Climbing My Mountain of Life One Step at a Time

As always, a huge thank you to everyone who has read, liked, reblogged, commented, or sent me a DM or anon about this story. It means the world to me. Special thanks to @notevenjokingfic for talking things through with me on this chapter and to @jamesandclairefraser for the header. I love you both!

ICYMI: Back To You - mood board Back To You - 1 (took you like a shot) Back To You - 2 (thought that i could chase you with a cold evening)

Claire scrolled aimlessly through the contacts in her phone, only half-focusing on the information her professor was giving the class about their upcoming clinical rotations. She lingered for a moment over Frank’s name, remembering the way he had so smoothly asked for her number a few years back - all polished refinement and confidence, as if it was an impossibility that any young student her age would be unimpressed by a stately, slightly older professor such as himself.

Frowning slightly, she clicked on his name, on the number she had memorized so long ago. He had been right, of course; she had been taken in by his charm, by the way he seemed so different than the boys her own age. He didn’t chug beers at parties or drunkenly hit on women in bars, slurring pick up lines in her ear that usually ended with a threat of disembowelment if she wasn’t left alone.

No, he was romantic dinners at expensive restaurants; chilled bottles of wine and an occasional stage play; weekend days spent at a history museum, where he explained in great detail about the Jacobites of Scotland and the Uprising of ‘45 that eventually left their culture decimated into nothing more than a film of dust in the pages of history books.

He was attentive; perhaps a bit too focused on history and his interest in the subject he taught to countless college students, but Claire always thought that was part of his charm. He was devoted (in all aspects of life, or so she believed). She knew their relationship wasn’t perfect; towards the end when her uncle was getting ready to retire and move away, when she was swamped with school work and her desire to earn her own place in the world (and not because of the Beauchamp name), things had started to shift between them. Frank simply didn’t like feeling that he wasn’t Claire’s whole world. Sex became less frequent, less inspiring (as if he hadn’t been selfish in that area to begin with) until it started to feel like a chore.

@sassenachwaffles (canon interjection goddess) and @kkruml (paraphrase of what I imagine her thought process was here: “for real how many times can you use the word ‘near’? and this doesn’t make sense either!”) did some magic here, and I owe them a ton. Thank you both for not deleting me. xx.

Also, thank you to everyone who is along for this ride and for those who have left their thoughts on it. Writing this one feels like a challenge for me somehow, and to know that folks are still enjoying it means more than you can know. 

Loss: Act I and ficlets

Loss: Act II: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six

Loss: Act II Part Seven

I was a moth, intoxicated by his light.

“Claire.”

Jamie’s voice was broken.

“You’re okay,” I croaked over a throat full of tears, unsure of what to say or how to say it. So I repeated it again and again, letting it become a chant as I allowed myself to be drawn closer to him.  “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

“Ye’re…”

He started to raise his uninjured hand.  It hitched on some invisible barrier before he returned it to his side, his lips tightening into a line and fingers trembling a bit as they curled into the sheet beneath him.  He stilled completely.

His abbreviated response (“ye’re…”) was a heavy and low-hanging fruit, waiting for me to pluck it. The syllable stayed there in the stillness between us. It begged for me to complete the thought with ‘here.’ However, instead of filling in the blank he left for me, I touched my lips to his forehead. His intake of his breath felt like a puncture of a needle. (Sharp but with a dull exhale.)

After a beat (breaths, blinking, a twitch of his thumb) and with eyes closed, Jamie finished on his own, “…here.”

A/N: sooooo NSFW

Jamie learns something new, Claire’s meticulous planning falls flat, and as always, all the facts of this fanfic are contrived specifically to make fluffy university/modern-day au scenarios. Please let me know what you think!

Part One: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] | Part Two: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Three: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Four: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Five: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Six: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Seven: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Eight: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Nine: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Ten: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Eleven: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Twelve: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [ Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Thirteen: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Fourteen: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2]

Part Fourteen: Come Back | Chapter 3

Chapter 1 The Find

“Can I keep it?”  She looked up longingly at her Uncle Lamb, turning the fragile gold ring around and around with her fingers.

“No, Claire, we’ve talked about this,” he sighed.  

“But I found it,” she muttered, petulant.

“Claire,” Uncle Lamb was patient.  “Whatever we find on a dig belongs to the people of this culture.  It’s not ours to take.  What is archaeology again?”

“The study of ancient and recent human past through material remains,” she repeated mechanically. “It is a subfield of anthropology, the study of all human culture.”

“Exactly.  Very good, Girl.”  Uncle Lamb smiled.  “Find a culture that interests you, Claire.  Study it.  Learn from it.”

As always, thank you for your support and comments on this story! This chapter is a bit long, so apologies in advance. Thank you to @notevenjokingfic for holding my hand once again through this chapter and to @jamesandclairefraser for making it pretty again.

ICYMI: Back To You - mood board Back To You - 1 (took you like a shot) Back To You - 2 (thought that i could chase you with a cold evening) Back To You - 3 (and every time we talk, every single word builds up to this moment) Back To You - 4 (i want to hold you when i’m not supposed to)

Claire sighed deeply, slumping over the table to let her head rest on top of her arms. Her curls spread over her shoulders and forearms, tickling the soft skin exposed by her short sleeved shirt. She let her eyes close for a few moments before sitting back up with a groan, rubbing at them like a child.

It was after midnight, and she was working in the library at her usual spot, her homework (an assortment of papers, notebooks, pens and highlighters) spread across her work space. She had been there for hours, only taking one break to run downstairs and buy a coffee. She was exhausted (physically) from the lack of sleep she had been getting, and emotionally, from thinking about Jamie and Laoghaire.

After the concert was over, she and Jamie had never gotten a chance to decide who the winner of their bet was.

Claire had stood rooted to her spot, frozen like a statue as she watched the two of them. Laoghaire had reached for Jamie’s hand, trying to intertwine their fingers, to make their palms meet together as they had likely done countless times before (usual, ordinary, normal), but he crossed his arms across his chest, taking a step to his right, away from her.

Claire had watched the delicate column of Laoghaire’s neck, watched as her throat swallowed hard, eyes shifting down to the ground before Geillis dragged her away, the promise of something stronger than beer propelling her feet along the pavement behind her friend. She turned to look over her shoulder, unable to resist the urge to look at him (at them), to see if something had shifted again. Jamie was watching her go, Laoghaire standing stiffly at his side. Their eyes had met, whisky on blue, and what Claire saw reflected there (longing and  frustration, like lightning crackling and waiting to strike) made her look away, her chest tight and uncomfortable.

Come Hell or Helwater - Part Four

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

After dinner, Jamie had to go back to the stables to make sure all the horses were set for the night so Claire set about getting Brianna ready for bed.

When Jamie returned, he found the cot that would be Brianna’s made up with the necessary blankets and pushed into a corner so there were walls on two sides. Both were in their shifts, Brianna beneath the covers while Claire sat with her back straight against the wall, a pillar for Brianna to lean against, her posture slipping as she drifted closer and closer to sleep.

Claire had a book propped open in her lap and was reading by the light of a candle on the small table beside the bed. She winked at Jamie as he came in, barring the door against the night and the press of Helwater beyond. With the doors and windows shut, just the three of them inside, it was easy to pretend that the small cottage was all there was in the world, that nothing could or would disrupt the peace that was settling over them.

He sat and began removing his boots and stockings, listening to Claire’s voice rise and fall with the intonations of one practiced in storytelling.

She was reading Robinson Crusoe to Brianna. It must his copy brought from Lallybroch. He remembered the smile of familiarity she’d worn when running her fingers over the cover the day she’d found it on the shelf in his study. Still printed in her time, she’d told him. And on a shelf somewhere in almost every bookshop she’d ever visited.

There was a pause, longer than just to turn the page. He looked up to see Claire watching him. Brianna wasn’t asleep yet and she nudged her mother to keep going. Claire patted the space on the bed on Brianna’s other side and then resumed where she’d dropped off.

Cautiously, Jamie settled into the place she’d indicated and when the cot had finished creaking under his shifting weight, Claire passed the book over to him with an exaggerated yawn.

Clearing his throat, he began to read aloud, stealing peeks at Brianna as she watched him, her eyes steadily glazing over with rapidly approaching sleep. Claire beamed as she wrapped her arms around their daughter, keeping her attention on him as well.

He lost himself in the familiar story and the warmth of his lasses beside him. A nudge to his leg from Claire’s foot roused him from the waking dream. Brianna had fully passed out and Claire was pinned in place.

A chuckle escaped him as he closed the book and set it aside, scooting across the bed carefully to keep the motion and noise from waking Brianna. It was a tricky set of maneuvers necessary to shift Brianna long enough to free Claire, then he lay Brianna down and pulled the blanket up to cover her. The lump in his throat was larger and the tears that slipped down his cheeks flowed freer than he would have expected. He leaned over and gently pressed a kiss to her temple, lifting his head before any of the tears fell upon her.

He never thought he’d see his child, let alone have the chance to read with her and bid her goodnight; that Claire would be there watching over him with a smile that told him he was doing just fine, even if he shook a bit as he ran his fingers along Brianna’s cheek and brushed the hair from her face.

At last he stood, lest his ministrations wake the lass. Claire was immediately there, folding herself into his side, wrapping her arms around his middle, and resting her cheek against his chest. Jamie leaned his cheek against the reassuring cushion of her curls, then turned to kiss her crown.

She pulled back and he froze, doubt creeping up in his gut until he looked down at her and saw the warmth in her eyes. He remained in place as she rose on her toes and kissed him softly. Only then did he relax, loosening his jaw and welcoming her tongue as it slid along his lips, seeking his own.

The Coffee Incident: Ch.22 - “One Year” 

notes: Happy Sunday babes! Hope you enjoy the new chapter <3  Cheers to @whiskynottea​ and @curlsgetdemgurls​ ILY gals. 

Ch.1/ Ch.2 / Ch.3 / Ch.4 / Ch.5 / Ch.6 / Ch.7 / Ch.8 / Ch.9 / Ch.10 / Ch.11 / Ch.12 / Ch.13 / Ch.14 / Ch.15 / Ch.16 / Ch.17 / Ch.18 / Ch.19 / Ch.20 / Ch.21

It’s a well-known fact, Paris is for lovers. Young and old, simply infatuated or deeply in love, lovers who will stay together for a lifetime and others who will say goodbye after only one night. There’s something in the air, written by Baudelaire and Hemingway, sung by Edith Piaf and Josephine Baker, painted by Renoir and photographed by Brassaï, something unique and ungraspable that makes Paris…Paris.

The complete package is here! Illustrated by the outstanding work of @outlanderedandoverhere. 

Today marks one year since I was lucky enough to get to join @imagineclaireandjamie as a mod.

To celebrate (and because, for some reason I haven’t done so already) I’m creating this master post of all my Imagine fics (and I’m planning to update this list regularly, might only be once a month or so but, we’ll see).

Multi-installment Fics/AUs

Adopted Daughters (in progress): When Fergus and Marsali elope, they bring Joanie with them because Laoghaire has been arrested for shooting Jamie. Now she’s Jamie and Claire’s responsibility.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

The Beardsley Baby (eventually to be upgraded from a one shot to in progress): Jamie and Claire decide to keep and raise the baby they find in The Fiery Cross

Part One

Collision Course (complete but only for now): Frank finds his way through the stones but is captured by British soldiers. Claire sees and enlists Jamie to help her rescue Frank but she must confess the truth to him first.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Epilogue

Come Hell or Helwater (in progress): Claire comes back to the past with Brianna and arrives at Helwater looking for Jamie—but must confront the a few of the Dunsanys first.

Part One, Part Two

Fergus Through the Stones a.k.a. The Tagalong (in progress): Fergus disobeys Jamie’s order to return to Lallybroch and instead follows them all the way to Craigh na Dun, inadvertently following Claire through the stones.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven

Homecoming (in progress): Book 9 speculation; William arrives at the Ridge with his cousin Dottie the same day that the MacKenzie family has made their unexpected return.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

Love in Other Words (complete; open to prompts): Claire returns to find that Jamie has married Mary MacNab.

Part One, Part Two; Appendix 1

Mac Ruaidh (complete but only for now): Jamie is able to raise William as his own from the start but the circumstances are still less than ideal and William has some strong and unusual ideas about who his mother is. 

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight A & B, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Epilogue

Murtagh on the Ridge AU (ongoing): (not written in chronological order) An alternate universe in which Murtagh survived Culloden and joined the others at Fraser’s Ridge

*listed in chronological order  Claire’s return; first Christmas after Claire’s return; Company Part 1; Bree’s arrival; Jem’s birth; a skunk on the ridge

Photographs (in progress): Brianna helps Claire choose photos for her to show Jamie. When the time comes for Brianna’s journey, she takes a risk and brings her new automatic camera to document her time in the past.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

Truth and Love (complete; CLOSED): Young Ian convinces Jamie to tell Claire the truth about Laoghaire before they arrive at Lallybroch. Jamie tells her about what drove him to marry her in the first place. 

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

A Visit to Virginia (complete; CLOSED): Lord John is seriously ill and William sends for Claire to come and treat him at his Virginia plantation. An invitation is extended to Brianna’s family as well and William gets to know his larger family.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

Wounded Pride (complete; open to prompts): Claire doesn’t get far before turning back after learning the truth about Laoghaire and is with Jamie when Laoghaire returns armed with a score to settle. 

Part One, Part Two; Appendix 1

One Shots:

Built for a Family

Can’t Do It for Her

A Chance Encounter

A Chance Meeting with Mistress Duncan

Coming Clean

A Dangerous Truth

Deliverance

An Evening with the Doctor (part of Mod Gotham’s Modern Glasgow AU)

Far From the Ridge

A Fortuitous Donation

His Brown-Haired Lass

Holding On

Jamie’s Errand

Just a Dream

Kilt Alternative

A Knock at the Door

A Living Token

The Messenger

One for Each Spoon

The Other Shoe

A Painting and a Necklace

Print Shop Reunions

Rounds

The Shifting Truth

To Sway a Heart

The Trollop and a Damned Fool

Visiting Culloden

A/N: That chapter list is getting really long, huh? Man, how long have we been doing this and you guys are still reading? INSANE. I love you all, seriously. That being said, I might have to make separate masterlists for each part or something to clear up some space. Ideas?

Jamie and the men get drunk, Claire feels like she’s jumping through time, and as always, all the facts of this fanfic are contrived specifically to make fluffy university/modern-day au scenarios. Please let me know what you think!

Part One: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] | Part Two: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Three: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Four: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Five: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Six: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Seven: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Eight: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Nine: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2]

Part Nine: Empty | Chapter 3

You can read Part I: The Crown Equerry here. 

I am so excited to continue this tale about Queen Claire! 

xx. Mod Kate

Her Royal Highness (H.R.H.)Part II: An Accidental Queen

It wasthe first time she had indulged herself in this habit since hercoronation.  Before the coronation, whenthings were not normal but still her normal, she rode alone withsome regularity.  Living here with her Uncle Lamb escaping for anevening ride had been tricky, but it had been far from impossible.

Lamb waswholly committed to looking the other way. An unspoken agreement meant the house staff did the same, making thesight of Princess Claire slipping out of the palace in riding boots well afterdark a not unfamiliar sight.  Clad inriding boots well after dark, hair bound in a tight bun at the nape of her neck,she would spirit away down the rolling, manicured lawns of the palace to thestables.  After dark, they were quiet andempty.  

Theritual was almost a religious experience to her –– the quiet whispered greetingto her horse, saddling her, riding her, cooling her down, and getting her backinto the stable and settled for the night.

Butsince Claire’s coronation, the unspoken agreement had been more or less disregardedand she had been confined to the palace at night.  Surrounded by priceless treasures of anempire caught in a permanent ebb and flow of influence and importance, thewalls of the palace and its hundreds of rooms were stifling.  Though thoroughly aware of her privilege, shehad come to think of it as a gilded cage.

HRHPrincess Claire Elizabeth of York had never been the odds on favorite to becomethe Queen.  She came upon her role ratheraccidentally.  

HerUncle Lamb’s coronation was well before she was born and long before he hadbeen ready (he said).  He had been young – barely twenty –– when his mother passed away from cancer.  At the time, everyone (press, public, family) had just assumedthat the young king would someday marry. It was not for a lack of trying –– an impersonal royal matchmakingthrough diplomacy and whispered observations of “oh well she’s very pretty” met only with laughs and smirks.  Andwith the assumption of marriage camethe corollary assumption that Lamb would have children.  He would fulfill that which was chief among hisroyal duties: have children.  Then from thatlineage would come the next king or queen.

Clairehad never bothered herself with such assumptions or the point when the failurefor him to abide by them became a talking point.  To her, she was just Uncle Lamb.

He washardly a king at all in her eyes, though she knew the formalities to beobserved in the public eye.  Behindclosed doors, he had just been her goofy uncle who gave generously atChristmases and birthdays, told silly jokes with bad punchlines, traveled a lotfor work, and showed up on the television periodically, looking somber andtalking about pride in country.  

But thenthere was the accident that tore away nearly everything that she knew.  

Claire,at six, had not known that the world could change in a moment. At least until onecold afternoon.  She was asleep betweenher mother (Her Royal Highness PrincessJulia Louise, heir presumptive to the throne) and father in the back seatof a state car.  Her older sister (Her Royal Highness Princess Anne Catherine)was pressed between her mother and the car door, also slumbering. And then abridge fell out from beneath their motorcade, well above a snowy creek.

Shealways found it funny that something so profoundly disruptive could exist asonly a distant, fragmented memory.  Whentrying to recall it (something she rarelydid), she was bombarded with only a series of disjointed recollections ––full technicolor and visceral.  

The icecold water burning her throat when she gulped for air.

Thescreams of her mother (“Henry –– thegirls… save them”) that made her eardrums ache.

The roughhands on her arms, wrenching her away from her father, out of the water, andonto grass.  

Thescratch of a tartan blanket over her as she shivered violently, her teethfeeling as though they would grind themselves into dust.

Thesterile bite of hospital air and the soft, winter-chapped lips of the nurse whostood over her, whispering “you’re alive,love, you’re alive.”

Thesearing ache when she tried not to bealive any longer ––­­­­­­ violent compressions on her narrow chest that shiftedher bones.  

Thedoctor who smelled faintly of cigarettes imploring her to “breathe god dammit.”

Darkness. Cold. Emptiness.

She woketo her uncle’s broad thumb drawing small circles on her shoulder through astiff green hospital gown.  Being part ofthe royal family did not save her the indignity of a tie-back hospitalgown.  She was emotionless as her eyesdarted around the sterile room (tubes inher hand, Lamb’s warm touch, the hum of a fluorescent overhead light, the smellof cleaning fluid and layers of illness).

But thenthe realization hit her.  Her Uncle Lambhad no reason to be here, here except….

Andalthough she was young, she knew immediately that they were gone forever.

Her mother(Julia).  Her older sister (Anne).  Her father (Henry).

Dead.

Thosememories, while technicolor and visceral, were not what she rememberedbest.  More vivid than that tumble intothe creek was the moment when Lamb told her that her entire world had vanished.

Shemoved into Buckingham Palace and goofy Uncle Lamb awkwardly transitioned into afather-like figure.  She went to boardingschool, kicking and screaming, crying every time she left to anyone who wouldlisten.  It was only when she was caughtsmoking cigarettes in the girl’s lavatory that Lamb brought her back to Londonfor good.  It had been Christmas. Hisdisappointed eyes glared at her over half-moon spectacles when he said, “Youneed to manage your reputation.  Yourfuture rides on it.”

At thetime she had not grasped what he meant. But then, shortly after she turned fifteen, media chatter started thatthe King was a “confirmed bachelor.”  Claireguessed what it meant.  Nonetheless, Lambsat her down, brushed the back of his hand over her cheeks, and explained theconcept of a euphemism (something she alreadyknew).  He told her that he was notromantically interested in women (somethingelse she already knew).

Thencame the interview.

“Will we see the king marry?” thedoe-eyed reporter had asked, a finger nervously twisting at the cap on his pen.

With alaugh, Lamb’s response had been short: “Iwould not count on it.”

It wasonly then that the chatter about Claire started.She was no longer just the unfortunate child of a dead royal.  The lanky, awkward little thing –– an orphan –– was not really a placeholder heir presumptive. TheKing would not have children.  She was it.

And thenhe died.  Quietly, unexpectedly, warm inhis bed. A heart attack took him well before his time.

Thenewspaper headlines were none too flattering when Princess Claire Elizabeth – whohad been the third in line to the throne – was thrust into her new role.

Chiefamong the headlines: The AccidentalQueen.

Photographsof her from the boarding school materialized, no doubt from the stash of anunidentified, so-called friend. Cigarette dangling from her lip and skirtrolled at the waist to be shorter, every paper published it with the label: The Party Queen.

Readingit, Claire had thrown a vase against the door and screamed.  No one came to see what was the matter.  After a full meltdown in the bathroom, sheexited wrapped in one of her mother’s robes to see that the face had been sweptup and the flowers put into an identical cut crystal vase.

She wassuddenly stuck on the thought that both vases (the broken and the unbroken) were hers, but neither truly belonged to her.

“We willtake care of it ma’am,” was the official line given to her as she prepared forher coronation.  The newspapers becamenotably more generous in their coverage after that.

Gallingas the unflattering press had been, she threw herself into the work of a queenwith a certain abandon. Her dedication gnawed her other dreams, things she hadonly been allowed to dream as one with a laughably distant claim to the throne,clean from her bones.

The dayshe broke –– running down the hill, tear-streaked and needing a release–– had been a long and her every move choreographed by others.  

She had awokento the sound of bagpipes and immediately forgotten whatever dream she had beenhaving.  The only shadow of it was thewarmth of a touch on her cheek, the sensation of wide-open space, and sky asfar as the eye could see.  Then that toodissolved.

Shebathed, perfumed herself, sat staring as her hair and makeup were fixed andclothes laid out for her to dress.

Then itwas on to responding to a small selection of letters from the public (adoration, condolences, the sharing of personalstruggles), the red box (telegramsand state papers for her review and approval), and a series of meetings (the identities and positions of each visitorwhispered into her ear along with a brief explanation of the meeting’s purpose).

A lunchwith the Argentine ambassador (sea bassand vegetables, a glass of wine) and then preparing for an engagement withthe Prime Minister of Canada (a tiarapinned into an updo that straightened her curls and did not move, red lips, abillowing ivory dress, and elbow-length gloves).  

Andfinally, a brief telephone call with Frank–– the war hero introduced to her by Lamb and who she was to marry comeautumn.  Frank was “just fine,” he said and when they hung up there was no proclamationof “I miss you” or love.  “Just fine” was how she felt about thematch.

Scrubbingthe day from her skin in a too-hot shower, she was struck by the fact that shehad not made a single choice in the preceding forty-eight hours.  Save how she wanted her morning eggs, she hadlittle say in much of the last week.  Shehad not even applied the red lipstick smeared across her palm or mascararunning in black rivulets down her cheeks and over her neck.

Everythingin her day had been cursory. At the end of it all, she found herselfyearning for depth with an ache soacute it felt as though it would split her breastbone clean in two.  

Thoroughlyexhausted, but thrumming with need for a piece of herself, Claire finished her shower, toweled off, and took off downa back stairway that she had never before taken. Clad in black clothes fit fora caper in the night and with damp, unbrushed hair, she made her way to thestables.

Andthere, like a breath of fresh air, she stood –– her beautiful girl.  Long lines, sweet disposition, and aneagerness to please.  It gave Claire ajolt of emotion. Through absence, she felt that she had neglected the poorcreature.  However, Brimstone’s earsflattened as Claire smiled and clicked her tongue softly, leaning over thestall gate.  All was forgiven.

“Thereyou are, you good girl.”  She sighed asthe horse nudged her hand.  “I havemissed you, my beautiful love.”

Just asshe moved to pop a hip against the gate –– the only way to get the blastedthing to open without a screwdriver –– she had been interrupted.

“Can I help ye?” the voice called to her.

“Oh fuck off,” Claire muttered, browsfurrowing.  She had made it this far andto be taken from her plans by a groom.  Well, the thought was enough to make her seered.

Warm,broad hands took her by the upper arm and she turned, her face contorting.  He was a hulking thing of a man with broadshoulders. His collar unbuttoned and shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows, shecould tell that he had an immense amount of power hiding beneath the cleanlines of his work shirt.  He stooddumbfounded, staring at her for more than a few moments before releasing her.  He had fiery crop of hair.  It looked mussed by a hand, a tick used todistract a mind deep in thought.

For amoment, she bantered with him about her stables,her horses, her desire to take Brimstone out. She still hated having staff.  And then, her mind fuzzy from champagnecocktails and too little food, she had given in, said to call her “Claire,” andagreed he could follow her.  She mentallykicked herself.  Had she really told theman to call her by her given name? Had she really relented that easily?

With thematter of her taking the horse out settled, Colonel James Fraser set to ridebehind her at an appropriate distance, she climbed onto Brimstone, mutteringonly to herself, “You are losing it, Claire.”

Heproved himself an unobtrusive riding companion –– hanging back an intentionaldistance and allowing her to put some space between them.  Her initial disappointment of not being ableto take Brimstone out alone faded incrementally and she found her mind driftingto the past, a place she had found herself dwelling quite frequently of late.  

Years ofriding Brimstone.  

Lamb’sinsistence that he give her the horse outside of others’ presence, his coolfingers resting lightly over her eyes as he beseeched her to “keep them closed, just a bit more then,squirt.”  The feeling when she openedthem and saw the horse. Hers.

Thegilded horse-drawn carriage kept just kitty corner to where she had saddledBrimstone.  An ornate monstrosity ofriches that had carried her from the palace to Westminster Abbey for hercoronation, her heart aching with the loss of her uncle and her gut churning atthe thought of her new role.

The accidental queen, indeed.

Eventuallyshe as almost able to forget that Fraser was following her.  

Almost.

Theymade it a fair distance before she brought Brimstone back towards thestables.  Her hands carried her throughthe routine of readying Brimstone to be put back in her stall.

Fraserinterrupted her.  The damn bloody Scot.

“Shelikes ye.”  He was closer than she hadthought.  Lifting Brimstone’s saddle off,she sighed at the heft of it. The back of his hand brushed over her knuckleswhen he took it from her.  

Shestepped around to the front of her horse.

“Well, Iwould hope so.”  Claire’s eyes driftedshut for a moment as she reveled in the soft nudge of Brimstone’s nose againsther neck.  “I did all of the work withher.  Did you know that?”

“I didnaknow that, ma’am.”  

Fraserwas apparently wise enough to have not taken her earlier bait.  

Somethingin her, though, wanted him to say her name. Just to hear it. To lend even a moment’s more normalcyto the evening before she had to tromp back up the hill and into her gildedcage.

Theyworked in tandem to finish untacking and grooming Brimstone.  The silence was companionable and she smiledat him when he passed her a curry comb. The fact that he did not offer to just do the work himself struck her.  And she was deeply appreciative.

Brimstonewatered, cleaned, and tucked in for the night with a handful of apple slicesand a kiss to the nose, Claire turned to leave, wiping at the sheen of sweatthat had sprung up on the back of her neck.

“Yourmajesty?” Fraser called after her, his voice firm and somehow tentative all atonce.

Sheturned on her heel and continued to walk backwards.  “Yes, Colonel Fraser?”

“Ye’re afine rider.”

Okay. I will admit that I was totally smitten by the royal wedding.  I was up early and had my eyes glued to the television screen for hours even though the country I live in had an entire war over whether we want to be part of it all. 

This will be a multi-part story and I hope it fits the bill! 

xx. Mod Kate

Her Royal Highness (H.R.H.)

Part I: The Crown Equerry

July 1951

Jamie Fraser did all of his paperwork atnight.  The quietness of his office inthe stables was a welcome respite from the hubbub that defined most weekdays in his role asthe Crown Equerry.  Incidentally, he also did all of his best thinking after nightfall, too.

In the humidity of the stables, something about nineo’clock just felt different –– it was the kind of peace he had yearned for during the war.  

The summer sounds of the city disappeared after nightfall and all that was left was the chattering symphony of various white noises layered atop one another. (The permanently dripping spigot, the snufflingbreaths of his slumbering wards, the buzz of electricity emanating from the warm lightssuspended in the rafters, the patter of intermittent rain, and the sleepy drone of cricketsin the yard.)

Even the smells were welcome to him, letting him be clear on where he was. (The earthypungency of alfalfa, the mild and inoffensive tang of manure, the slick-bodiedsmell of animals that work, the fresh-cut lawn that sprawled out around the stables, the floral lilt on the air rolling through from the palace’s well-maintained gardens.)

All of this was in contrast to a few yearsearlier –– the war, aprison camp, nothing but despair andtime (or lack the thereof) staring him down. These were facts in his history. He tried his damnedest not to think of any of them. 

When the bullets and mortars and planes and helicopters went silent in 1945, and the gates to the hell hole where he was imprisoned opened, he was changed. 

There was a difference between forgetting and not thinking about it. The latter was his goal.  Nearly six years later he was succeeding in this goal a little more each day.

As one of the men lucky enough to make his way back after the war, he was home first.  Scotland –– the place he dreamed about and yearned for over years of war.  Scots were optimistic, ready to create a new place for Scotland in the tapestry of Britain. It faded quickly –– an economic backslide that made post-war Scotland a bleak place.

That is how, on a call from a friend from the army, Jamie found himself quite unexpectedly in London working for the Crown Equerry. 

“A job is a job,” Jenny had told him, watching him pack his belongings in two leather suitcases and a single cardboard box.  It was all he wanted to take along. She sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince him.  

He kissed his sister, his best friend, and the five-month-old nephew who bore his name, and left Lallybroch, the only home he had ever known, for London.

In his new role, Jamie proved himself reliable, capable, and dedicated, no matter the menial task assigned. 

For a time he was a groom and then he became a chief steward and then shortly thereafter a superintendent. Then, eventually, he was at the top –– the operational head of the most prized stable of horses and most important fleet of vehicles in the Europe.  

When his predecessor had commented that the head job was difficult (“lots of personalitiesto manage; you’ll come to understand”), Jamie had kept his skepticism tightly under wraps.  It had taken him years to work his wayup to the position of Crown Equerry. At times it had been back-breaking work, to be sure, but itwas the kind of labor felt good at night as he melted into the covers. 

Categorizing the job “difficult” was something only possible by someone who had never set foot in a trench of scared, half-trained boys with machine guns strapped to their backs and grenades to their belts.

After only threeweeks, Jamie had concluded that his new position was easy. (Save the personnel management duties that he found unspeakably distasteful and that he more often than not elected to delegate to the Superintendent of the Royal Mews.)

Sure, the paperwork and bureaucracy of it all were drudgery at times, but he spent much of his time surrounded by something that gave him comfort.  

Horses.  

He had come from something much different –– years in a trench, grease, death, hopelessness, dead boys, the threat occupation. 

The mere luxury of just sitting and listening without blood-curdling fear was not yet lost on him.

Relatively speaking, this was easy.

No one would everconvince him otherwise.

It was a hot, uncharacteristically muggy Thursday night.  He had put out fires throughout the day and was behind on paperwork.  It had been well after sundown before he had even managed to look at his watch.  Reaching into his desk drawer, he tookout the meal he had forgotten to eat hours earlier. The paperwork could wait a little bit longer.  

Apples, carrots, a handful of raisins.

Glancing only briefly at his watch, and with only the promise of an empty flat and a narrow bed, he set aboutchecking on his dependents.  The lot ofthem –– twenty Windsor Greys, ten Cleveland Bays, and a pair each of Friesiansand Arabians –– were mostly sleeping. 

Save his Donas –– a spirited Arabian with a black coat that never bleached in the sun.  It was as if the horse was waiting for him. Jamie had come to care for each of his charges; he knew their ticks, their markings, the areas in which they required additional training, and the things that made them individuals.  

However, if pressed, Jamie wouldadmit that Donas was his favorite.  

It had taken much of the first four yearsof Jamie’s career in the service of the Crown to break the beast.  Huge, evil-tempered and nearly unmanageableby others, Donas had taken to Jamie.  Jamiecould remember the moment the horse broke –– wide brown eyes connecting and amutual recognition that there was simply no point to battling further.  Both master and horse were headstrong andstubborn, and there was little to be gainedin further protestations.  

Then, little by little, they connected.

Jamie clicked his tongue gently and thehorse ambled to the front of the stall.  Extendinga hand, a large slice of apple as an offering, Jamie smiled and whispered “mo maise.”  Donas took the apple and chewed thoughtfullyfor a moment before swallowing the piece nearly whole.

‘No,’Jamie thought as Donas pushed his soft muzzle into Jamie’s hand, greedily searchedfor another bite of apple. ‘This was nota difficult job.’

Jamie laughed at the exasperated sound thehorse let out when he realized there was no more to be had.

The moment was interrupted by the hollow echo of boots on the ground and the groaning leather of a saddle being lifted from its resting spot.  When Jamie turned, a round, pert and decidedly femalearse was bent over one of the gates. Whoever belonged to that arse was goingfor Brimstone –– perhaps thegentlest, sweetest horse in the entire barn, despite her somewhat ominous name.

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

Nothing. Not even a twitch of acknowledgment in the woman’s posture indicated that she either heard or cared that he was calling out to her.

Jamie wiped his hands on his pants and strodetowards Brimstone’s stall.  “CanI help ye?”  

He heard only a muttered “oh fuck off” and rolled his eyes.  

It seemed like an odd place for a trespasser, if he was honest, but he ignored the thought.  It was getting late and the last thing heneeded was a royal inquisition (literally) into some interloper in the stables.  Fora moment he felt a zip of wonder that someone had made it up over the wallsurrounding the palace grounds and made it all the way to the stables without beingdetected.  Despite his wonder, he had nodoubt that he could subdue this slight woman.

Reaching out, he took the woman’s upper arm. When she turned, Jamie nearly fell backwards. 

The Queen.

A scowl of indescribable annoyance contorted her usually soft features. The sour facial expression did not take away from the fact that, even undone, she was incredibly striking in person.

“Am I not allowed to come to my ownstables to take one of my own horses for a ride, Colonel Fraser?”

He looked at his hand wrapped around her small arm and immediately released his grip, stepping back.  “Your majesty, I didna… I…wasna expectin’––”

OhChrist he had just laid hands on the Queen.

“Well of course you would not haveexpected me.  I do not make appointmentsfor late-night rides.  I just need toclear my head, Colonel Fraser.”

Suddenly he was shaken by the fact thatshe knew his name. Of course she knew his name. Rumor had it that she ran a tight ship and knew everything that happened on her grounds.

“This is Brimstone, your majesty.”

Yourmajesty –– was thatright? Oh God.  The job felt much larger than it had moments before when he was blissfully ignorant, hand feeding his dinner toDonas.

With a quick shake of her head, inky curlsspilling back into waiting hands, she sighed.  “I know very well that she is called Brimstone, Colonel Fraser.  I named her, after all.  She was a gift from Lamb…”

This time her words trailed off and shecinched her eyes shut, tying back the riotous flurry of curls with an elasticband.  

Jamie swallowed hard as the Queen poppedone hip out and bumped the gate. It swung open easily.  The gate was one that always stuck, despite generousapplications of oil and the maintenance staff’s frequent fiddling with the latch.  She was well practiced with getting this open, apparently.

He was not expecting her to speak again,but she took up again. “The King gifted him to me when I turned fifteen.  Brimstone and I… well, we have more or lessgrown up together.”

“I beg yer pardon, your royal highness––”

––  was that right? how had his predecessor said to address the Queen? ––  

“I dinna mean any offense.”

She sighed again, brushing an errant curlfrom her forehead as she rose up onto her toes.  She threaded one of the moreutilitarian training bridles over Brimstone’s head.  He watched, slack-jawed, as she adjusted theheadpiece behind Brimstone’s velvety ears. When finished, she gave the horse a gentle scratch.  In a voice barely above a whisper, she saidsomething to the horse that Jamie could not hear.

“I am going to take her for a few laps ofthe grounds.  It is late and you shouldbe getting to your home.  You do not needto wait for me, Colonel Fraser.”  

She tuggedthe strap holding the saddle snug and slipped fingers beneath it to ensure thatit was not too tight.  

“I am fullycapable of getting her back and situated for the night.”

It felt like a dismissal, but somethingabout letting the Queen go trotting off on the property felt wrong to him.  Even though it was her property and her horse and he was in her employ.

“I’d be much more comfortable if ye’dallow me to accompany ye, yer royal highness.”

She turned and gave him a look that he wassure leveled men on the regular –– eyes a piercing amber color (not the hazel they appeared inphotographs), full lips in a taut and unbreakable line, pink brushed along the very tops of hercheeks.

“I do not require a babysitter, Colonel Fraser.  I am a twenty-seven-year-old woman.” 

Jamie heard the heel of her riding boot grinding into the hay-coveredfloor.  He tamped down his inclination to comment thatshe was like a bull ready to charge before he could smile at the thought.  

It sounded almost like an afterthought whenshe added, “And I am the bloody Queen of England.”

“Aye, weel… that ye are, I ‘spose.”  Something about the mix of her tone on the last and the uncharacteristicallyhot London summer evening made him unguarded, too casual and light in his speech. “It’s abonny night for a trot about the property, yer highness.  I can hang back on Donas and ye’ll never even ken I’mwi’ ye, yer maj––”

She rolled her eyes and held up a hand as she tossed a saddle pad over Brimstone’s back.  Adjusting the pad, she gave Jamie a look thatrivaled the one Donas gave him when he finally quit fighting. He bit down onhis cheek to keep from smiling.  

“If you are going to accompany me, then Iinsist that you quit with this ‘your majesty’ and ‘your royal highness’business.”

Jamie offered a stiff nod, squaring hisshoulders.

“It would be a fair assumption that as themaster of my stables you are well acquainted enough with saddling a horse thatyou will be quick about it.” 

It was a statement, not a question.  

Before he could respond, she widened her eyes and flicked her wrist. “Youshould probably saddle up your chosen steed. I will not object to you following me at some distance, but I will not bekept waiting by you, Colonel Fraser.”

He almost tripped over his feet as heturned and jogged the length of the barn back to Donas’ stall.  He had the horse saddled and ready just asthe Queen exited her own stall, leading Brimstone with a quiet murmur. She rose into the saddle easily and arranged herself in the easy posture of someone who had ridden horses often, early, and with expensive tutelage.

“You may call me by my name when we ride. If we happen to meet in public, I will insist that you maintain the level of formality expectedof staff of the Crown.  Are we clear, ColonelFraser?”

He felt like he was being given license for his earlier casualness, and responded, “Crystal, your majesty.”

A short huff of breath and another roll ofher eyes, and she clicked her tongue, urging Brimstone to turn to theexit.  “Claire.  My name is neither Crystal nor ‘your majesty’when we ride. Just… Claire.” 

She paused for a beat.  

And it almost sounded like she was asking for a favor when she said over her shoulder, adding, “Please.”

One Shot: “These Days” 

notes: A little one shot inspired by this song in preparation of World Outlander Day tomorrow! Cheers to @smoakingwaffles for the clean up. 

Enjoy! Back to regular fics programs next week <3 

Jamie stood there and watched her disappear behind the security doors, never to return again.

It has been twenty years since Claire Beauchamp had been on Scottish soil, it seemed like an eternity yet everything looked the same and it was as if she had left yesterday.  As soon as the cold air hit her face, she remembered how in love she was with Edinburgh, not in any colloquial way, she was in love with the city the way you love the first person who ever touches you and you never love anyone quite that way again.

The city was full of memories. After a tram ride from the airport to the hotel, she came to the bittersweet realisation that every memory brought her back to her time with James Fraser.

Jamie.

A medieval treasure trove that belonged to the legendary King Harald Bluetooth was recently unearthed on a German island by a 13-year-old and an amateur archaeologist. The pair were using metal detectors to hunt treasure on Rügen, Germany’s largest island, in the Baltic Sea. And wonder of wonders, they found some real treasure!

Archaeologists who were called in found remarkable artifacts, including braided necklaces, pearls, brooches, a Thor’s hammer (a representation of a mythical weapon forged by dwarves), rings and up to 600 chipped coins, including more than 100 that date to Bluetooth’s era.

I just found this on YouTube and I’m speechless. Wow, this is incredibly beautiful. I love the actress she choose to play Faith. I love her reaction to Claire. I love the manips. I love everything.