Post by Arthur on Mar 16, 2013 17:58:09 GMT -6
Mainly Arthur and Guinevere; secondly many others
Hadrian’s Wall
September 465 AD
Arthur’s elite armored cavalry, and his allied Picts, Woads as some preferred to call them, defeated the Saxons in twelve engagements, culminating in the decisive battle of Mons Badonicus. That climactic battle, the "Battle of Badon Hill" just south of the then-abandoned Hadrian's Wall, allowed Arthur and his men a secured place to call their own.
After the victory, Arthur and his Knights, Guinevere, and Merlin, promise to lead the Britons, united with the defeat of the Saxons and retreat of the Romans, against future invaders.
Several months following the battle of Mons Badonicus; months since Tristan and Lancelot had been left unable to wield his sword without pain or trouble; months since Tristan had woken up in that infirmary, his torso, leg and arm bandaged heavily. Many thought the pathfinder dead, but being rushed back to camp would find the Sarmatian scout with injuries that had left him bed-ridden for many long and arduous weeks.
And Lancelot, his dark moods bringing his caregivers to fits… The crossbow bolt that pierced his shoulder missed all vital arteries, yet torn ligaments that controlled his dominant sword arm. His worst enemy was the fever that had set in… fever that rendered him unconscious to wander fields of fevered delirium…allowing his past to finally catch up.
Dagonet, the knight who had nearly died on the ice lake to save them all, tended to both now… the only one to ably manage both men. And the discussions that had been that of how not only he and Bors would be staying in Briton, but that the Galahad and Gawain as well. They were staying on to help Arthur build and restore the country and hopefully settle the disputes and matters of state.
Each knight had been given a certain part of the land in which to protect and they did so using their tactics and wits to ensure that each of their regions were secure and peaceful, not only within themselves but also those surrounding them. Notably, for reasons known only to Lancelot and his Commander, Arthur gave the Lake and the Pass to Lancelot to protect… and offered Dagonet his own land, but he denied ownership to second Bors. It was because of that Arthur swore an oath to Dagonet, that Lucan, his adopted son and rightful heir, would have a place at the Round Table when he was of age… and more men were honored by places at the Table… to rebuild…
They had almost grown up together… Had it been fifteen years already? Fifteen years of their lives had been spent serving Rome… Battle after battle, ride after ride, Lancelot had ridden beside and behind Arthur… Ever loyal despite the altercation or the reason there of… Whatever the foundation, or the reason, for his loyalty, Lancelot found it steadfast… Of course, Lancelot knew Arthur was not a God, but a man and cursed with mortal afflictions… and bound to make mistakes… and Lancelot was the balance… He was honorable, but wilder… though as a Sarmatian, he had been bound to Rome, yet he had been a freer spirit than Arthur, the freeman of Rome… Arthur had always spoken of God, and the freedom of Roman privilege… yet he and his brothers-in-arms had remained servants of Rome… and this in itself had fueled Lancelot’s hatred of the Romans.
But he had lain wounded upon a bed of straw…. His blood from the wound had stained the straw… It had not been from protecting Romans… or Roman land… but their land… It had been a battle of HIS choosing… and he was surprised NOT to have died that day… But, he figured Arthur’s God, or his pagan gods had thought him better suited to remain at Arthur’s side…
The bolt to Lancelot’s shoulder caused some damage… but it was removed quickly and expedient field dressings were applied on that fateful day… and for weeks after the battle, he walked around doing everything one-handedly… To everyone’s surprise, he was helping where he could, staying busy, seemingly unharmed from battle… but somewhere along the healing timeline, the wound got infected… and while Tristan, the worse of the three wounded was recovering considerably well, while his comrade got worse. But Guinevere stayed with Lancelot all thru the fevered pitches of infection… ever present to care for him. Eventually, he recovered…
Dagonet’s wounds had healed well, despite the multiple hits, him, once more, being in reasonably good shape. He had been wounded weeks before the battle, and he jokingly accounts for his quick recovery, despite the ferocity of his wounds, to the gods of Sarmatia, and how they did not want him to be with them in paradise… so they gave him extraordinary powers to stay upon the Earth… And each time Dag tells that story, Bors begins rebuking it by saying the gods were punishing him by keeping Dag upon the Earth with him… And those listening cannot help but laugh with each version of the story.
But after the battle, the young scout, Tristan, had been in much worse shape. All had feared for his life, and Arthur had ordered any, and all, physicians to focus every effort to Tristan. His sword arm would be lucky to even be able to keep the arm, much less use it… and the right leg, where the injury to the thigh had damaged the nerves and left his leg immobilized. Luckily the Saxon had not struck a higher and deeper body part.
As time passed, Tristan still walks with a slight limp, and his arm pains him most of the time… And he remains sullen, though the feelings of uselessness have passed… In order to combat the uselessness, Arthur had ordered Tristan to begin instructing new recruits in tracking, scouting, and use of the bow… Not only to replenish his depleted forces, but to keep the Sarmatian scout occupied. And now that tactic had paid off. Tristan was chief of scouts with 10 to lead and train, seven men and three women.
Now, there had been a Council summoned at Hadrian’s Wall between Arthur, his healing knights, Merlin, Guinevere, the Xiomara, and the remaining Pict ruling members. And at this council, Merlin spoke of beginnings, new beginnings that benefited all… Agreements and concessions that would need to be managed, and required uniformity amongst the united peoples of Britannia… And lastly, he would introduce some of the representatives from the Pict Nation to Camelot… and Arthur would re-introduce his knights, and introduce new members who would represent the Briton… to include former Romans, who pledged loyalty to the new Britannia.
Arthur’s mystic green eyes would look at those present, all had focused in on Merlin as he spoke again… with one exception… a tall woman, presumably a Xiomara… He had seen her before; had it been during the battle? After? He could not remember… and he smiled back at her…
The moment their eyes met something inside of her burned vibrant to life. As if something foreign was born from the ash of despair and uncertainty. Arthur... She had heard his name throughout Britain as if he were a God. Now to find herself face to face with the man, she could only wonder if this moment was nothing more than a dream. His eyes were of steel. Steady and unwavering just as a heart raging inside of him was just as fierce and devoted. Never in her lifetime did she believe such a man existed. But Arthur wasn't just any man... He was the unity and the force.
She stood beside Merlin as he spoke quietly to the Commander. Then, when it was time for her to step forward, the tall Xiomara did so. Lightly bowing her head out of dutiful regard.
Each time this woman would look at him, he would smile back. And at one point, Guinevere nudged him, whispering… “Tis my half-sister, Alison…” and she briefly closed her eyes in silent acknowledgement.
She never once questioned nor doubted the cryptic mind that belonged to her father as they had made their way toward Hadrian's Wall. She had heard his name throughout Briton as if he were a God. Now to find herself directly in his line of view she actually did feel... Small. As if she were inside a dream. His eyes were of steel. Steady and unwavering just as she imagined them to be; however it was the hint of equality that beset his features when regarding Merlin that did surprise her. From everything she'd ever known, Roman Commanders were haughty and above the rest... But not him... So then, did he consider himself truly Briton? Never in her lifetime did she believe a man like him existed. But, then again Arthur wasn't just any man. He was to be the unity and the force that would unite them all.
The Xiomara stood directly at her father's left while the men lowly spoke. Then, when it was her turn to step into focus she dipped into curtsey and offered Arthur a gentile smile. Regal and poised it seemed almost shocking that she could also be a trained killer.
Arthur seemed to veer away from Lancelot and Guinevere to shake hands with Merlin… The negotiations may have seemed seamless and fairly easy, but agreeing on certain things and conceding on others was never easy. And all offered and counter-offered until agreements were formalized. And as the men shook hands, Merlin introduced his daughter… Guinevere’s half-sister… to Arthur.
The man bowed slightly, his green eyes never leaving her… “Well met M’Lady… My sincerest thanks to thy efforts in battle, and in peace…” he stood and faced her and Merlin… “I have dreamed of this the day after the battle… a nation as one, in peace. A home for all who desire peace and freedom…” And Merlin placed a firm hand upon Arthur’s shoulder. “Arthur…” he said in his usual manner… “I leave you in good hands…” and the elder man moved away.
"I am very pleased that we finally get to meet, Arthur. Perhaps one day your dream of peace will be observed by all." Rather or not she truly believed such a thing could ever happen her voice was magic… soft and smooth.
Arthur looked back to Guinevere, Lancelot, and the rest of the knights; who gave their approving nods… needless to say, Gawain would tease causing them to laugh softly. Arthur then refocused his attention to the woman. “M’Lady, Trust in my words when I say I shall make every attempt to secure peace… but alas, the first step has been taken…” he chuckled… “Now tis only to tell the people…” Oddly, it seemed that the pair had started walking and chatting… and soon found themselves away from the Council area.
Haunting pale green depths steadily took note of her half-sister as Guinevere reluctantly allowed Arthur to withdraw himself from her… A silent testament of victory plagued the elegance of her visage while maintaining her statuesque form beside her father. Council assembled and now she was left to her own defenses in front of the approaching commander.
Arthur and his knights had suffered much and it was incredible that they had all survived their injuries. Badon Hill wasn't just like any other battlefield. It was the pledge of new beginnings and promise. She watched Gawain, Galahad, Bors, Leon, and Tristan for a half-second and then pivoted upon a heel to allow Arthur the rightful claim of her whole attention. "You know you don't need to thank me." There was a hint of playfulness in her tone and, with a charming grin dotting the corners of her mouth she side stepped, tilted her head to the side and began following him along the twisted path; away from the rest of the council. The sway silk of her cloak draped just across the skim of the blades of grass beneath each of their tall forms. "We fight and live for these lands and to secure it from tyranny. Your plight, Arthur is our own" There was command in her gentle voice. She looked up at his side profile. Curiosity dancing itself across her features. "So yes... I do trust you... But more importantly my father believes in you. And..." She chuckled lightly… "So too does my sister."
“M’Lady, there are many to thank… and I shall start with you…” and he offered her a charming smile that tended to smirk a bit. They walked together, the usual thud of his boots softened by the grass… and as she spoke, he twisted his head abit to get a better look at her. “Yes, I know m’Lady… and I pray that we do not oust one tyrant for another…” he shook his head a bit. “I know not who will lead us as we join together Briton and Pict into a new nation… but whomever that person shall be, needs to realize, some of my men are Roman, and some Sarmatian… all who now vow and affirm their loyalty, and trust, to me, in the hopes of me providing a freedom they could not hope to get should they travel the breadth of the Roman Empire to return to a land they know not.” He chuckled a bit… “Ahhh, trust… such a thing that leadth one to such fates as in the dark corridors of man…”
There was a mysticism about Merlin… and that mysticism intrigued Arthur. It seemed the man knew him far more than realized. And the same air surrounded this woman as well… but she and Guinevere were so different… and so much the same… even to be half-sisters. Arthur thought the Pict ways were odd… particularly regarding family. Family was family, nothing was disregarded… He looked to Alison and smiled… his thoughts were his own.
If he truly wished to thank her than she wouldn't thwart him in his efforts nor would she offend him by mockery. Tall, poised and regal the Xiomara tilted her head while gradually steadying her gaze upon the man beside her. His smile was charming and infectious but she simply couldn't return the gesture. Lips tugged into the bloom of a grin.
When he twisted in front of her that gown gracefully swayed and settled along the length of her athletic body. Standing there but few inches beneath Arthur. "You, my Lord have little faith in what you already know to be true." She arched a brow. Forcing him to mull over those few words. "The people have already chosen their Commander... Their King. One who has the fortitude, wisdom, and strength to be so uncommonly selfless that he does understand religion, and customs can be meshed underneath one banner. This man will make us believe again in justice." She took a slow breath. The determination splashed against the contrast of her porcelain visage. Just as beautiful as she was she was equally as fierce. That, she did share in common with Guinevere.
He shook his head. “I seek no such crown… I obeyed a man in Rome blindly, just as my faith almost blinded me… I killed those that now are my allies…” he shook his head again. “I had neglected the fact that my Mother was Briton… only seeing the past events that killed her… and enacted vengeance against those actions against my own people.”
"Arthur do not question where others affirm their loyalty. It is free will that binds you to them and for that they live and die accomplished that they assisted one they believe in." Perhaps she spoke too far... That Arthur wouldn't welcome the compliments that she delivered so graciously and quickly.
The Commander looked at the woman. “I shall question no one’s loyalty who swears it to the new Nation. All I can do is pray that God allows each man… and woman… the graces of open eyes and guide my efforts…”
Hadrian’s Wall
September 465 AD
NOTE: This is a brief story of cause and effect... scenes from when Arthur married Guinevere... to the sordid affair between Lancelot and Guinevere... thru the months of Arthur's embattled mental state and the downward spiral of the Nation... to how the Knights convinced Arthur that forgiveness would heal not only his mind and heart, but the Nation... and on to the private lives of Arthur and Guinevere attempting to renew a land... and a relationship... The Rest would be history.
Arthur’s elite armored cavalry, and his allied Picts, Woads as some preferred to call them, defeated the Saxons in twelve engagements, culminating in the decisive battle of Mons Badonicus. That climactic battle, the "Battle of Badon Hill" just south of the then-abandoned Hadrian's Wall, allowed Arthur and his men a secured place to call their own.
After the victory, Arthur and his Knights, Guinevere, and Merlin, promise to lead the Britons, united with the defeat of the Saxons and retreat of the Romans, against future invaders.
Several months following the battle of Mons Badonicus; months since Tristan and Lancelot had been left unable to wield his sword without pain or trouble; months since Tristan had woken up in that infirmary, his torso, leg and arm bandaged heavily. Many thought the pathfinder dead, but being rushed back to camp would find the Sarmatian scout with injuries that had left him bed-ridden for many long and arduous weeks.
And Lancelot, his dark moods bringing his caregivers to fits… The crossbow bolt that pierced his shoulder missed all vital arteries, yet torn ligaments that controlled his dominant sword arm. His worst enemy was the fever that had set in… fever that rendered him unconscious to wander fields of fevered delirium…allowing his past to finally catch up.
Dagonet, the knight who had nearly died on the ice lake to save them all, tended to both now… the only one to ably manage both men. And the discussions that had been that of how not only he and Bors would be staying in Briton, but that the Galahad and Gawain as well. They were staying on to help Arthur build and restore the country and hopefully settle the disputes and matters of state.
Each knight had been given a certain part of the land in which to protect and they did so using their tactics and wits to ensure that each of their regions were secure and peaceful, not only within themselves but also those surrounding them. Notably, for reasons known only to Lancelot and his Commander, Arthur gave the Lake and the Pass to Lancelot to protect… and offered Dagonet his own land, but he denied ownership to second Bors. It was because of that Arthur swore an oath to Dagonet, that Lucan, his adopted son and rightful heir, would have a place at the Round Table when he was of age… and more men were honored by places at the Table… to rebuild…
They had almost grown up together… Had it been fifteen years already? Fifteen years of their lives had been spent serving Rome… Battle after battle, ride after ride, Lancelot had ridden beside and behind Arthur… Ever loyal despite the altercation or the reason there of… Whatever the foundation, or the reason, for his loyalty, Lancelot found it steadfast… Of course, Lancelot knew Arthur was not a God, but a man and cursed with mortal afflictions… and bound to make mistakes… and Lancelot was the balance… He was honorable, but wilder… though as a Sarmatian, he had been bound to Rome, yet he had been a freer spirit than Arthur, the freeman of Rome… Arthur had always spoken of God, and the freedom of Roman privilege… yet he and his brothers-in-arms had remained servants of Rome… and this in itself had fueled Lancelot’s hatred of the Romans.
But he had lain wounded upon a bed of straw…. His blood from the wound had stained the straw… It had not been from protecting Romans… or Roman land… but their land… It had been a battle of HIS choosing… and he was surprised NOT to have died that day… But, he figured Arthur’s God, or his pagan gods had thought him better suited to remain at Arthur’s side…
The bolt to Lancelot’s shoulder caused some damage… but it was removed quickly and expedient field dressings were applied on that fateful day… and for weeks after the battle, he walked around doing everything one-handedly… To everyone’s surprise, he was helping where he could, staying busy, seemingly unharmed from battle… but somewhere along the healing timeline, the wound got infected… and while Tristan, the worse of the three wounded was recovering considerably well, while his comrade got worse. But Guinevere stayed with Lancelot all thru the fevered pitches of infection… ever present to care for him. Eventually, he recovered…
Dagonet’s wounds had healed well, despite the multiple hits, him, once more, being in reasonably good shape. He had been wounded weeks before the battle, and he jokingly accounts for his quick recovery, despite the ferocity of his wounds, to the gods of Sarmatia, and how they did not want him to be with them in paradise… so they gave him extraordinary powers to stay upon the Earth… And each time Dag tells that story, Bors begins rebuking it by saying the gods were punishing him by keeping Dag upon the Earth with him… And those listening cannot help but laugh with each version of the story.
But after the battle, the young scout, Tristan, had been in much worse shape. All had feared for his life, and Arthur had ordered any, and all, physicians to focus every effort to Tristan. His sword arm would be lucky to even be able to keep the arm, much less use it… and the right leg, where the injury to the thigh had damaged the nerves and left his leg immobilized. Luckily the Saxon had not struck a higher and deeper body part.
As time passed, Tristan still walks with a slight limp, and his arm pains him most of the time… And he remains sullen, though the feelings of uselessness have passed… In order to combat the uselessness, Arthur had ordered Tristan to begin instructing new recruits in tracking, scouting, and use of the bow… Not only to replenish his depleted forces, but to keep the Sarmatian scout occupied. And now that tactic had paid off. Tristan was chief of scouts with 10 to lead and train, seven men and three women.
Now, there had been a Council summoned at Hadrian’s Wall between Arthur, his healing knights, Merlin, Guinevere, the Xiomara, and the remaining Pict ruling members. And at this council, Merlin spoke of beginnings, new beginnings that benefited all… Agreements and concessions that would need to be managed, and required uniformity amongst the united peoples of Britannia… And lastly, he would introduce some of the representatives from the Pict Nation to Camelot… and Arthur would re-introduce his knights, and introduce new members who would represent the Briton… to include former Romans, who pledged loyalty to the new Britannia.
Arthur’s mystic green eyes would look at those present, all had focused in on Merlin as he spoke again… with one exception… a tall woman, presumably a Xiomara… He had seen her before; had it been during the battle? After? He could not remember… and he smiled back at her…
The moment their eyes met something inside of her burned vibrant to life. As if something foreign was born from the ash of despair and uncertainty. Arthur... She had heard his name throughout Britain as if he were a God. Now to find herself face to face with the man, she could only wonder if this moment was nothing more than a dream. His eyes were of steel. Steady and unwavering just as a heart raging inside of him was just as fierce and devoted. Never in her lifetime did she believe such a man existed. But Arthur wasn't just any man... He was the unity and the force.
She stood beside Merlin as he spoke quietly to the Commander. Then, when it was time for her to step forward, the tall Xiomara did so. Lightly bowing her head out of dutiful regard.
Each time this woman would look at him, he would smile back. And at one point, Guinevere nudged him, whispering… “Tis my half-sister, Alison…” and she briefly closed her eyes in silent acknowledgement.
She never once questioned nor doubted the cryptic mind that belonged to her father as they had made their way toward Hadrian's Wall. She had heard his name throughout Briton as if he were a God. Now to find herself directly in his line of view she actually did feel... Small. As if she were inside a dream. His eyes were of steel. Steady and unwavering just as she imagined them to be; however it was the hint of equality that beset his features when regarding Merlin that did surprise her. From everything she'd ever known, Roman Commanders were haughty and above the rest... But not him... So then, did he consider himself truly Briton? Never in her lifetime did she believe a man like him existed. But, then again Arthur wasn't just any man. He was to be the unity and the force that would unite them all.
The Xiomara stood directly at her father's left while the men lowly spoke. Then, when it was her turn to step into focus she dipped into curtsey and offered Arthur a gentile smile. Regal and poised it seemed almost shocking that she could also be a trained killer.
Arthur seemed to veer away from Lancelot and Guinevere to shake hands with Merlin… The negotiations may have seemed seamless and fairly easy, but agreeing on certain things and conceding on others was never easy. And all offered and counter-offered until agreements were formalized. And as the men shook hands, Merlin introduced his daughter… Guinevere’s half-sister… to Arthur.
The man bowed slightly, his green eyes never leaving her… “Well met M’Lady… My sincerest thanks to thy efforts in battle, and in peace…” he stood and faced her and Merlin… “I have dreamed of this the day after the battle… a nation as one, in peace. A home for all who desire peace and freedom…” And Merlin placed a firm hand upon Arthur’s shoulder. “Arthur…” he said in his usual manner… “I leave you in good hands…” and the elder man moved away.
"I am very pleased that we finally get to meet, Arthur. Perhaps one day your dream of peace will be observed by all." Rather or not she truly believed such a thing could ever happen her voice was magic… soft and smooth.
Arthur looked back to Guinevere, Lancelot, and the rest of the knights; who gave their approving nods… needless to say, Gawain would tease causing them to laugh softly. Arthur then refocused his attention to the woman. “M’Lady, Trust in my words when I say I shall make every attempt to secure peace… but alas, the first step has been taken…” he chuckled… “Now tis only to tell the people…” Oddly, it seemed that the pair had started walking and chatting… and soon found themselves away from the Council area.
Haunting pale green depths steadily took note of her half-sister as Guinevere reluctantly allowed Arthur to withdraw himself from her… A silent testament of victory plagued the elegance of her visage while maintaining her statuesque form beside her father. Council assembled and now she was left to her own defenses in front of the approaching commander.
Arthur and his knights had suffered much and it was incredible that they had all survived their injuries. Badon Hill wasn't just like any other battlefield. It was the pledge of new beginnings and promise. She watched Gawain, Galahad, Bors, Leon, and Tristan for a half-second and then pivoted upon a heel to allow Arthur the rightful claim of her whole attention. "You know you don't need to thank me." There was a hint of playfulness in her tone and, with a charming grin dotting the corners of her mouth she side stepped, tilted her head to the side and began following him along the twisted path; away from the rest of the council. The sway silk of her cloak draped just across the skim of the blades of grass beneath each of their tall forms. "We fight and live for these lands and to secure it from tyranny. Your plight, Arthur is our own" There was command in her gentle voice. She looked up at his side profile. Curiosity dancing itself across her features. "So yes... I do trust you... But more importantly my father believes in you. And..." She chuckled lightly… "So too does my sister."
“M’Lady, there are many to thank… and I shall start with you…” and he offered her a charming smile that tended to smirk a bit. They walked together, the usual thud of his boots softened by the grass… and as she spoke, he twisted his head abit to get a better look at her. “Yes, I know m’Lady… and I pray that we do not oust one tyrant for another…” he shook his head a bit. “I know not who will lead us as we join together Briton and Pict into a new nation… but whomever that person shall be, needs to realize, some of my men are Roman, and some Sarmatian… all who now vow and affirm their loyalty, and trust, to me, in the hopes of me providing a freedom they could not hope to get should they travel the breadth of the Roman Empire to return to a land they know not.” He chuckled a bit… “Ahhh, trust… such a thing that leadth one to such fates as in the dark corridors of man…”
There was a mysticism about Merlin… and that mysticism intrigued Arthur. It seemed the man knew him far more than realized. And the same air surrounded this woman as well… but she and Guinevere were so different… and so much the same… even to be half-sisters. Arthur thought the Pict ways were odd… particularly regarding family. Family was family, nothing was disregarded… He looked to Alison and smiled… his thoughts were his own.
If he truly wished to thank her than she wouldn't thwart him in his efforts nor would she offend him by mockery. Tall, poised and regal the Xiomara tilted her head while gradually steadying her gaze upon the man beside her. His smile was charming and infectious but she simply couldn't return the gesture. Lips tugged into the bloom of a grin.
When he twisted in front of her that gown gracefully swayed and settled along the length of her athletic body. Standing there but few inches beneath Arthur. "You, my Lord have little faith in what you already know to be true." She arched a brow. Forcing him to mull over those few words. "The people have already chosen their Commander... Their King. One who has the fortitude, wisdom, and strength to be so uncommonly selfless that he does understand religion, and customs can be meshed underneath one banner. This man will make us believe again in justice." She took a slow breath. The determination splashed against the contrast of her porcelain visage. Just as beautiful as she was she was equally as fierce. That, she did share in common with Guinevere.
He shook his head. “I seek no such crown… I obeyed a man in Rome blindly, just as my faith almost blinded me… I killed those that now are my allies…” he shook his head again. “I had neglected the fact that my Mother was Briton… only seeing the past events that killed her… and enacted vengeance against those actions against my own people.”
"Arthur do not question where others affirm their loyalty. It is free will that binds you to them and for that they live and die accomplished that they assisted one they believe in." Perhaps she spoke too far... That Arthur wouldn't welcome the compliments that she delivered so graciously and quickly.
The Commander looked at the woman. “I shall question no one’s loyalty who swears it to the new Nation. All I can do is pray that God allows each man… and woman… the graces of open eyes and guide my efforts…”