromancy **”Hail Mary, full of grace, our Lord is with thee,” (Luke 1:28). Hail Mary was not a formal prayer until the Council of Trent in 1545. New Advent Catholic Encyclopedia There were various benedictions to Mary beginning in the 5th century in a variety of places around the world church. Presumably since Taren has a particular obsession with Mary, Crist’s mother, he would use this phrase in a situation like this.