Sequel to Sorley and Malvina, 1170-1171 C.E.

Summary: Heavy hangs the head that wears the crown, even if that head is living in exile. Unable to return to France until he has paid penance for defying his father, Hugh de Clermont and his family have developed a taste for a rootless existence. Rootless, that is, if you don't count the series of castles, manors, and chateaus they've acquired over the course of human history. For his part, Eric de Clermont has spent the last fifty years overcoming the losses of his human life and coming into his own as the young son, and only heir, of Hugh de Clermont. Back in the 21st century, Addison has spent the last six months desperately trying to make sense of her mind and the world around her. Just finally getting back on her feet, the last thing she wants or needs is an impromptu trip to 13th century Spain. And the last thing she expects is to find Sorley again, answering to a different name, 76 years old and yet not a day over 26.

Chapter One: The Visitor

All around him the neighborhood was alive with the energy of youth. Everyone from seven to seventy meandered and bustled, laughed and cried and played together in the songs that composed the key of life. But this house on this particular street was still and silent. Frozen in space and time. To all the world around it, the house had fallen into shadow. It was as though it had been struck into suspension. As though a great weight had fallen upon it, and it was still suffering the shock of the burden.

He mowed the lawn. Cleaned the fridge. Paid the bills. Brought light back into the too dark home. Restored the power there as best as he could. In essence, the visitor moved in. He moved in and he waited. Waited with bated breath for life to come back into the world he'd drifted into. Waited and hoped that his presence would be welcome. Hoped the resident would return to tell him either to stay or to go.

He became a fixed presence. But the neighbors paid him very little mind, for this was the place their eyes carefully flitted over when they were driving by. The place that quickened their step when they went out for an afternoon stroll. Every inch of the home, he could tell, once echoed with music and laughter. The kitchen was well worn, and he could imagine a lifetime of happy breakfasts and cozy dinners. He could see, in his mind's eye, a childhood of loving moments spent around a welcoming table. The visitor saw a whole world pass before his eyes as he did his best to set it to rights with all the loving care a home like this deserved. But still, the world around the home refused to look its abandonment in the as he tried to bring it back into life's steady fold.

In a very short amount of time, the visitor came to feel as though this home had always been a part of him. As though it had been a fixture in him for as long as he had existed in the world. Just on the periphery of some long story that waited eagerly to be spoken aloud.

The mail had piled high. It hadn't taken much to fetch the rest from the post office. Just a quick phone call to a family friend and the transfer of important documents, and he had access to all he needed. He'd sorted and tended to all of the resident's neglected affairs, including those that were significantly trickier than an abandoned fridge or an overgrown garden. Those affairs had brought him across the world, and now they brought him to a small assisted living facility on the other side of town.

The visitor stood under the harsh fluorescent lighting of Meadowbrook Home. A lanyard hung around his neck stating his name and status as a volunteer. Having completed his orientation and an extensive background check, he'd shadowed a woman named Letitia for the last couple of days. She gave him a tour of the facility. The dining hall where he would help serve food, the laundry where he would help the certified nursing assistants tend to the everyday needs of the elderly and infirmed patients that resided at the facility. She showed him the outside grounds, the recreation room, as well as the residential areas for those who were of able body and mind. He would, of course, spend some of his days in these spaces, but the visitor's duties lied more in the world beyond a pair of security-access pine doors. Where the doctors and nurses and medical assistants cared for those individuals who were in their final stages, who were beyond recovery and rehabilitation.

He had known before he arrived that the resident of the abandoned home had left a family member in Meadowbrook's care. And the many letters and bills that piled high on the kitchen table in the resident's wake only confirmed the matter.

Valentina Baez was 63 years young when Alzheimer's claimed her mind as its own. Too young, he'd shaken his head. Now, at 68, she was alone in the world. And she'd left someone behind. Though it seemed as though the abandonment had been mutual. At least, according to the whispers of the people who cared for her. The resident's visits had become few and far between. He was quite possibly the only person in the world who knew how unwilling the resident had been to leave Valentina Baez behind at all. Now, welcome or unwelcome, the visitor intended to undo the damage time had wrought. He had the time. He knew that here the time would be well spent.

He would spend his days with the residents and patients of Meadowbrook Home, and he'd spend his mornings and nights taking care of the resident's affairs. He'd waited a very long time to fulfill this very simple purpose, and he found a great deal of pleasure in cleaning up the long-neglected house and all it stood for.

His hand reflexively drifted to his pocket where a small black notebook was securely tucked away. He knew each passage by heart after only a few days. Had read and reread every carefully scratched word. Marveled at the evolution of the author's handwriting and command of each language she drifted into. How she flitted between a weak remedial scrawl that came from months without practice to the neat printing of an educated millennial to the elegant calligraphy of someone else entirely. How she flowed breathlessly between English and Spanish, Gaelic and French. How it teetered occasionally into Latin and Greek. The writer stretched her wings with each stroke of her pen.

The journal had become an extension of himself, like another limb he'd never known he was missing. The visitor guarded it fiercely as his last connection to something he thought he'd lost long ago. As he was shown each of his new duties as a volunteer for the elderly and infirmed, his mind rolled over the pages he'd read. Mind ticking through all the possibilities — all the times and places — the resident could be wandering through right now.

15 April 2012

El reino de Navarra:

Former independent kingdom of Spain. Was known in the 1100s as the Kingdom of Pamplona. By 1219 it was still a relatively young kingdom. Complicated history with France.* A small but politically significant country, mainly due to its control of the main pass through the Pyrenees from Spain into France. Overcomplicated everything down to the form of its currency. Nonconformist. Resistant to outside influence. Constant shifts in power and political control.*

**Unfortunate side effect of Hugh and Philippe de Clermont's global pissing match from hell
*Home

The Knights of Lazarus:

Known as the forgotten military order of Templars, the knights of Lazarus evolved from a leper hospital located out of Jerusalem during the first crusade.* They expanded extensively over the course of the crusades. This is attributed to the spread of leprosy vampirism over the course of the many wars fought over the holy land.

*1219-1220: The fifth crusade. Did not heavily involve Lazarus to my knowledge, but Hugh de Clermont is an information gatekeeper from hell so they totally could have been there...but I doubt it .

Fillet & Wimple:

Oppressive bullshit example of female subjugation. Apparently only worn by old women in the 13th century, which would have been nice for someone to mention, but Fernando "knows better" and you should "always trust Fernando or you'll end up looking like a prostitute running around the Spanish countryside, Fernanda."

Manjasang/Guaxa/Vampire:

Real.

Now that he was closer to her than he ever thought he could be, she was farther out of reach than she had ever been before. It stole the visitor's breath away to wonder where she was now. To wonder what dangers and horrors of the world she could possibly be facing out there all on her own.

In the time he would spend at Meadowbrook, the visitor would only ever see Valentina Baez in passing. He never stayed long. He never lingered. They did not know each other, though they were tied together by a very complicated history. He saw enough to know the nurses and doctors in residence cared for her well. He heard enough to know she thought herself a young girl again, in her family home in Puerto Rico. He gathered enough to know that all her memory of the resident had faded from her mind and heart. He stayed for the same reason he'd cleaned the house, and paid the bills, and volunteered here to begin with. Even if Valentina Baez never knew him; even if she could not remember the resident's name; even if all of her history was lost to time and memoriam, he would show his care in whatever way he could. And should the resident return and determine him an unwanted presence, he would bow his head and leave her to find her peace in a world of her own.

But the resident had the visitor forever, should she ask it of him. And those she loved would have his care, as she had the care of those who loved him.

So, he laundered soiled sheets. Served simple foods. Lifted fallen patients. Listened to those who had no one to give them an ear. Kept silent company by the bedsides of the silent and the lonely. And waited for the day the resident would return to her rightful home. Refusing to entertain the thought for a moment longer that she was lost forever to time. Refusing to linger on the idea that she may never again breathe the air of her own century. He kept his head down and mended the life she left behind, because there was no space in his heart or mind for the possibility that she was well and truly gone from this world forever. Couldn't move through another day, wondering if her soul had truly been ripped from him all those centuries ago. Not with so much life in her left yet to live.