#glennborough

1348 – Day 3 – Glennborough Farm

In the glen, where Elias and Ciara live with their daughters, the situation is a similar one, although in their case, their survival is a far more remarkable feat.

Aside from theirs, only two families live in the glen. Anyone could be forgiven for thinking that in such a sparsely populated place, the plague is sure to pass them by, like it does the Brophys. And yet, they would be wrong. Seón ó Brien, patriarch of one of the other families, has the ill fortune of travelling to town shortly after the pestilence reaches it, unaware of what has transpired. By the time he recognizes the danger, it is already too late. He discovers the first boils on his body a day or two after his return. From him, it spreads to the rest of his family, and then to the widow and her son that make up the final family of the settlement.

Ciara and Elias react quickly once they get a shouted warning from the ó Brien home, quickly enough to ward off the illness, or so they believe. They do not go beyond the bounds of their farm, they shutter their windows to keep out any bad air that could drift over from the pestilential houses, they burn herbs to cleanse their home of whatever impurities manage to slip through. They even forbid Órlaith from playing outside, much to her annoyance.

For three or four days, Ciara actually thinks that they did it. She feels terrible for her neighbours, but intensely grateful that they slipped the noose. But then, she goes to check on Gráinne one morning when her daughter starts wailing, and pulls her swaddling cloth aside only to discover a swelling the size of a quail’s egg on her neck.

At first, she doesn’t even know what she is looking at. All she heard was that people in town were falling ill in droves, and that nearly everyone who catches the pestilence dies of it. But then, her mind supplies something about black buboes. Her daughter’s boil isn’t black, but she pulls the cloth away even further, and discovers one under each arm. Gráinne is hot to the touch, too.

That is the moment she begins to scream. “Elias! Elias, come quick!”

Frantic, she turns to Gráinne again, nearly sure now that her daughter must have caught this mysterious illness. She is so small, less than a year old. If grown men cannot fight this pestilence, how should an infant? But most men do not have magic. Her husband does. He’ll know what to do. He’ll heal her. He must.

Elias arrives moments later, out of breath from rushing in from the field outside. Dimly, Ciara wonders how desperate she must have sounded to cause that panic-stricken look on his face. But she doesn’t waste time on that – instead, she lifts the cloth to show her husband their daughter’s predicament and stumbles over herself to explain her fears. “You have to help her”, she begs. “She’ll die otherwise.”

“I…I can’t.” Elias stumbles forwards to examine the boils. “I don’t know how.”

“There must be some spell!”

“If there is, I don’t know it.” He spreads his hands, his gaze riveted to his daughter’s marred body. He is shaking now, his voice almost pleading, though with whom, even he doesn’t know. “I was never properly trained.”

“Well, do something!”

Unusually forceful as it is, Ciara’s tone stirs him into action. So he does something. He casts whatever positive spell he can on their tiny daughter, but although her crying stops and it seems to ease her pain, the boils only grow in the hours that follow, as does her fever. And before the next morning dawns, she is dead.

The worst part is, Ciara isn’t even surprised. She knew her baby daughter would die the moment she discovered the boils. But part of her, a foolish, stupid part, still hoped for a miracle. But why should her daughter be spared? They’ve been far too lucky far too long.

They bury her in the churchyard, danger be damned. To try to protect the rest of them, Elias casts some spells to make them more fortunate, hoping that this will let them avoid the pestilential air. When she hears this, Ciara wants to ask why he didn’t just cast this spell over them all in the first place, to ward off the evil that has befallen their daughter. Maybe if he had, Gráinne would still be alive.

She wants to, but she lacks the energy to fight with him now. It wouldn’t bring her daughter back, anyway.

(TW: somewhat graphic descriptions of dead bodies)

Even after Gráinne’s passing, Ciara, Elias and Órlaith stay clear of the other huts. They feel terrible for it, knowing that as good children of the Watcher, they should be trying to help their neighbours, but they know they’d likely die for nothing. They couldn’t save Gráinne, so what are they supposed to do for anyone else?

That resolve lasts until Elias hears the wailing. Over the last few days, the sounds of life from the two other inhabited huts have become fewer and farther between, but now, he suddenly remembers that the ó Briens have a young son, Domhnall, who is around four years old. The cries he hears are just young enough that they might stem from a boy that age, but horribly distorted, almost animalian.

The sound tugs at his heartstrings, but he forces himself to turn away and continue tending to the crops. Surely whoever is still alive in that house will see to him. Or maybe he is dying himself, afflicted by the same plague that took his father – and Elias’ daughter.

His resolve weakens as the crying continues unabated, and he tries to remember when he last caught sight of any of his neighbours. It must have been days. In the beginning, Reeba – little Domhnall’s mother – or one of his older siblings would still try to weed and water, but they must be too weak for that now. Or beyond caring about what is happening on their fields.

As darkness falls, he can’t bear it anymore. He simply runs to the ó Briens’ door, heedless of whether it is a good idea or not. He doesn’t even stop when the stench hits him. Nor does he try to call out to anyone. He simply wrenches open the door, eager to get this over with.

What he sees makes him stagger.

He has seen dead bodies before – his murdered sister and his too-young nephew the most gruesome of them, not to mention the mutilated body of his daughter. But even Gráinne’s sight pales in comparison to what is before him now. The ó Brien’s bodies are bloated and marked with the black sores. They must have been lying on their pallets and on the floor for days, rotting without anyone there to give them their last rites. The only thing more horrible than their sight is the stench, of rot, of vomit and of excrement.

And amidst it all he spots the wailing boy on the floor, unmarked by the pestilence, but filthy and beside himself.

Elias doesn’t even think. He simply snatches up the screaming toddler and runs, back to the safety of his home, where he prays the stench won’t reach. He knows it is cowardly of him, that he should give his neighbours the proper burial they deserve, but in that moment, fleeing is the only thought in his head. He can save their son, but that is all. Watcher knows if he’ll ever be able to make himself go back in there.

Surprisingly, when he tells Ciara about what happened, she isn’t angry about the risk he put them all under. She simply takes Domhnall, who is shaking, into her arms, saying that his parents would want them to look after him. There is a faraway look in her eyes as she speaks, but now that the true horror of what he saw is seizing upon him, Elias doesn’t press her.

Ciara doesn’t say as much to her husband, but silently, she considers him bringing Domhnall into their home as a gift by the Watcher. In the days since Gráinne’s death, she feels as if she has been going mad, but now, there is this small child who needs her, who has lost his parents and siblings just like she lost her daughter. It gives her a purpose to go on. Something that makes her feel less useless.

She has her work cut out for her, too; Domhnall doesn’t speak, has to be coaxed to eat, and often simply sits on the floor staring at nothing, unless he is trying to run outside to look for his Mamaí and Daidí and siblings. At only four or five, he cannot understand why his family is suddenly gone. Ciara isn’t even sure he remembers watching them die.

She can hardly wrap her head around what has happened herself. Only a few days ago, all of her neighbours were alive, and now? Now they seems to be the only ones left. Elias checked. The widow, Catriona, and her boy are dead, too. She cannot understand why the Watcher would do this. What have they done, any of them, to be punished like this? And how long until whatever struck the others down comes back for the four of them?

That fear is almost debilitating, and having Órlaith and Domhnall to look after is probably the only thing that keeps her from hiding in some corner. The grief for her younger daughter only adds fuel to that, and more than once, she finds herself wrecked by sobs once everyone is sleeping.

She doesn’t even know if anyone she knows and loves is still alive. They have had no word from town since the unfortunate Séon returned, but with things as they are, they are too afraid to leave the glen.

All they can do is pray, but when she looks at the other houses, empty of anything but ghosts, Ciara wonders whether there is even a point. She cannot believe that a Watcher who would do something like that would care to hear them.

Glennborough has more lots usable by an active farming household than Praaven. However, while the lots are larger overall, it does have a maddening tendency to create lovely farmland in CAW and then plop a farmhouse lot on it that’s just as big as the house. I’m not sure what the thinking is there -- you can’t run a farm on a non-lot, no matter how pretty the landscape is. I need space to actually garden and keep livestock and whatnot. There are even deco livestock (lol -- is that word singular or plural??) on CAW land. That just adds insult to injury.

Also, there are horses in households that don’t have box stalls on their lot, and that’s just trouble. OTOH, lot size isn’t quite as tight as Praaven -- there’s space on most residential lots to squeeze in a box stall if it’s relevant. On the downside, Glennborough’s central walled town is spacious and only supports a few households -- Praaven manages to really grab the feel of a dense medieval city.

I guess, to brainstorm, I remember that it’s possible for a household to own more than one lot. That might be a solution to the problem both on Praaven and Glennborough -- I can drop a custom lot down someplace using Edit Town and have the active household buy that lot to be their farm. In Glennborough, the secondary lot can adjoin the farmhouse lot and sit on the lovely CAW-textured farmland. In Praaven, the household would have to travel at least some distance to get to their farm, but I’m pretty sure that’s an authentic lifestyle for at least some serf-like peasants -- they have a small personal garden and commute to farmland owned by the nobles.

Praaven has the opposite horse problem, which is that households on the countryside generally don’t have box stalls, but there are box stalls in the walled city, which ALSO makes a mess. Praaven’s walled city feels very authentic, meaning the roads are narrow. I get regular stuck sim complaints about wedged horses in the city. I need to go root out those box stalls and remove horses from city households, then put box stalls on more country lots where they will fit, which isn’t actually as many as I would expect to have horses re tiny lots. I wonder if I added some tiny secondary lots to inactive households and put box stalls on them if NRaas-directed inactive behavior would handle these properly as an integrated part of the household.

Praaven’s incredibly immersive, and I’m not noticing any significant lag since I fixed the subway behavior for inactives. If I could have my ‘druthers, I’d reduce the map size and only have one peasant village rather than three with their duplicate churches and marketplaces. If I resolve my complaints and stay there for multiple generations, it does give me some variety in location, so there’s that.

My current plan is for Emma to be the heir and Alair to be the spare (Alair the heir spare, hee hee), mostly because I’d like to follow a woman around a bit longer after my foundress exited the story early. That means that when she marries, the active household will move. I don’t know that she’ll end up in another farm household, course, but I’d like for the world to have lots supporting enough variety of gameplay that Emma’s future household can have what it needs while Nash gets to keep one of the only lots on Praaven that can support an active-play farm.

I haven’t played very far ahead yet. Emma’s still a toddler in gameplay, as is Alair -- though he’s going to age up in a couple of days. Both have toddler traits that point toward fascinating storylines for me, so I’ll probably end up jumping back and forth more than I might otherwise.

1349 – Day 1 – Glennborough Hall

At Glennborough’s manor, Mariora and her family have spent the last half-year slowly recovering from the horror of the previous year’s plague. Talk of new afflictions had dwindled towards the end of the year, but she is still reluctant to have any of her household leave the safety of the estate. The only thing she consents to is to allow Joseph to travel to the glen, so they can find out what became of Elias and Ciara. When he comes back with news that they are still alive, if shaken, her legs get so weak with relief that she has to sit down. She had almost convinced herself that they must be gone, with how much suffering there still is in town.

It is a good thing, then, that some hopeful things still happen, even in this dark time. 1349 has just begun when Eibhlín is brought to the birthing bed once more, on an otherwise calm day in the middle of January. And this time, her child, another little boy, is born alive and healthy. After all the heartache and upset she suffered during her pregnancy, that is nothing short of a miracle.

When he is first told, Nicolas is so happy he nearly cries, and races over to greet his new son and see with his own eyes that his wife has gotten through the ordeal safely – which, thankfully, she has. Eibhlín is exhausted as is to be expected, but her eyes are shining with the same emotion he feels.

And his son? His son’s a precious, sturdy little boy with wisps of red hair, like his brother’s and father’s, and a healthy set of lungs on him. “He’s perfect”, he says as he cradles him in his arms for the first time, unable to stop smiling. “You did well, as always.”

His wife, resting on the bed, huffs. “I certainly hope so. It was a painful enough business. In fact…” She pauses for a moment, then presses on. “In fact, I hope this is our last child for a while.”

Her request – because Nicolas is fairly certain that this is what it is – is not entirely unexpected. In the course of only a very few years, they lost three sons, and who knows whether this new little one won’t follow them to an early grave? Even Moira is only just shy of six, and not past the most dangerous time. Truth be told, he doesn’t want to open himself up to more heartache, either. Even if he would like more children than just those two. But they’re still young.

So, he finally nods and returns his attention to his new son. “That may be wise. But this little one still needs a name.”

There is silence for a few moments, and when Nicolas glances up at Eibhlín, she looks thoughtful, but whether in reaction to his tacit agreement to her wishes or because she is actually thinking about what to name their son, he can’t tell. Even after all these years of marriage, there are still moments where he cannot divine what his wife might be thinking.

“I don’t want to name him after someone from our families”, she says finally. “That seems to have brough Owen and Simon nothing but misfortune.”

“What about Dean? It’s a lovely name, and I don’t know of anyone in my family called that.”

Eibhlín thinks about it for a moment. “I have no objections. Dean it is.”

Baby Dean’s arrival isn’t the only joyous event in their household that quarter. In fact, it isn’t even the more important one, at least by most people’s estimation. That distinction, without a doubt, goes to the wedding of Gunther, Baron Goth, to his longtime mistress, Mariora Townsend.

At forty-five, with several grown children and a handful of grandchildren, Mariora thought herself beyond excitement over something as trivial as a wedding, but when she walks into the small Glennborough church that day, she cannot help the roiling in her stomach. She has been Lord Goth’s mistress for so long, she honestly stopped believing this day would ever come. And yet, now she is walking towards him down the aisle, with only her sons – sans Elias – and Alice as witnesses.

If her groom were any other man, she might not be as excited, particularly after such a long relationship, but this marriage will not just make her a wife, it will make her a baroness. Who would have thought that a woman who spent the first two decades of her life in the woods would ever rise so high? And yet, the finery she is adorned with, including a headdress with a soft, light veil, attests to its veracity.

“From this day on, you won’t just be the mother of my children”, Lord Goth told her, when he insisted on furnishing her with a new wardrobe. “You will be my lady, and mistress of my castle. It is important that the world sees as much when it looks at you.”

She certainly feels like that when she takes his hands and the soft material of her long sleeves whispers across her arms. The ceremony itself is rather simple – everything else would be dangerous with the pestilence still abroad, and unbecoming besides – but she can’t help the warmth that spreads in her chest when she gazes up into her lover’s steady eyes and speaks the traditional words. Within what seems like a heartbeat, the attending priest declares them husband and wife, and surrounded by the cheers of her children, they share their first kiss as such.

There are a lot of congratulations afterwards, and Mariora can’t deny a certain pride when her new husband addresses her as “my lady Goth” for the first time, although her sons immediately try to ruin it by addressing her as the same in a decidedly less referential manner. She chides them gently, but can’t make her words carry any real ire. She’s far too pleased for that.

There is a small celebration at the castle afterwards, which her new step-daughter-by-law, Juliana, sadly cannot attend because she already entered her confinement. It makes no matter,; both Mariora and Alice take up residence at the castle, which hopefully will give her ample opportunity to get to know the young woman before the birth of her child.

She and her husband also discussed Filimor living with them, but eventually decided against it. It will do the boy good to oversee the manor, with Nicolas and Joseph as his support.

“Besides”, Lord Goth points out, “I want to have him legitimized and married as soon as possible. He should have an estate to call his own.”

Mariora considers this quite the responsibility for a boy of only thirteen, but given the state of the world, she agrees that he needs to grow up fast. His father won’t be there to protect him forever.

1349 – Day 1 – Glennborough Castle

Mariora is accorded a full month and a half to settle into her new role as baroness and chatelaine before Juliana Goth’s (née de Bellefaye’s) labour pains arrive on an early morning in late March. She is alerted to this by a scream, and when she enters Juliana’s tower room, the girl is white as a sheet and clutching her stomach, clearly terrified.

“I think something might be wrong”, she manages, when she notices Mariora. And then she describes what the older woman easily recognizes as the beginnings of labour, but what someone experiencing it for the first time might well mistake for an upset stomach or worse.

There are no midwives available to help them this time – Caitlin Lennister is dead of the plague, and given the lingering risk of someone carrying the plague into the castle, Mariora doesn’t dare summon anyone else. So, she assists the girl herself, aided by a maid. Juliana doesn’t question her. Truthfully, she is just thankful to have a steady presence with her, even if said presence is a mistress pretending to be a lady.

She can’t think of any of that as she is alternatingly suffering her labour pains and the grating intervals between, though. She can’t think of anything much, other than her prayers for the survival of both her child and herself, and, as the pain becomes more intense and frequent, for this ordeal to end.

It does, eventually, and she is rewarded for the ordeal with the squealing of a very opinionated infant and the heavenly words “Congratulations, you have a son”. Soon after that, a red faced, squirming bundle is placed into her arms, still weak from the exertion, and she is left staring wonderingly at the baby she only slowly realizes must be her own child.

Her own son.

Her son, who will be baron one day, once his grandfather passes. The pride she feels at that realization eases even the sting of knowing that she will never become the lady of these lands herself. Now, even if the baron manages to have his bastards legitimized, her son will still take precedence over his new wife’s boy. It’s an exultant feeling.

Part of Juliana – the ambitious part – expected the new Lady Goth to be displeased at the health of her son, because surely, she must know that his survival destroys any small hope her bastard has of inheriting. But there is nothing but kindness in her gaze when their eyes meet, after Juliana finally manages to tear herself away from looking at her son’s face.

“My sincere congratulations”, she says softly. “He is a beautiful child.”

Juliana is too tired to be cold to her now, not to mention too grateful for her support. So, she simply nods. “He is. Although I admit that all I want to do now is sleep.”

“Not at all surprising. It is how I felt after most of my births.” Lord Goth’s wife stretches her arms out for the baby then, but somehow, despite her weakness and wish for rest, Juliana can’t bring herself to give him up. The sight makes the older woman smile. “I promise he’ll still be here when you wake.”

Her astute assessment makes Juliana stiffen. She never considered herself easily readable, especially after she fooled her parents about Florian for so long. But she will certainly not admit that to this woman. So, she hands over the child and nods. “Of course. I simply wish for him to be safe, that’s all. He’s Lord Goth’s heir now.”

The older woman simply smiles pleasantly as she takes the baby – who is to be baptized Samuel, as Lord Goth already decided before his birth – securely into her arms and turns towards the crib prepared for him. “As is natural. But I promise you, there will always be someone to watch over you and the babe. Nothing will happen to you if we can help it.”

Besides keeping young Juliana company as she waits our the forty days of confinement preceding her purification, Mariora spends the rest of that quarter familiarizing herself further with her new role. She has to admit, despite her never expecting her son to inherit the barony, that knowledge stings a little more now that she is her lord’s lawfully wedded wife. But she bears neither her step-grandson, Samuel, nor the boy’s mother any ill will. Who knows, if her husband is successful in having him legitimized – he already applied to the King for as much – maybe Filimor will be given custody of his little nephew’s lands until the boy is of age.

There is only one worry gnawing at her: Filimor would have to be of age himself to be given that responsibility. What if her husband doesn’t live until their son is twenty-one? He wouldn’t be able to hold his own lands, let alone anyone else’s.

“Then it will be the King’s prerogative to determine a guardian”, her husband responds, when she puts that question to him. “I have composed a will, of course, but it is up to His Majesty whether he follows my wishes.” Seeing the uncertainty in her face, he laughs. “I hope you don’t think I am that close to death’s door, my dear wife.”

“Of course not, my lord”, Mariora confirms, but her anxieties don’t ease. Her husband isn’t young anymore. A decade or so older than her, certainly. Anything could happen.

She tries not to dwell on such bleak thoughts, which are in all likelihood a result of her long life of knowing losses rather than an astute assessment of her husband’s state of health. Instead, she devotes her time to familiarizing herself with her new home and the luxury of having several servants. Less than before Glennborough was struck by plague, her husband tells her, but still more than she ever had.

It’s not the only effect of the plague to linger. How could it be? So many are dead now, and although Mariora knows her family lucky, even she sometimes lies awake at night for fear that it might return. And many were not as fortunate as her family. Many townsfolk are hardly able to till their fields or ply their trade. There are widows who try to continue their husbands’ trades, and orphans in need of protection. As baroness, she offers what relief she can, but there is only so much she can do. Her husband already uttered fears that the next harvest might be bad, simply because there is no one to work the land.

Why would the Watcher do such a thing? No one can tell them. It sours her enjoyment of her new station, especially knowing that those she cares about were spared for some reason. In some moments, she wonders why fate favours her so much, after all she has done.

In others, she is simply glad to still be alive, to be married, to have her youngest child with her, her only remaining daughter. Alice was quiet at first when they moved into their imposing new home, as if she was afraid of her voice echoing against the stone walls. But little by little, she has begun to relax. She has also begun to befriend young Juliana, keeping her company and playing chess with her during her confinement, and found a friend in the castle dog, Ursel.

Sometimes even Mariora feels lonely in this huge building, not helped by the fact that she is living apart from her sons Nicolas and Joseph and her grandchildren for the first time since she arrived in Ireland. She visits them as often as she can, but it isn’t the same.

Nevertheless, she wouldn’t trade the life she has now. Not after she fought for this for so long.  

Juliana has a lot of time to think during her confinement after her son’s birth. True, her young good-sister, who is a charming child, often entertains her with a game of chess, but Alice has her lessons. As Lady Goth is also busy, that leaves Juliana on her own for a good portion of each day.

Her position in this castle is an uncertain one, made only slightly more secure by Samuel’s survival. She was supposed to become the lady of these lands once her husband succeeded to his title, but with him gone, she is left with no dower lands and little to her name. Yes, she will be the next baron’s mother, but that doesn’t mean that whoever takes custody of the lands until he is of age – because it is unlikely that Lord Goth will live for another twenty-one years, though not impossible – has to provide for her here.

She could remarry, of course. Ask her father for permission to return and for him to arrange another marriage for her. Or ask Lord Goth, who is responsible for her now, to find her a husband. But that would mean losing her son. In no world would she be given custody of him, when he is to be the baron.

On the other hand, she could offer to be a companion to the new baroness. Part of her rebels at the thought of serving to a woman who was the baron’s mistress for more than a decade and has two bastards besides, but it would allow her to remain here, for surely, the new Lady Goth will have dower lands with enough income to sustain her and an attendant. This arrangement would also allow her to remain close to her son, provided he isn’t sent away to be raised elsewhere.

Neither option is particularly appealing to her, but she is fortunate to be alive to make plans at all. So she intends to make the best out of the hand she was dealt.

1349 – Day 4 – Glennborough Hall

On the other side of Glennborough, at the manor, waters have been equally calm since Mariora’s marriage to Lord Goth and her ascension to the peerage. Frankly, with only Filimor, Joseph, Nicolas, Eibhlín and their two young children inhabiting the vast estate, it has become almost too quiet there. There are nights where Nicolas and his small family sleep in the main house with his brothers now – it feels ridiculous for them to be in the hut when there are plenty of beds available in the house.

Thankfully, their family hasn’t shrunk further since the wedding. Baby Dean is doing well so far, and his parents have every hope that it will stay that way. After the last few years, even thinking otherwise feels like dangerous territory. Nicolas is convinced he wouldn’t be able to rouse himself out of bed for fear of finding either of his children unresponsive if he allowed himself to consider the possibility that they might not survive.

That is not to say that their minds are easy. While their losses were comparatively light, they are as shaken as anyone else by the plague, and thank the Watcher every day for their good fortune, especially because Elias, Ciara and Órlaith survived as well, as did most of Eibhlín’s family. But they share the common fear that this pestilence could return at any point.

It’s an all the more joyful occasion, therefore, when Moira, Nicolas and Eibhlín’s daughter, turns six years old. She’s their first child to reach this milestone, which would be reason enough to celebrate, but after this pestilence, it seems nothing short of a miracle. And because there have been no recurrences of the plague for months, they decide that they should honour the day by inviting the rest of their family.

It just feels right to at least try to bring some levity back into their lives, as a reminder to themselves that are alive, if nothing else.

It is good to see their extended family again. Eibhlín especially seems overjoyed to greet her parents and brothers and eagerly listens to Rónan as he teases a red-faced Griogair about how sweet he is on Aoife Lennister, Ciara’s sister. The girl works at the castle now, and he apparently met her when he was delivering produce to the baron.

“It’s a shame you didn’t tell me about this sooner, Rónan”, she says with a laugh. “Mistress – I mean, Lady Goth could have brought her! It would have been perfect.”

Griogair groans. “Not you too, sister.”

“If not me, then who?”

She is all innocence, but the twinkle in her eyes and their younger brother’s obvious distress makes Rónan burst into laughter yet again. It’s a scene as has played out between the siblings countless times, but it’s so strangely normal that Nicolas, who listens to the entire thing, cannot supress a smile. Some things, at least, haven’t changed.

For him and his brothers, the best thing about the celebration is seeing their mother in all her new finery. Even as the baron’s mistress, she never wore such things, but now that she is his wife and lady, there is no reason for her not to show her new status. She still visits them occasionally, but often enough, her duties as mistress of the castle keep her busy. That, and the baron’s health seems to have taken a turn for the worse. Not surprising, after all the losses he suffered in recent years.

It dims her satisfaction in her new marriage a little, casts a worried shadow across her eyes, but she does her best to smile when she greets her sons and grandchildren. This is a day of celebration, and she is overjoyed to celebrate her granddaughter’s milestone. She is in need of some merriment as much as anyone.

Nicolas is the one to do the honours of helping his daughter blow out her birthday candles. There is much cheering and singing from their guests, especially from his mother and Eibhlín, but frankly, he cherishes Moira’s shining eyes the most. He can’t believe she’s already six years old. Yes, he’s happy she reached this age at all, but he also doesn’t know if he’s ready for his little girl to grow up.

It’s a silly thought. He should be grateful that Moira has now left the most dangerous part of her childhood behind her, especially as she’ll now be able to lend her mother a hand with her chores. That help will sorely needed if this house is truly to have a new mistress soon. Filimor’s noble-born wife is bound to be far stricter in her running of the household than his mother ever was.

Moira quickly draws his attention back to the present when she loudly asks whether they can cut the cake now that she has blown out the customary candles. Her mother agrees, and the next few minutes are spent handing out cake slices of it to their various guests. Shortly after that, they are all seated, complimenting Eibhlín on her cooking and trading stories and news.

There is talk about families still affected by their losses of the previous year, of fields fallen into ruin and houses standing empty. Mariora offers what news she has from other regions, ones where this affliction is still running rampant. There have been no new plague dead in Glennborough since the beginning of the year, but that doesn’t mean it is the last they’ve seen of it. They don’t want to dwell on such matters, but they also can’t pretend that it didn’t happen.

One thing Eibhlín has been doing to distract herself from her fears has a pleasant side effect for Moira: she made her fine new clothing, which forms part of her birthday gift. There are other things – hand-carved toys from her Brophy grandparents, winter clothing from Mariora, a little bow from her uncles. But it’s the attention she seems to be enjoying the most. She can’t stop chattering at everyone, and she’s so good-natured about everything that their conversation soon drifts into pleasanter channels.

The person little Moira is most interested in is quite possibly her grandmother, the new Lady Goth. Her mother took her to the castle once to visit her, and ever since, she hasn’t been able to stop asking her parents about what it is like for her grandmother and Aunt Alice to live in a castle, why the rest of them don’t live there, if they ever will live there, and so on and so forth. Frankly, it’s a relief for her parents that she can now put these questions to Mariora herself.

Not that Mariora minds. She is very glad that her granddaughter is such a vivacious child – hopefully, that means she has enough fire to withstand anything that may come her way. If there is one thing she has learned, it is that women need that. Even if Moira only becomes the wife of a farmer or a craftsman, she’s bound to have a lot of storms to weather.

Besides, it is a relief to view the world from her innocent childish eyes for a few moments instead of having to support an ailing husband weighed down by questions about how to pay his dues, now that part of his lands cannot be tended because the tenants that used to do so are dead. Or thinking about the uncertain futures of her children. Amazingly, King Edward did legitimize Filimor and Alice, which is a reason for joy, but there is the matter of little Samuel. No one knows whether he’ll survive to become baron. As for Alice, her father already arranged a marriage with a Butler for her, but who knows how that man will treat her little girl?

Her marriage, however, will at least mean security for her. Filimor’s position is far less certain. Younger sons don’t inherit even if they are legitimate all their lives, and with his bastardy so recently erased…

Moira doesn’t care about any of that, of course. She wants to know about daily castle life, about Mariora’s jewels and fine dresses, about that poised, reserved lady she met (young Juliana, who has been devoting most of her time to prayer and her infant son). She only stops asking her grandmother questions when her mother draws her aside with the promise of another present.

Said present turn out to be painting supplies. Eibhlín explains to her daughter that she noticed her interest in the easel still left by the window, now mostly unused since Elias moved away. It would be good for someone to appreciate it, and painting might be a productive use for Moira’s relentless energy.

Of course, Moira declares that she has to immediately try out her new paints, but considering that this keeps her occupied for the rest of the evening and seems to make her happy, Eibhlín counts her gift as a success on all fronts.

After Eibhlín takes Moira off her hands, Mariora seeks out her youngest son. To her mind, it isn’t right to not have him live at the castle; she feels that is where he rightfully belongs, but her husband always argues that it is better for him to be head of his own household. Especially now that his wedding is approaching.

It still feels so strange that her boy is to be married so soon. He isn’t even fifteen yet, and she isn’t entirely certain if his next birthday will be before or after the wedding. True, Nicolas was only two or three years older than that when he married, but that was different. He’d known Eibhlín for years and chose her, even if it was with some encouragement. This girl Filimor is to marry is a complete stranger. A mere bid for an alliance.

Her husband’s rejoinder to that is that it will be good for him to have a decently influential noble family like the Fitzgeralds as his support. He – his father - can leave him the manor and some land, but, unless little Samuel dies, no more than that. He should have allies. And much as she dislikes it, she has to admit that he is right.

So, she accedes to his wishes (not that she’d have much of a choice even if she disagreed) and does her best to make the match, which Filimor was informed of months ago, palatable to him. “Your father received word that Mistress Margaret and her kinsfolk will arrive just after the turn of the year”, she tells him. “Apparently, she is very excited to meet you.”

His face darkens, as it always does when this topic arises. “How fortunate for her.”

“Your father simply seeks to look out for you by arranging this marriage”, Mariora responds with a sigh. “You know this. Margaret Fitzgerald comes from a good family and seems to be a dutiful young woman.”

“I know that. But I might still mislike her.”

Mariora gives him a pitying look. “Marriages among the nobility are not about whether you like your wife or not, I fear. Although for your sake, I hope the girl will be amiable.”

There is little Filimor can say in response, so he simply mumbles something his mother interprets as agreement. But that night, after their guests have left and everyone else has gone to bed, he is still sitting at the table downstairs, trying and failing to compose a letter. His mother said it would be favourable to send his intended a few words, but he doesn’t know what to say to a woman he has never met.

His mother is right, of course. Most people, not just nobles, have their spouses decided upon by their families. Nicolas was lucky to be able to choose his own bride, and even then, their mothers nudged them in that direction. That isn’t what bothers him, or so Filimor tells himself. But under different circumstances, he wouldn’t have to marry a complete stranger. For years, his father always said that he’d wed Francine Wolff, whom he knew well and whom he was fond off. Now she’s dead, and he’s expected to simply smile and marry someone else without even being asked for his opinion on the matter.

Undoubtedly, both his parents would say that that is simply the way of the world, as he should well know. That may be so, but knowing that the world is like this doesn’t lessen his annoyance at it, or stop him from wishing things were different.

But there is little enough he can do about any of it. He will marry in a few months, whether he likes it (and his bride) or not.

1349 – Day 4 – Glennborough Farm

As Ciara predicted, her third child announces itself at the very end of October, in the middle of the dark hours between All Hallow’s Eve and All Souls Day. That night, she is awoken by a sharp pain in her midsection, and when she pushes back her blanket, she finds part of her shift soaked.

She immediately freezes when she realizes that she is in labour – even after going through this two times already, it is a daunting thing. Then, she recollects herself, and debates whether she should wake her husband. It will likely be hours before the actual birth, and at least one of them should sleep while there is still time.

This turns out to be a wise choice. Even Ciara manages to doze for a good while longer, only occasionally interrupted by another bout of pain. Elias is a little put out when he awakens to find his wife groaning and hours into contractions, but she assures him that it will likely be several more hours before the actual birth, and that she wanted him to be rested.

Elias is none too happy about this explanation, kindly meant as her decision was. So many things can go wrong during a birth! True, his mother survived all of hers fine, but he’s heard enough stories. There is no one here to help them. What if the baby is positioned wrong, or if there is a bleeding that won’t stop, or –

Ciara is the one to eventually tell him to please get himself together – he is only making her more nervous, and at this point in her labour, that is the last thing she needs. She is uncharacteristically forceful in this, and that, combined with his feeling guilty, is enough to make him comply. He swiftly dresses himself, and then herds Órlaith outside to help him with the morning chores, but tells his wife to call for him immediately should she need his aid.

That time only comes several hours later, as Ciara predicted, and he is with her for every step of it – after telling Órlaith to take Domhnall outside to play elsewhere. Neither child needs to be here if anything goes wrong.

Nothing does, though, and a short time later, with midday sunlight filtering in through the window and his heart pounding wildly in his chest, Elias places their new baby in his wife’s arms, a squealing, red-faced, healthy boy. Ciara is instantly enamoured with him, and she can tell that Elias, grinning from ear to ear, feels just the same.

Having more children may have been a choice made not out of love, but out of a simple desire to be parents, but in that moment, Ciara feels happier than she can remember. Her son is healthy, her marriage is beginning to feel…well, like a marriage should, and she is alive. In that moment, even the memory of the pestilence fades into the background.

In the following days, their good fortune holds, and their son proves just as healthy as they hoped. They name him Pól – a simple name, but fitting.

Life doesn’t change too much even after little Pól joins the family. Instead of one young child to care for, there are now simply two, and the house is small enough that Ciara can keep an eye on the baby even while she bakes, cooks, cleans, does her mending and whatever else needs doing. And on the odd occasion that she can’t be there, Órlaith (who is a little more careful about her brother than she was about Gráinne, but nevertheless fascinated) or Elias gladly take over watching him.

Somehow, with Pól being born and surviving, the household seems to have renewed its energy. He seems almost to be a sign that life does go on, even if there is still a chance that everything might go terribly wrong later. Frankly, it is a pleasant feeling. A faint hope that things will get better eventually.

It is not what either Ciara or Elias expected, but it’s not at all bad, either.

1349 – Day 3 – Glennborough Farm

In the glen where Elias and Ciara Townsend have their farm, things are well, or as well as they can be under the circumstances. It has been almost a year now since the plague first swept through Glennborough. From what Elias hears when he goes into town, new people fell ill for months after that, but it seems to have run its course now. People are trying to return to normalcy, but unsurprisingly, that is easier said than done. Half the town died almost at a stroke – everyone has lost family, friends, loved ones. Even the baron in his high castle couldn’t protect his son and grandsons. If this was a punishment, then for whom? The wickedness of the world? Why, then, is the baron’s mistress-turned-wife still alive?

Fortunately, no one dares say that last part to Elias’ face, but he overhears two women talking about it once. It is all he can do not to march up to them to defend his mother. She only did what she had to to survive, and obviously, the Watcher can’t be that displeased. Otherwise, his mother certainly wouldn’t be a baroness now. But he can understand how such a realization must be bitter for those who were always good and lost their loved ones anyway.

He and Ciara – and Órlaith and Domhnall – are doing their best to continue rebuilding their lives as well. It is still frightening, looking at the houses their neighbours once lived in, knowing that there is no telling when such a plague might return. But one of the houses is inhabited again now – a couple from town, seeking distance from their own ghosts. It is not the same as it was, but it is something.

Unlike so many other fields which fall into disarray and disuse during those terrible plague years, Elias and Órlaith work diligently to care for theirs. With the price for food already high as the survivors stow away what they can in anticipation of another famine, they cannot afford to buy in what they can grow themselves. Especially because they will soon have a fifth mouth to feed – Ciara’s pregnancy is progressing well, and her bump seems to be growing by the day. It is tremendously exciting for Elias, who is far more enthused about this new child than he was with Gráinne, but frightening at the same time.

Her progressing pregnancy sadly doesn’t mean that Ciara can put up her feet. There is Domhnall to care for, who will turn six soon and still seems to battle with what he witnessed at the height of the plague, besides the household that she needs to keep in order. True to her word, Órlaith lends her a hand where she can, but working on the field takes up a lot of her time. Ciara understands Elias’ reasoning when he says that their daughter is needed there more urgently – they can do with an untidy house, but if the crops aren’t a success, they’ll starve. It doesn’t make her back or her feet ache any less, though.

Knitting and mending are probably her favourite chores of the bunch – true, they make her fingers ache sometimes, but at least she can accomplish them sitting. The same can’t be said for airing the beds, scrubbing the linens, or cleaning their bathtub and wash bucket. Not to mention the cooking and baking.

The busyness of daily life often leaves Domhnall to wander around by himself, at least for now. Once he turns six, he’ll be required to help with the outside work, which, which Elias and Ciara consider an apt repayment for the kindness they have shown him. Frankly, they are a little at a loss what to do with the boy. They don’t know if he has grandparents or other kin left in town. Would it be right to deprive them of him, if they are still alive? On the other hand, no one, so far, has come to inquire about what befell the ó Brien family. Maybe there is simply no one left to look for them.

Once, while they are discussing the matter, Elias shrugs. “Frankly, if no one comes to claim him, I say we keep him with us. It’s the charitable thing to do, and I could do with the additional pair of hands.”

“You aren’t worried that we won’t have enough food if our family grows?”

The words ‘our family’ come to her lips more easily these days, now that Elias actually seems to want to be her husband. At her statement, he breaks into an arch smile. “That is where the additional hands come in, well, handy. We will be able to plant more when there are more of us to work the fields.”

Silently, Ciara bemoans this – she would like Órlaith to help around the house, and besides, it will be winter again all too soon. Unless they have a stupendous fall crop, more mouths to feed will only make it harder to stretch their provisions. But she accepts her husband’s decision, as she knows she should.

As for Domhnall himself, he likes living with Ciara and Elias and Órlaith. He misses his family, but by now, he has begun to understand that they won’t come back. And his new family accepts that that isn’t easy for him. Órlaith still plays with him when she isn’t helping her uncle, and Elias and Ciara include him when they tell her stories in the evening. He feels safe with them. As much as he can, anyway.

Once, late in the quarter, Elias takes Órlaith out on another fishing trip, on her own insistence. With how unsafe the roads still are, he doesn’t want her to go alone, and he fears that she might do exactly that if he doesn’t go with her willingly. The Townsend stubbornness runs deep.

It is a pleasant outing, truth be told. He always enjoys getting away from the farm for a bit, and staring out at the endless expanse of the sea, even with his niece’s chatter in his ear, is oddly calming. He doesn’t get to think as much as he hoped he would thanks to Órlaith, but he finds he cannot regret it much. She is a charming child, and will surely grow into a woman any man would be glad to call his wife – if he can deal with her strong mind. And the magic.

That might be a problem with his and Ciara’s children as well, he muses. They won’t necessarily inherit his gift, but there’s a good chance some will. In some ways, it would be good for those abilities to carry on. His protective magic was very useful during the plague. But if his children are to marry, they might be forced to take wives or husbands into their confidence, which could easily become dangerous.

But that is a problem he’ll deal with once the time comes. Who knows if Ciara and he will even have more children, or if the babe she is carrying now will live? He prays it will, but if this plague has taught him one thing, it is that nothing in life is ever certain.

As the quarter draws to a close, Ciara is very sure that it will only be a matter of weeks until her new child is born. Despite her fears, she prays that it will be sooner rather than later – the latter months of a pregnancy are damned uncomfortable, and she cannot wait for them to be over.  

1348 – Day 1 – Glennborough Hall

After the loss of Nicolas’ and Eibhlín’s youngest son in childbirth, the manor is quiet for a while, once again in mourning. It seems a cruel fate, to lose two children so soon after each other. But life has to go on.

There is much work to do, for Nicolas and Joseph especially. Their plants are growing, but slowly, and likely won’t be mature enough to harvest before summer arrives. Maybe, if they make sure that they have enough water, they’ll be able to prevent them from wilting in the heat, but they’re not at all sure. It’s disappointing, but if he were quite honest, Nicolas would have to admit he’s glad of the distraction. Long days out on the fields mean he doesn’t have to look at his son’s crib and think of the boys he lost.

Eibhlín doesn’t have such a luxury. Oh, she certainly has work enough to keep her hands busy, but she is also the one caring for their two remaining children, Moira, now four, and Simon, who is two. Looking at them invariably reminds her of her losses, even after they stop asking about their brothers.

She knows it’s silly to be this emotional about the matter. Children die all the time. She certainly watched her good-mother lose enough of them. But somehow, the fact that such losses are commonplace doesn’t make them any easier to bear for her.

No, what helps is her good-mother’s quiet support. Mariora doesn’t expect her to be her usual self, but she offers quiet advice, and more than once they pray together for their lost children. It’s comforting, to know that she is not alone in this. She also tries to take joy in how healthy and happy Moira and Simon are. They’re the only children on the farm now, other than Alice, and thankfully thick as thieves. Where one goes, the other usually follows. It’s not much, but it’s one of the little things that make these dark months brighter for Eibhlín.

As for Alice, she often finds herself alone these days. The adults, even her mother, are far too busy to bother much about her. True, she does sit with Eibhlín sometimes as she does her mending or sewing, but her good-sister is so uncharacteristically sad that Alice always feels too awkward to stay long.

Her two favourite activities nowadays are caring for the horses and devising strategies for chess matches. Maybe, if she’s lucky, her brothers will have time to play with her again at some point.

Real change only comes when one day in the middle of February, Lord Goth arrives in a rush. He has become frailer in recent years – at fifty-five, he is not a young man anymore – but in that moment, he appears almost like the man of forty Mariora met oh so many years ago. Especially when as a greeting, he takes her into his arms and kisses her soundly.

“My lord, whatever happened?”, she asks, breathless and utterly dumbfounded, when he finally lets her go.

“My wife is dead.”

“…What?”

He looks at her gravely. “My wife is dead”, he repeats. “I received the missive only a few hours ago. She passed away at her sister’s estate, where she has been all this time.” Something flickers across his face for a moment, not quite amusement, but close. “I believe Lady Darling would have preferred not to inform me, but apparently, she felt it was necessary.”

As he says this, Mariora can still only stare at him, unable to think of anything to say. Lady Goth’s continued vitality has been the only thing keeping them from marrying for years, or so her lord always said. “What does that mean?”, she finally makes herself ask.

They have had their arrangement for…oh, fourteen or fifteen years now, to be sure. Long enough that even to the townsfolk of Glennborough, it has become an accepted part of life. But as far as her lord is concerned, she is still simply a woman he raised from squalid circumstances. Would he really want to make her his wife?

Instead of answering immediately, Lord Goth looks around. They are currently alone, but the household is constantly moving around, and once she realizes that her father has come to visit, it likely won’t take long for Alice to arrive. Apparently coming to the same conclusion, her lord takes her hand. “How about we discuss this in your room?”

In response, Mariora simply nods, and allows him to lead her upstairs, her heart racing all the while.

“You know that when I originally proposed this…arrangement to you”, Lord Goth begins, when they are alone upstairs, “I said that it was my hope that since the Irish lords let their bastards inherit as they do their legitimate children, it would be that way for our children also, if it came to that. Now, with my son Mortimer having two sons of his own already and a new young wife, I don’t know that that will be necessary. But if we were to marry, it might still allow me to have our son Filimor and young Alice legitimized.”

“Do you think that would be possible?”

“Possible? Certainly. It’s been done before. The challenge will be convincing His Majesty. But you can leave that to me.” He sneaks a hand around her waist and pulls her close. “I’d also like for you to be provided for after I’m gone. As my widow, you’d have dower lands.”

 Mariora looks up at him, truly studying this man that has been her lover for the past decade and a half. He looks so much older than he did when they started, but for once, there is no lordly distance in her eyes, but complete earnestness. He is offering her safety, even more than rank. For her, and for their children.

She feels her lips quirk into a smile. “How soon could our wedding be arranged?”

“Not immediately, I’m afraid.” He sighs. “I’d like to get this all underway as soon as I can, but estranged or not, Lady Goth was still my wife. I should wait for at least a few months before I enter upon a new marriage. But before the year is out, I promise.”