The Frewyn Herald: Home of the Haanta Series

Parenting and the ills of childbirth, while noble professions, are imprisoning in themselves. It is one thing to want a house brimming with many children, and it is another thing entirely to find a means of caring for them. Even the greatest mothers and fathers are set beyond their strength when they must be up at all hours to read stories and woo to sleep, to tend the general caresses of cuts and scrapes, to dry the tears and discipline the overly avid. Two children is enough for the King of Frewyn, as anymore would force the Queen out of her independence and into the strain of motherhood: T he kettle began to whistle, and Pastaddams removed it from the heat and went to fetch his teapot.                 “Honestly, after everything I have been through in the past year,” Alasdair continued, “between my illness and everything in the courts, I am rather exhausted for birthdays. I will gladly do anything Car...

Royal weddings, obligations aside, are best enjoyed from afar, with paper lounging in lap and tea in hand. For Sir Pastaddams, Frewyn's royal tailor, Marridon's choice of fashions are a sport, one to be critiqued and curtailed at any cost, for though Frewyn is never considered the height of fashion on the continents, their tailors know the line between the radiant and ridiculous. A few flowers were to be sent off to the library, where a few books would be chosen to house the first blooms of the year and be conveyed the Balleigh’s by way of a spring greeting, and a copy of Damson’s Distress was the chosen recipient, plucked from its home on the high shelf despite Brigid’s gurns, bringing it first to the tailory, to achieve a piece of lace for the stems, where they were sure to have a fine piece of fabric cut evenly it into strips. They approached the open door and found the queen and the master tailor within, Carrigh sitting at her work table, sewing her feylilies into c...

Spring is finally come to Frewyn. and with the late budding season comes a whole host of terrors, like the threat of a late harvest and the resurgence of Alasdair's friends the clothing moths: T he capital also had its share in the seasonal pleasures: nearly everyone in Diras was out, reveling in the apricity of the vernal sun, searching for the young curls of bracken and brake, gathering the parsley and purslane sprouting around the port, while airs were lilting over the square, songs of the season being sung out in high keys, overpowering the skree of the gulls and larks kiting around the nearby cliffs. Those celebrating in conjunction with the Galleisian holiday of Valpfurgis sat on the bridge, between the church and the markets, making nosegays of mallow and marsh-marigold and braiding ornamental alliums to be hung from the eves in the evening. The gaieties extended to the castle keep, where Gaumhin and the Westren regiment were marching about in their breacans, Vyrd...