Private Tales Runes and Rose Water

[Alistair Wren]

Theme Music​

Alistair was dressed for court today. Indigo robes with a sapphire blue refraction and silver embroidery, he carried a pile of books and plonked them down on a table on a balcony. The grounds of Bochanan estate loomed beyond the railing, lords and ladies conversing in the courtyard below. Picking up a book, he opened it to the section which he was going to teach to Lady Myrcella, a young noble woman of the estate, and the most beautiful. Alistair swallowed a gulp at the thought. Laying a quill and ink pot beside the book, he stood up straight and smoothed down the front of his court dress, expecting the lady shortly.

The stone balcony was round and large enough to accommodate a table, which was lined with cups of rose water, cakes, bread and butter. Footsteps clapped down the hallway inside the castle and Alistair sprung up. Darting around the other side of the table, he stood up straight, his posture immaculate and held his hands in front of his thighs.

Lady Myrcella stood in the door with two of her servants. She was just as beautiful as her portraits. Hair like spun gold and eyes like the sea, Alistair's heart skipped a beat and sweat gathered on the back of his neck. Reaching around, he mopped it up with his sleeve.

Stammering, the young mage darted forward, gently took her hand and lowered his head to grace it with an air kiss.

"My lady, my name is Alistair Wren, I'm going to be your tutor for today," he looked up and said, his dark blue eyes catching the sapphire light from his robes. Letting go of Myrcella's hand, the young mage ducked around the table and pulled out her chair, inviting her to sit.

Alistair walked around to the other side of the table, where an a large stand supported several sheets of parchment. He had written down a few runes and their translations for Myrcella to copy down, which he pointed a shaky hand towards.

"Here are some runes and their translations, these are the ones I am going to teach you today," Alistair said, pointing to the rune which represented a healthy property in a spell. He reached down and picked up his cup of rose water, took a sip and sighed, welcoming the refreshing taste against his parched throat. Setting down the cup, he dabbed his lips on his sleeve and pointed to the book in front of Myrcella, "if you would be so kind as to turn to page four, my lady, that will explain more about the runes and how they are translated into the common tongue," he nodded with a smile.

Myrcella Bochanan

 

[Myrcella Bochanan]

Alistair Wren was a recent hire for the Bochanan Estate, and one that was more personal for Myrcella than anyone else. It was all her Mother's doing. Given that Myrcella was bound to head off to Elbion soon (or later if Myrcella got her way!) to be wed, then the more that she knew of the people and life there, the better. And that included magic. Although Myrcella figured that she just wasn't capable of such a thing.

Still, she was duty-bound to try, for the sake of her Mother. And really it would do her some good to learn more. Even Myrcella had to agree to that.

Now she had arrived at the study where Alistair was waiting. As she was still getting over hurting her ankle earlier in the week, two servants kept by her side. Myrcella did her very best to hide her limp, however. It wouldn't do good to show such weaknesses to strangers.

But then she saw him. He was much younger than she had expected, near her own age. Myrcella was certain that an old man was to be her tutor, or a middle aged one at best. Was this a ploy of her Mother's to be sure that she paid attention? His eyes were darker than her own, yet his whole demeanor whispered that he was kind. And perhaps intimidated.

"Nice to meet you, Alistair." she replied, offering a small smile. But of course her eyes were drawn to the cakes. She could smell them and who didn't like sweet cakes? Myrcella approached the table, limping just slightly before taking the offered seat.

It was nice to be out on the balcony. The air was fresh and the scenery was lovely. Much better thsn looking at shelves and dusty old books.

Speaking of which, she opened up the book and turned to the designated page, all the while picking up a cake with her free hand and taking a small yet dainty bite from it. "Delicious...Are there any runes for delicious cakes?" Oh yes, Myrcella was quite easily distracted when she wanted to be.

 

[Alistair Wren]

Hands clasped in front of him, Alistair returned the smile, "well met, my lady," he blushed, his fair cheeks turning rosy.

The lady was truly beautiful and Alistair had to admit he was smitten, which often happened when he was in the presence of a pretty girl. He never got to meet many on his travels or when he was studying. Taking a breath, he restrained himself, "calm down, you fool, she's your student!" He thought, chastising himself for his pesky feelings.

Once Myrcella had taken her seat, Alistair swished around to his side of the table and flipped a sheet of parchment over the back of the easel, where he had prepared several lines in runic script for Myrcella to copy down. Tapestries baring House Bochanan's crest hung on either side of the balcony, the plonks of a lute splitting the breeze. Standing in front of the easel, Alistair smoothed down the front of the robes and cleared his throat, having to force himself to raise his voice.

"My lady, if you will please take your quill, I need you to copy down these scriptures and their translations," he instructed, waving a hand elegantly towards the runes on the easel. There were several that represented various healthy properties in magic, split into their derivatives and their respective translations. Taking a wooden pointer, Alistair tapped the easel and cleared his throat, preparing to speak again.

When Myrcella remarked about the cakes.

"We could make one!" Alistair chimed, a bright, enthusiastic smile on his face. Dipping his quill in his ink pot, he took a sip of rose water and turned around to face the easel.

"Let's see, if this rune represents a energy that is rising, we can derive the rising property and produce an output that results in an effect similar to flour rising," muttering to himself, Alistair wrote down the rune fervently, deriving the rising property and producing an output that resulted in the expansion of the object under. The scratch of his quill split the notes of the lute and the chirping of the birds as they flew by. Pausing, Alistair withdrew his hand to stretch the cramps out of his wrist.

"We can then apply the resulting rune to flour or starch to expand and bake it!" He turned around and chimed, his cheeks dented with deep dimples. Alistair was not sure if the spell could really work, but it was a fun way to teach Myrcella how to read her own runes, and create her own if she wished to do so.

Myrcella Bochanan

 

[Myrcella Bochanan]

Oh goodness! Alistair Wren blushed! Was there more than just intimidation at play here? Had he fallen for her at first glance? Myrcella didn't know what that was like, for she had only read about it in books. With Titus Phane , her love for him grew out of time. And for her betrothed Richard Henry the Eighth , well she hadn't gotten so far to have fallen for him. Arranged marriages had a way of turning out that way. Besides, he teased her and bothered her every chance that he could in order to try to get his way. But she was stubborn!

"And their translations??" That sounded like more work than she'd of liked. With a bit of a huff and tiny shake of her head, Myrcella picked up her quill and dipped it in the ink before she began to copy out the lesson. Given that she was a good artist in her own right, her copying was near exact to the ones that Alistair provided. However she added in her own flourishes in the text for the translations.

Yet as Alistair described how to perhaps use the runes to make a cake, she raised a brow in question. "And how would we apply the rune to the flour? Draw it with our finger?" But how many runes would be needed for a tastey cake? "And does it matter the size of the rune? Or would a bigger one make for a bigger cake?" No doubt he hadn't dealt with these kinds of questions before.

 

[Alistair Wren]

Alistair gripped the quill fiercely, his fair cheeks flushed. Stammering, he turned around and wrote the rune for the flour, as well the function of the heat that made it rise. As he explained it, Myrcella huffed, which made him think that she was bored. Withdrawing his hand from the easel, he fiddled with the quill, dropping ink all over the floor in the process.

"Well this rune here stands for the flour, and there are its' derivatives, which represent each way it can change," Alistair smiled, waving a hand towards the runes he had written on the easel, "the size of the cake would depend on the function it is derived by and it's value," Alistair explained. He reached around and replaced a variable with the size he wanted the cake to be.

Smiling awkwardly, he fidgeted as he waited for Myrcella to write down what he had explained. Setting down his quill, he picked up his chalice of rose water and took a good, long sip, the petals floating on top of the water like little boats. The lute strummed in the courtyard below and the crest on the tapestries was as golden as Myrcella's hair.

"If you want to bake a cake, you need to derive it by the function which results in that output," Alistair said professionally, like a professor far beyond his years.

"And that is the function of the heat as it rises!" He chimed, dipped his quill in the ink pot and derived the function of the heat, enclosing it in brackets above the rune that stood in for the flour.

When Myrcella asked how they would apply the spell to the flour in practice, Alistair's cheeks beams. Sapphire eyes glinting beneath the sun, he raised a finger in the air, "we recite it verbally, as an incantation!" He nodded.

"Would you like to hear me sing, my lady?" Alistair gripped the quill with both fingers and smiled as he leaned forward, blushing.

Myrcella Bochanan

 

[Myrcella Bochanan]

Alistair Wren was clearly enthralled with this whole tutoring thing. He was quite impassionate about the art of runes and how they work. Was she ever that enthusiastic about something? Well maybe her painting at times. Many of her works were hanging in the halls of the Estate, and some hung in the different rooms throughout.

Myrcella found herself drifting away in her thoughts, so she quickly returned her attention and started copying down the runes and their meanings. Doing so might have made her look like a student that was eager to get it all down, but she was really trying not to lag too far behind.

"So we just recite it like a spell? Does one need magic ability for it to work? Or could just anyone do it?"

Oh, but then he mentioned singing. The look on his face suggested that he was eager to show her his talent. Well it certainly was more entertaining than scribbling. Myrcella smiled brightly and placed her quill down on the table. "Oh yes, I'd love to hear you sing."

 

[Alistair Wren]

As he was midway through explaining the process of deriving an output from a particular rune, Alistair halted, finger in the air and withdrew, when he saw that Myrcella was losing her train of thought. His empathetic senses detected that she was struggling to follow him, so he paused and gave her time to write everything down.

Hands wrapped around his pointer, he stood above the table and stammered, his cheeks dented with dimples. It was a beautiful day. The sun bore down on the balcony and made Alistair sweat, and the heavy silk robes he was wearing didn't help either. Fanning himself, he leaned against the table and picked up one of the cakes, nibbled it and set it down, then took a sip of rose water. Raising a hand, he mopped a layer of sweat off his brow, shoving back the thick, bouncy wisps of hair that hung around his forehead.

Once Myrcella had finished copying down what he had explained, she raised her head and asked a question.

"Yes, the process of reciting runes vocally is what it means to recite a spell, the runes are just how we express how the spell works in the written form," Alistair nodded, his sapphire eyes darkening as a cloud moved over the sun.

"Reciting spells takes time to learn, as it is a complex art with a lot of abstraction involved," a hand held to the side, Alistair tilted his head and explained, "you need to first know what runes represented which properties, how to derive their functions and produce their outputs, but a lot of it does come down to intuition," the pointer in his hand, he spoke assuredly, waving a hand to the runes on the easel. While it was all well and good to memorize the spells another mage had written, it took an innovative drive to recite them, especially when in the midst of danger.

"You can memorize them, but when a mage is in danger or in his feet, he needs to rely on his own runes to recite, which means often coming up with them on the spot," Alistair shrugged. Coming up with spells in the heat of danger had been something he had to do many times.

"But doing that in itself takes practice, and learning how to write runes and recite them as spells is the first step to that," he explained.

When Myrcella said that she would love to hear him sing, Alistair recoiled into his capelet and blushed. Wrapping his hands around the pointer, he looked down, stammered and brushed hair out of his eyes.

"Alright, now keeping in mind this is just an example, I won't actually use magic to bake a cake," he smiled, set down his pointer and stood at his full height. Hand held against his diaphragm, Alistair closed his eyes and took a breath. He coughed, cleared his throat and began to sing.

"Breadth which harbors the morsel that is sweet, draw in the heat by which it rises," Alistair sung the runes in their vocal translation, his voice light and soothing. The functions impacted the properties of the spell, changing them and producing an output, one which would have taken the form of a large cake if Alistair was actually casting it on flour. Eyes half closed, he recited the runic script as a spell, the pitch of his airy voice carrying over the courtyard below, "expand, and heed the tongue by which I taste thee, be it sweet," he sung.

Opening his eyes, Alistair stifled a chuckle, his cheeks bright red, "there, that was the spell we just wrote," he smiled, looking at his feet.

"What I just sung was a vocal translation of the runes," he nodded.

 

[Myrcella Bochanan]

Myrcella was quite enjoying the sunlight. It was warm and inviting. Although her skin was fair and usually stayed that way, there were certain times of year when her skin was sunkissed. Even her hair tended to change colour and lighten after being in the sun. It was as though the sun liked to make her glow.

"And here I always thought that spells were just some other language. But now I understand." As far as making some up on the spot, most especially when lne was in danger seemed far beyond her. If Alistair Wren had troubles, then she most certainly wouldn't be able to do it. Of course there hadn't been many times in which she was in danger. But that could certainly change when she'd be forced to move to Elbion. Perhaps if she dedicated herself to learning runes, then over time she'd have them memorized enough to be able to use them.

And now Alistair began to sing. Myrcella gave him her full attention. At first she thought that he was going to sing some folk song or a great ballad, yet instead he nearly sung a spell.

It wasn't until he finished that she spoke up once again. "That was lovely. I didn't know that spells could be sung. But do you know any other songs? Or a ballad perhaps? You have a lovely voice." And of course she was being truthful. There was no false flattery in her remarks. Myrcella loved beautiful things and Alistair's voice was just that; beautiful.

 

[Alistair Wren]

Alistair stammered when Myrcella complimented his singing. Lowering his head, he held a hand up to his face and shied away, hiding behind the sleeve of his robe. He forced a smile and laughed to hide his embarrassment, unable to accept the lady's praise. Pulling his hand away from his face, he held it in front of his thighs and clasped it, his chest heaving up and down as he breathed in.

"Thank you very much, my lady," Alistair said sincerely, his cheeks bright red.

When Myrcella remarked about how many spells were in fact, sung, he nodded, "yes, many mages recite their spells as a song while casting, although the style of the song and how it is sung varies depending on the spell," Alistair explained, his stammer fading to give way to the tone of a Professor, mature beyond his years.

"And yes, spells are far more than just a language, they are the way in which mages extend their will through their voice," hands clasped, he nodded.

Myrcella then said he had a lovely voice, to which he blushed. He had difficulty accepting compliments from other people, even when he knew he had done something well. Hands wrapped around his pointer, he lowered his head and laughed, then set it down and picked up his cup of rose water, and took a sip to dampen his parched throat.

"I do know a few ballads, would you like to hear one?" He set the cup down and asked.

 

[Myrcella Bochanan]

Myrcella had never really come across someone as shy as Alistair Wren was. Or perhaps he was just embarrassed. Either way she couldn't help but find it amusing. Perhaps that was part of her Mother's reasoning in hiring him as her tutor. No doubt he'd make her lessons memorable.

As he remarked on some mages casting spells through song, Myrcella couldn't help but picture some kind of wizard's duel where the two competed through song. Would it be like some kind of a contest? Or would it be a competition of life or death? Would magical creatures be conjured up to fight one another, their strengths increasing or decreasing depending on their mages' ability to carry a tune? And what if the mage couldn't hold a tune at all, or was one of those people that some regarded as being 'tone deaf'?

Her tangent of thoughts were soon interrupted as Alistair offered to sing her a ballad. "Oh yes, I'd love to." Myrcella picked up one of the cakes and settled back in her chair, nibbling on the sweet treat while he prepared a song. Her eyes sparkled in anticipation as she waited.

 

[Alistair Wren]

Hands clasped, Alistair gave Myrcella some time to think about what he had taught her. Not all mages recited their spells as songs, as magic was open to interpretation and not a universal craft. Some used wands and scepters and others used hand gestures. The pointer in hand, Alistair rocked back and forwards on his feet, the sleeves of his robes swaying.

When Myrcella said that she would love to hear him sing a ballad, he lowered his head and blushed, then set his pointer down.

"As you wish, my lady," Alistair smiled cheeks, dented. He wasn't usually this shy, but being in presence of a girl as beautiful as she was pressed his nerves.

Clasping his hands, Alistair coughed, cleared his throat and began to sing,

"Sweet lovely lady,​

For the love of God, do not think​

That another reigns over me​

Apart from you alone.​

​

And always without cheating​

My dear​

I have humbly​

All the days of my life​

Served you​

Without any vile ulterior motives.​

​

Alas! And I beg​

For hope and comfort;​

And my joy will fade,​

If you do not take pity on me.​

​

Sweet lovely lady,​

But your sweet control​

Dominates​

My heart so completely​

It contradicts it​

And binds​

In such love."​

As he sung the final verse, Alistair took a breath and exhaled, slumping his shoulders. Eyelids fluttering, he picked up his glass of rose water and took a long gulp to soothe his parched throat. Head lowered, he laughed to hide his embarrassment and avoided Myrcella's gaze, his cheeks bright red.

 

[Myrcella Bochanan]

Myrcella listened carefully as Alistair Wren began his song. His voice was soft and gentle, much like how he appeared to be. She nibbled on her cake even moreso, half wondering if he had sung this song many times before, or if perhaps he was making it up on the spot. Either way she adored it and hoped that she'd hear more in the future.

Of course she didn't interrupt him at all while he sang, instead waiting for him to be finished before she dared to speak up. "That was wonderful, Alistair. Have you had formal training in singing? Or is this one of your gifts?" Myrcella finished her cake and washed it down with a mouthful of tea.

In the back of her mind , she still wondered if her Mother was using Alistair in some scheme of hers. Not so long ago, Myrcella wouldn't of even trained the thought of some underlying purpose behind something so simple as rune lessons. But given a recent conversation that she had with Otto von Stehlen , she was beginning to look more into the bigger picture.