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scotianostra · 11 months

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17th June 1390 saw Alexander Stewart, the Wolf of Badenoch, burn Elgin Cathedral.

I’ve posted about The Wolf of Badenoch and his torching of the Cathedral before, sometimes called the Celtic Attila, or the vilest man in Scottish history, but who was this man and how did he get his reputation?

The Brother of King Robert III, Alexander Stewart, Alisdair Mor mac an Righ,was a man of many names another was Big Alexander, the times in which he lived were barbarous, but even by their standards he stood out, and was feared over a considerable distance.

Throughout his life he was Lord of Badenoch around 1371, Earl of Buchanan and was also his brother’s royal deputy in the north of Scotland. This is where you might have to remember some of my other posts to piece things together, King Robert III was a weak King, before he became monarch he actually had more power and had basically ruled in favour of his father, at sometime he took a kick from a horse and this left him somewhat disabled, he was crowned King in 1390 but his younger brother brother Robert, Earl of Fife was running Scotland- hold on two Roberts!? I hear you say? Well King Robert took the name rather than his birth name, John, which was regarded as an unlucky name for a King, after John Balliol, Tomb of Tabard fame.

So to understand Alexander a we bit,, I think we have to rewind a bit to King David II, Uncle to Robert II, the two though were not the best of friends, in 1368 he and his sons were required by David’s parliament to take an oath that they would keep their undisciplined followers in check—later that year, Robert and Alexander were imprisoned in Loch Leven Castle possibly as a result of these oaths having been broken, I’m not sure how long they were held on the Island Castle but I am sure it must have affected Alexander more than his brother, when David died heirless three years later Robert II took the throne and Alex was formally made Lord of Badenoch on 30 March 1371, by the following year Alexander held crown authority from north Perthshire to the Pentland Firth, so controlled half of Scotland. In 1382 he was created Earl of Buchan, the first person to hold the title since John Comyn.

Alexander Stewart was a vicious, bloodthirsty and brutal character, he abused his power and maintained a rule of terror across much of the Highlands by imprisoning and murdering those who offended him. He was said to be huge in stature with a florid complexion and jet black beard, he accompanied his men on missions to rape and pillage within villages in the surrounding countryside, and was merciless in his actions. He was consequently censured by the King’s Council in 1388. His chief residence was Lochindorb Castle which is situated on an island in Lochindorb, north of Grantown-on-Spey, but he was also associated with Drumin Castle near Glenlivet and Ruthven Castle near Kingussie.

Alexander married the heiress Euphemia de Ross, Countess of Ross in July 1382. The marriage produced no children, for which he blamed on his wife. In 1389 Alexander sought the aid of Alexander Bur, Bishop of Mora to annul the marriage. The Bishop, however supported Euphemia, and ordered him to return to his wife, Alexander reacted by angrily expelling his wife to make way for his mistress, Mariota Athyn, who had already provided him with several children, the Bishop excommunicated Alexander, the monk who came to Lochindorb castle to inform him of his excommunication was thrown into the castle’s water pit vault.

Bishop Bur obtained the support Thomas Dunbar, Sheriff of Inverness and son of the Earl of Moray to provide his protection. In May 1390, Alexander rode to Moray with a large force and brutally sacked the town of Forres. He went on to destroy Pluscarden Abbey, from where he continued to Elgin, arriving on 17 June 1390, he burned much of the town and destroyed Elgin Cathedral, as well as the cathedral, the monastery of the Greyfriars, St Giles parish church and the Hospital of Maison Dieu were all engulfed in flames.

Alexander had to appear at the Church of the Friars Preacher, in Perth in the presence of his brothers, King Robert III and Robert Earl of Fife, and the council-general to plead for forgiveness. Robert III ordered his younger brother to do penance for his crimes and make financial reparations, he then pardoned him.

Some records state the The Wolf of Badenoch died in 1394, although others maintain is was in 1406, when it is believed that he played chess with the devil at Ruthven Castle. Legend has it he was visited by a tall man dressed in black and the pair played through the night, with a storm conjured when the visitor called “check” and “checkmate”. In the morning, the Wolf was found dead in the banqueting hall and his men too found lifeless outside the castle walls

There is a relatively new statue of Alexander Stewart in Elgin, and you have to raise an eyebrow as to why it was ever commissioned, I mean by all accounts the guy was a tyrant..........

#scotland #scottish #the wolf of badenoch #tyrant #the stewarts #medieval history #elgin #history

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thelonesomequeen · 10 months

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Pascal; Welcome back! I know you said you had a great time but details! How amazing was Scotland?!? Make us jealous with details!

It was amazing, it really was! Everything in Scotland is so beautiful from the old architecture in the cities to the gorgeous Highlands. We were in the highlands during a sunny day (apparently that’s rare) and it has to be one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure that anything will ever be able to top the beauty of the country. I didn’t really have crazy expectations for anything when we went, but the views blew my mind. When we drove through parts of the Highlands I couldn’t stop saying “oh wow” every few seconds. The magnitude of their size, plus the vibrant green color and the bright blue skies was really a sight to behold. I had expected that part of the trip to be my least favorite, but it ended up being the best part of the trip for me. It was just so beautiful.

The pictures don’t do it justice, but here’s just a couple of shots from Loch Lomond and the Highlands so you get an idea:

Im truly envious of those of you who are from Scotland and get to live in such a beautiful place! We also visited Glencoe and Loch Ness as well. We did go looking for the Loch Ness monster but didn’t have any luck finding her 😜 We went to Edinburgh and Inverness including castle tours, distillery tours, and cathedral visits, plus plenty of shopping. We also sought out a bunch of monuments and visited some locations where Harry Potter and Outlander were either filmed or drew inspiration from. Yes, I tried the haggis 🤢 but the fish and chips were out of this world. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to order it in the US again after enjoying it in the UK. The Who was also in concert while we were there. We didn’t have tickets, but we did stand outside the castle they were playing at and listened for awhile. It was pretty cool! It was supposed to rain the entire time we were there, but it didn’t. We got really lucky and only had to deal with rain one afternoon/evening so we took that time to visit the National Museum of Scotland since it was something to do indoors. It really is such a scenic country that is steeped in a lot of history and there’s so much to see and do. The trip definitely exceeded my expectations by a long shot. We really packed in a ton of stuff and stayed busy the entire time. My body is still tired from all the walking 🦎

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bikepackinguk · 10 months

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Day Twenty-seven

Well that's been a very soggy day!

Woke up on a nice soft mossy ground amidst some pine trees a little outside of Portgordon, before loading up on a good breakfast and coffee for the miles ahead.

Onwards! A loop around some industrial areas before dropping onto the old rail line again and crossing the River Spey at Garnouth across an impressive old bridge.

The line carries on through the very pretty areas around Elgin, with a stop off for water and taking in the cathedral.

It's not long before we depart the old track and stick a little closer to the shore, with some more country lanes before hitting Kinloss.

The wind has been getting up but some good patches of trees past town make a natural windbreak to allow rustling up a solid lunch. The forecast has a lot of rain heading over and I feel it'll likely be a while before it'll be convenient to get more calories in and take advantage of the lull.

Sure enough, as I'm packing back up the rains start to arrive, so it's time to throw on the waterproofs and get going.

Unlike the previous day, this is some gentle but relentless drizzle that the skies will be able to keep pouring out for hours on end, and soon the entire sky is a solid grey from horizon to horizon.

Good riding weather for keeping the heat off! Alas the run hits some trouble here, as whilst I usually avoid big puddles due to what they may be hiding, the narrow country lanes and needing to pass an oncoming car near Brodie Castle mean dipping into one, which was hiding a missing patch of road.

Flying into the rut, there's not much time to react before I'm thrown from the saddle to fly into a nice thorny hedge of gorse, with the bike crashing beneath me.

After the initial shock wore off, it's time to take stock. For myself, there's plenty of bruising and a good amount of thorns pincushioning various parts, but thankfully nothing seems too seriously amiss.

A cursory check of the bike, however, produces a lot of grinding noises, so it's time to break out the toolkit and check the damage.

I've had this bike, a Fuji Tourer, for over seven years now, and I continue to be impressed by what an absolute tank it is. One handlebar is slightly twisted which is quickly remedied, and the front brakes are readjusted as they'd taken a knock and were pushing against the wheel. That was all that was required to be rolling once more, despite impacting the road with a fair weight of luggage and speed.

I've seen it advertised at times as an "entry level" touring bike, but damn it's awesome, and the mechanical reliability in it alone is worth it's weight. The Sam Vimes Boots Theory of Economics in action.

Still, I'm rather sore at this point and there's a lot of miles to go! Things will likely start seizing up in the legs if a break is taken, and the rain is still coming down, so it's back in the saddle and onwards once more.

NCN 1 has been excellently signposted for a good while now, but alas that changes once entering Nairn and with the rain now in its fourth hour of coming down solidly, I'm unable to check my electronics easily to remedy the route, so a quick ride down the seafront leads to a nice warm little cafe called Strathnairn where I'm able to dry off a little, treat myself to a latte and millionaire shortbread, and take stock of what's ahead.

Whilst I've had a rest day for the legs very recently, I'm feeling quite battered now, and I'd like an opportunity to have a proper look at the bike for issues, as well as get the brakes tightened up. And with Inverness coming up, the last bigger place I'll be seeing for quite a long time, it makes sense to find a hostel and check in for a couple of nights to get some needed chores and healing done.

However, there are still a good few miles between Nairn and Inverness! So with the clock hitting half four, it's time for the road once more.

We're through Moray and into The Highlands, and the route lets us know by immediately throwing a vicious ascent the likes of which I've nit had to tackle since the Yorkshire Moors.

Route 1 takes us high up into the hills above the Moray Firth, and does at least reward the tough climbing with some great views across the landscape. The ghostly hills we saw yesterday are now very solid and wreathed with clouds and mist. we'll be round to them in a few days!

A nice long gradual descent allows taking a break whilst gliding downwards past some gorgeous forest with carpets of moss, before another couple of steep climbs are tackled, and yhe path finally runs down to the outskirts of Inverness.

The route into the city centre itself is pretty well signposted from here and it's not too much trouble to follow right in to arrive at 8pm, to be greeted by a full marching band of bekilted Scots with bagpipes blaring.

A couple of minutes later and the hostel is reached, with a very needed hit shower, soke free shortbread, and as much te and coffee as I like.

An eventful day indeed! Tomorrow will be spent getting soke laundry done, checking over the bike, and getting some healing done. We'll be back on Thursday!

#bikepacking #bicycle touring

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logi1974 · 2 years

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Laird Hasenbär in Schottland - Tag 18

Lairds and Ladies!

Heute verlassen wir unser Cottage in Inverness und damit auch die schottischen Highlands.

Wir folgen zunächst der Highland Tourist Route an der Küste entlang, in Richtung Aberdeen, biegen dann aber in den Cairngorms National Park ab.

Der Nationalpark wurde 2003 offiziell als Park gegründet. Mit 1.467 Quadratmeilen ist er Großbritanniens größter Nationalpark. Der Park hat ein großes Hochplateau und ist als „geschützte Landschaft“ eingestuft.

Neben den Bergen sind die alten kaledonischen Wälder wahrscheinlich das auffälligste Merkmal der Cairngorm-Landschaft. Diese Jahrhunderte alten Wälder liegen um abgelegene Seen herum oder säumen spektakuläre wilde offene Moorlandschaften.

Der Tourismus ist ein wichtiger Teil der Wirtschaft des Cairngorms-Nationalparks, und seine Gemeinden sind bestrebt, Besucher anzuziehen.

Wir biegen noch einmal ab und fahren in die Region Speyside. Diese Region ist nach dem Fluss Spey benannt. Das fruchtbare Tal rund um diesen Fluss ist heute das Herzstück der schottischen Single-Malt-Whisky-Produktion.

Als hier die ersten Whiskys hergestellt wurden, war dies ein illegaler Handel. 1822 unternahm König Georg IV. eine Reise nach Speyside, wo er angeblich einen dieser illegalen Whiskys probierte.

Nach seinem Besuch wurden nach und nach immer mehr Lizenzen für Destillerien vergeben, wodurch der schottische Single Malt Whisky aus der Speyside zu seiner Bekanntheit kam.

Heute sind die Speyside-Brennereien weltweit anerkannt. Einige der bekanntesten Whisky-Marken werden in der Gegend hergestellt, aber auch eine große Anzahl weniger bekannter Destillerien kann man in Speyside besuchen.

Immerhin wird die Hälfte des schottischen Single Malt Whiskys in diesem Gebiet produziert. Der Whisky Trail führt quer durch Speyside und somit an einer Vielzahl von Destillerien vorbei.

Leider ist der heutige Tag als reiner Transfer geplant. Wir wollten unseren Zeitplan nicht zu sehr vollpacken, da wir mit unserer nächsten Unterkunft ein Eintreffen zwischen 16 und 17 Uhr vereinbart hatten.

Am Ende verfährt man sich oder es tritt ein unvorhergesehener Zwischenfall ein - und dann steht man da. So bleiben eventuelle Castle Besichtigungen und Whisky Tastings außen vor.

Durch puren Zufall kommen wir an dem Clan Grant Centre vorbei. Dieses ist die Heimat der Clan Grant Society Worldwide, in der alten Kirche von Duthil, in der Nähe von Grantown-on-Spey.

In ihren Anfängen gehörte die Kirche zu der Diözese Elgin Cathedral. Der erste presbyterianische Geistliche war Andrew Henderson, der 1625 ordiniert wurde. Das heutige Gebäude wurde 1826 errichtet.

Das Gebäude befindet sich inmitten der Clan-Territorien und es gibt Grund zu der Annahme, dass es wahrscheinlich kurz nach 1060 von dem Patriarchen Olav Hemingsson selbst gegründet wurde. Die ursprüngliche Widmung ist St. Peter und der Name Duthil für das Gebiet Mai beziehen sich gut auf St. Dubhthac.

Auf dem Kirchengelände befinden sich zwei Mausoleen, in denen einige der Clan Chiefs begraben sind.

Wir erreichen die Ostküste in der Region Aberdeen und fahren hier die Küstenstraße in Richtung Süden, in den Ort Stonehaven.

Stonehaven (Steenhive, gälisch Cala na Creige - im Volksmund oft Stoney) liegt an den wichtigsten Straßen- und Eisenbahnstrecken, knapp 25 Km südlich von Aberdeen.

Die Lage von Stonehaven ist ausgezeichnet. Stonehaven befindet sich in geschützter Lage in der Stonehaven Bay zwischen dem Carron und dem Cowie, die Begrenzungspunkte der Bay sind die Klippen von Downie Point und Garron Point/Bellman's Head.

Höheres Gelände sowohl im Norden als auch im Süden erzeugen das Gefühl eines Amphitheaters und bietet eine gute Aussicht über die Stadt, egal aus welcher Richtung man sich nähert.

Die Eisenbahn südlich von Aberdeen überquert den Fluss Cowie über das 50 m hohe Glenury-Viadukt, bevor sie den Bahnhof Stonehaven am Westrand der Stadt erreicht.

Die umgebende Anhöhe bietet Stonehaven auch einen gewissen Schutz vor den vorherrschenden Westwinden, während die Hafenmauern dazu beitragen, einen ähnlichen Schutz vor den Launen der Nordsee zu bieten.

Wie für viele Orte entlang der Küste war auch für Stonehaven der Hafen immer von großer Bedeutung. Im 15. Jahrhundert wurde hier bereits erstmals ein Wellenbrecher gebaut und um 1600 wurde das Tolbooth Gefängnis, heute ein Museum, aus einem früheren Getreidelager umgebaut.

Der ursprüngliche Hafen wurde immer wieder durch Sturmfluten zerstört. Um 1678 verstärkte man den Hafen, dennoch wurden die Anlagen erneut durch Sturmfluten zerstört. In den folgenden Jahrhunderten fanden weitere Hafenbauten statt. Um 1825 übergab man dem erfahrenen Ingenieur Robert Stevenson (aus der berühmten Stevenson Familie) die Planung eines neuen Hafens, bis heute der einzige sichere Hafen entlang dieser gesamten Küste bei einem Nordoststurm.

Einst war die Fischerei der wichtigste Erwerbszweig für die Menschen in Stonehaven. Vor allem Hering wurde hier im Hafen umgeschlagen. Bis zur Jahrhundertwende um 1900 waren angeblich weit über 1000 Menschen in der Fischerei beschäftigt und im Hafen schlug man jährlich bis zu 15 Millionen Fische um.

Allerdings traf auch Stonehaven die Überfischung und Globalisierung relativ hart. Um die Zeit des II. Weltkriegs waren kaum noch Menschen in der Fischerei tätig. Gefangen wurde praktisch nur noch für den Eigenbedarf.

Stonehaven Harbour ist heute einer der größten Freizeithafen in Aberdeenshire und der Hafen gehört zu den zentralen Punkten im Ort. Es gibt insgesamt drei Hafenbasins mit insgesamt ca. 18.200m². Der Hafen ist zudem recht gut belegt, im Schnitt sind alle 140 Anlegestellen besetzt. Normalerweise muss man auf eine Warteliste, wenn man sein Boot in Stonehaven dauerhaft festmachen will.

Der historische Mittelpunkt von Stonehaven ist natürlich sein Hafen und die dahinter liegende Altstadt. Das Ship Inn wurde 1771 mit Blick auf den Hafen erbaut und ist älter als das Town House mit seinen spitzen Türmen, das erst 1790 erbaut wurde.

Die Hauptdurchgangsstraße von Stonehaven, die Allardyce Street, verläuft dicht hinter der Promenade und dem Strand von Stonehaven Bay. In der Mitte befindet sich der Marktplatz und am Pier soll sich eine legendäre Fischbude befinden.

The Seafood Bothy ist eine Fischbude am historischen Hafen von Stonehaven und serviert frische Meeresfrüchte direkt aus den Fischernetzen. Das Originelle daran ist, dass die Bude in einem alten, umgebauten Pferdehänger untergebracht ist.

Hummer, gefüllte Baguettes, Meeresfrüchte-Nachos, Makrelenpastete – bei den ständig wechselnden wöchentlichen Specials ist alles zu haben. Für uns gibt es nichts Schöneres, als an der Küste zu essen. Endlose Weitblicke und eine frische Brise um die Nase.

Leider finden am Pier gerade umfangreiche Bauarbeiten statt. Deswegen verfügt die Fischbude gerade über keinerlei Sitzmöglichkeiten. Die Bedienung erzählt uns, dass man den Pferdeanhänger eigentlich, für die Dauer der Arbeiten, ebenfalls hier weg haben wollte. Man habe sich aber durchsetzen können, da das Hauptgeschäft eben im Sommer stattfindet und man nicht auf die Beendigung warten könnte, dann wäre man nämlich pleite.

So nehmen wir unsere beiden Fischplatten mit und wollen uns weiter oben eine Sitzgelegenheit mit Meerblick suchen. Die Damen vom Grill der Fischbude packen uns freundlicherweise Holzbesteck, Servietten und Reinigungstücher ein und wir ziehen mit unserer leckeren Beute los ...

... unter dem wachsamen Auge diverser Vögel, die längst mitbekommen haben, dass sich hier potentielle Opfer auf den Präsentierteller begeben.

Was wiederum von uns nicht unbemerkt blieb - und so setzen wir uns, sehr zum Ärger der Möwen, einfach ins Auto.

Wer einmal den alten Hitchcock Klassiker “Die Vögel” nachstellen möchte, dem können wir diese raffinierte Taktik wärmstens empfehlen.

Man glaubt es nicht, die großen Sea Gulls attackierten doch tatsächlich das Auto: setzen sich auf die Motorhaube, hackten in die Windschutzscheibe und in die Scheibenwischer ...

Da blieb manch ein Passant stehen und wunderte sich, was da wohl vor sich gehen mag.

Wir schaffen es nicht beide Seafoodplatten zu vernichten, so packen wir die zweite Platte ein, stellen sie in unsere Kühltasche und machen uns wieder auf den Weg in Richtung Süden.

Wir fahren dabei immer möglichst nah an der Küste entlang. Es ist eine tolle Landschaft und wir entdecken dabei so manchen Kleinod.

Beispielsweise eine interessante Immobilie: Wer schon immer einmal einen Leuchtturm sein Eigen nennen wollte, hat hier die einmalige Gelegenheit zuzugreifen.

Die Bausubstanz macht noch einen guten Eindruck - sagt der Experte, der neben mir im Auto sitzt.

Der Blick ist sensationelle, die Lage könnte jedoch auf Dauer etwas einsam sein. Das muss man schon sehr mögen ...

... dafür sind die Nachbarn ausgesprochen pflegeleicht.

Um 16.30 Uhr treffen wir an dem Haus in dem sich unsere Suite - die sich als ganzes Appartement entpuppt - ein. Die Housemaid ist noch nicht mit der Reinigung fertig und bittet uns um eine halbe Stunde Geduld.

Zum Glück ist sie noch in der Suite beschäftigt, denn mit dem Selbst-Check-In und diesem ganzen neuzeitlichen Gedöns, sind wir schon wieder völlig überfordert:

Hand auf den Screen legen, die 10-stellige Nummer eintippen plus Sternchentaste am Ende, dann den Griff so rum und so rum drehen, damit man überhaupt erst einmal in den Flur kommt. Dort dann den Zahlencode am Schlüsselfach eingeben, um den Wohnungsschlüssel zu entnehmen - und dann kann man endlich .... Trommelwirbel ... in das Appartement.

Das Abendessen war ja zum Glück gesetzt: es gab völlig unerwartet und überraschend Fischplatte!

Oidhche mhath!

Angie, Micha und Laird Hasenbär

#Stonehaven #Inverness #speyside #Whisky Trail #Broughty Ferry #Schottland

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azvolrien · 2 years

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I spent last night in a hotel in Inverness and, this morning, headed east along the Moray coast to Elgin, because I felt like visiting the ruins of Elgin Cathedral, which I’ve driven past many a time but never stopped for a look.

As the Church of Scotland is a Presbyterian denomination and doesn’t have bishops, a lot of churches in Scotland that are called cathedrals (St Giles’, Dornoch and Dunblane to name a few) are not technically cathedrals any more. Elgin was once the seat of the Bishop of Moray (that’s pronounced like ‘Murray’, btw, not like the eel), so was, indeed, a cathedral. Of course, now it’s not even really a church any more; unlike a lot of its cousins which continued as parish churches with a new coat of paint, it fell first into disuse and then disrepair following the Reformation, starting with the removal of the lead from the roofs for... reasons? and culminating in the collapse of the central tower that, while the two western towers remained relatively intact, took most of the nave with it.

But hot damn! What a beautiful corpse.

#photo #elgin cathedral #scotland

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liber-what-ia · 2 years

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The crooked kind (Part 9: Superposition) {Uncharted - Rafe Adler x Nathan Drake}

Summary: Rafe is a riddle to Nathan – a potentially dangerous one. And nothing calls to Nathan Drake like some good, old-fashioned danger. This time, though, his luck might be running out for real. (Or, some alternate version of what happened in – and after – Panama).

Warnings: language, psychological trauma, grief (warnings change according to the chapter).

Word count (current chapter): 4.3 k

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38081011/chapters/95921929 feel free to leave kudos if you enjoyed the read ♥

⪼ Previous Chapter – Next Chapter ⪻

DO NOT REPOST – REBLOGS ONLY

Scotland welcomes them with gusts of fiery, rainy wind, and bone-chilling cold.

Nathan shudders in his summer clothes, drawing more than a puzzled look as they go through the airport. He definitely left Boston underprepared for an impromptu trip in the Highlands, and he didn’t exactly have the time to go window-shopping in Panama – or here in Inverness, for that matter, since Rafe seems determined to reach the cathedral right now, with no further stop for the night.

It’s a short walk from the airport’s exit to the jeep waiting for them, but Nathan still manages to get completely soaked. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s still wearing his Havana shirt with nothing but a denim jacket against the rain.

Sam’s jacket. The thought hammers at the back of his skull and it seems to be rooted there like a rusty nail.

He closes the car’s door more forcefully than he intends to, while Rafe secures their luggage in the trunk. The rain is lashing down outside, with literal waves of water horizontally crashing against the car. Even if it weren't already dark, he would struggle to see fifty feet ahead. They definitely picked the wrong time of year to visit Scotland.

Rafe climbs back into the jeep and quickly sits on the driver seat, to Nathan’s right – he offered to drive, but he just grunted something about being more used to driving on the opposite side.

He shakes off the rain in his hair and clearly holds back a sneeze, cursing under his breath. He’s not faring much better than him, clothing-wise, but he recovered a rain jacket on his plane – because of course he has a private plane, it must be an unwritten rule if you hit the over-seven-figures yearly income.

Apparently, though, he didn’t have any clothes to spare for him. Nathan honestly doesn’t want to know if it was just a mindless oversight or if he’s the ask-nothing-get-nothing kind of guy.

What he does know, is the blatant way he shut off any contact with him since they hopped on the plane. They basically crashed for a good part of the eleven-hour flight, trying to make up for lost sleep and downright exhaustion, so they really were in no condition to communicate – let alone indulge in other activities.

Then hefty turbulence hit them, keeping them awake as they neared the British Isles, and Rafe promptly disappeared into the plane’s private room, sliding the door behind him. He reemerged only when they had already landed, clipping a single line about the jeep waiting for them.

Nathan can’t figure out what has induced this complete three-sixty when they were close to fucking each other only this morning, but he has a nasty feeling about it. It’s as if he, as Rafe’s “contingency measure”, has fulfilled his purpose by bringing them both safe and sound in Scotland.

No need to “stay focused” now, he supposes. He clenches his teeth around that thought and crumbles the longing images that keep popping in the back of his mind along with it.

Rafe is avoiding him even now, to the meager extent that a car cabin allows him. He’s mostly busy with keeping an eye on the Highlands’ trackless expanse, fully concentrated on not driving them off a rocky scarp. From time to time, though, he shoots weird sideways glances at him, as if he’s double-checking something he thought to have seen.

Nathan is about to snap for good and ask what the big deal is, then the realization dawns on him like a blinding midnight sun in the middle of that rainy, cursed night. His breath gets stuck in his throat in a solid mass.

Right. He’s wearing Sam’s favorite jacket.

Of course, he would’ve been wearing it when he met Rafe – it was his trademark, he barely took a step without it. And of course, Nathan is still Sam’s brother, even now. They don't look that much alike but they literally grew up thick as thieves. Some of Sam’s mannerism is bound to have stuck with him, right?

Even if he’s not really aware of it – the way he gestures a lot, maybe, or some Bostonian slang he’s picked up as a side effect of teasing Sam about it, or the brisk, springy gait he keeps most of the times – Sully made fun of that sometimes, calling them Lanky and Shortie when they walked side by side.

Nathan would smile at the memory if it didn’t hurt so much. He pinches the jacket’s sleeve, picking at the hem. Of course, looking at him right now must be kind of like looking at Sam through a smoked piece of glass, especially in passing, especially in the rainy darkness, especially if he was supposed to be here with them in the first place.

Nathan lets a sigh slip out of his lips, fogging up the car’s window. It’s like he can’t even inhabit his own body anymore. Sam’s shadow is stitched on him and filters everything he sees, but it also filters his own appearance in the eyes of others.

He can see his own, ghostly reflection in the glass, among the running drops of water, and the windswept Scottish moorland just beyond it when the lightning fractures the sky every few seconds now. And he can see Sam, ever so faintly, overlapping his features – it’s the eyes, mostly, they’ve always had the same shiny, wonder-seeking look, even if in different colors and shapes.

Nathan wonders if Sam had picked something after him. He never noticed, anyway. It’s the first time he even thinks about it. He points his eyes to the road ahead, dispelling his own ghost – but Sam's is still stuck in his mind.

It’s the first time he thinks about a lot of things regarding his brother.

△

“Dare I ask what the problem is?”

Rafe doesn’t even blink, at that sudden outburst, after a good hour of driving – more like plodding on god-forsaken secondary routes. His knuckles grip the wheel more tightly; Nathan can’t tell if it’s due to his question or because they’re hitting a particularly badly kept road, all mud and stones and slippery gravel. It feels more like an uphill sheep track than a road, really – it’s definitely not a shortcut as Rafe seems to believe.

“We have a problem?” he throws right back at him, once the jeep's tires finally grip on solid asphalt again.

Nathan waits a few seconds, just to see if Rafe is genuinely asking or just beating around the bush. It’s always hard to tell with him, but the noisy and bumpy situation doesn’t help his case.

“You tell me. Have I become invisible and I didn’t notice?”

Rafe is so bold as to take his eyes off the road for a potentially fatal instant. There it is again, that bewildered look. As if he's seeing a ghost.

“No, you definitely haven’t,” he simply offers, whipping his eyes back on his task and sounding almost piqued by the very fact that he can still see him.

Nathan scowls in his direction. He’s definitely jerking him around, for whatever reason.

“So?” he prompts him again, and he knows he's pushing his buttons.

Rafe turns his head to him for a second and parts his mouth to answer when a sharp, dizzying hairpin turn abruptly comes up ahead. Rafe brakes out of pure instinct, causing the car to swerve out of control on the sleek road. They both gasp over the tires’ faint screech, feeling the gravity swaying them sideways, but Rafe manages to righten the wheel and keep the vehicle on track, avoiding crashing against the guardrail and into the cliff beyond it.

Nathan half-sees the angry ocean waves roaring far below, in tune with the pouring rain – and then they’re on the safe side again. Rafe rubs a hand on his face, checks there are no other immediate dangers up ahead, and glares at him as he finally answers:

“So, I say you don’t talk to the driver, and we get to Saint Dismas in one piece.”

Nathan, on another occasion, would’ve chuckled and said something witty about where he got his driving license in return. This time, though, he just shakes his head in annoyance, scoffing softly. He crosses his arms on his chest and closes his eyes, focusing on the rain pattering against the windshield and windows in an unrestful, yet oddly soothing rhythm.

He can sense the same, volatile feeling that took a hold of him back in the prison, when he didn't know if he wanted to push Rafe against a wall to fuck him or punch him. Only, now it's about ten million times worse. It latches on the underlying pain he's trying so hard to ignore and it stirs in his stomach, clouding his head with senseless, trivial thoughts.

Rafe is giving him the cold shoulder, alright.

How does this even matter now? But it does matter, because he still has his taste lingering in his mouth, and he can still feel his lips on him, the way they kissed and sucked away each and every thought poisoning his mind – that slow, longing kiss on the boat keeps repeating on loop in the darkroom of his memory, so vivid it churns his insides.

He still can't make a sense of it, but he wants more, and it's maybe the only good thing that's happened to him in the last day or so – the bliss of switching off his brain and not think.

And it's already wasting away. He ruined it, somehow, he lost it.

He hates himself for letting it have so much power on him, as far as to seem even remotely important in the face of what he's lost already. It's like being at war with his own body and mind at the same time, each screaming and raging at the other about how he should feel or what he should do right now.

Punch him and grab the wheel, kiss him and bite him, cry and scream and call for Sam, open the car door and jump outside, disappear, disappear, let him take you and kill your thoughts, kill your– just disappear, disappear.

Nathan slowly bends over until his forehead touches his knees, taking deep, even breaths. The patter of the rain and the roar of the engine are the only sounds he can hear, along with his temples throbbing against his skull.

He already feels so tired again.

△

Saint Dismas Cathedral is exactly the kind of place you wouldn’t want to see in the middle of a cold, stormy night.

The cathedral’s Gothic spires shoot towards the night sky, forming a gargantuan silhouette, reminiscent of some sort of marine monster that just emerged from the nearby sea. Nathan can vaguely make out the pointy arches and flying buttress along the walls’ perimeter, along with the crumbled bell tower, that looks like a bolt of lightning sawed it off.

Just cozy, huh? he can almost hear Sam’s voice as he blows out a puff of smoke. Only he can’t hear Sam’s real voice anymore, and it just sounds like a lifeless string of words in his head.

Saint Dismas screams of cheap horror movies and eerie legends about spirits and lost entities inhabiting its naves and aisles. It doesn’t make Nathan want to cross the threshold if not absolutely necessary – possibly in full daylight. He doesn’t think he’ll ever peacefully set foot into a church anyway, especially now.

The central rose window looms like a glowering eye over them, as far-away lightning flashes in its decorated frame, making it look alive, blinking in fury. It’s like it can smell his sins. Nathan tries not to look up, all the subdued worries and fears locked in his chest squirming and writhing to resurface.

The church seems to call to him, somehow, trying to lure him into its bowels, but he walks right past its entrance’s maw.

He follows Rafe’s steps across the slimy moss and scrubs surrounding the building. They move forward, mostly fumbling into the dark as their shoes plash into mud puddles, nearing the only source of artificial light – a single beam splitting the fine, silvery drizzle like a stadium floodlight.

Over the course of little more than twenty-four hours, Rafe managed to have a couple of trailers set up at the cathedral’s foot. A little tent encampment hosts the workers he shipped out to this remote region.

A man in an orange rain slicker and work boots emerges from one of the trailers, squints in their direction, and then welcomes them with a loud, Scottish-imbued turned out nice, hasn’t it? gesturing towards the pouring sky.

Rafe proceeds to join him under the small tarp gazebo between the trailers, and Nathan quickly follows, finally getting out of the rain. He’s completely drenched again, Sam’s jacket sticking to his exposed forearms and weighing down on him. He can already feel the first signs of a bad cold under his skin.

He doesn’t really pay much attention to Rafe’s and the other man’s exchange. He just gathers that the squad will be on their way tomorrow, leaving them two alone to investigate the cathedral until further help is required. He half-heartedly agrees: it’s only logical Rafe doesn’t want unnecessary people in the way when they’re searching for a treasure.

Nathan rubs his knuckles against his eyes as the discussion drags on over logistics and supplies. He could just fall asleep on the spot, bone-tired as he is, and he is actually looking forward to spending the night in a proper bed for the first time in almost a week. Hopefully, he’s wrecked enough to just collapse and spare himself the nightmares.

The man in charge, whose name he didn’t quite catch, says something and hands him a key, pointing at the trailer behind him. Nathan slurs his okays and thank-yous and goodnights, trying not to look too much like a jetlagged moron. The man leaves and Nathan turns to Rafe to– he doesn’t really know, actually.

Wish him goodnight? Ask why the hell he’s avoiding him like the plague? It doesn’t really matter, because Rafe precedes him with the talking:

“We meet up here tomorrow at eight, so we can start the first recon, and see where we’re supposed to look for starters.” He regards him with one of his steely looks, his eyes almost grey under the violent artificial light. “You up to it?”

The tinge of condescendence Nathan senses in his voice almost wipes out his exhaustion, flicking the switch to his anger. His hands twitch inside his pockets, and he might just be one step away from grabbing him by the collar again.

“If I’m up to it,” he almost spits out, glaring at him. “What do you think?”

Rafe doesn’t as much as acknowledge his provocation and just pulls a satisfied, cold half-smile.

“Well, good to hear. We don’t have time to waste,” he says, now back to the usual, sardonic lilt he had temporarily ditched.

He starts off to his trailer without another word, grimacing under the steady drizzle as he skids through the mud. Nathan just clamps his mouth shut, killing off the parting shot he can already feel on his lips – I'm not so invisible now that you need my ‘expertise’, huh?

He begrudgingly lets the whole thing die there. He’s so tired already, he can’t handle any more extra stress. And, honestly, he's not sure if starting a fight with Rafe might end up with the two of them rolling in the mud under the punches, or tangled in sheets again. He doesn't want to find out.

The trailer door shuts behind Rafe’s back with a thud.

“Well, fuck you too,” Nathan grinds through his teeth.

He promptly heads for the other trailer, supposedly identical to the other one on the outside as on the inside: two single beds facing each other along the walls, a small kitchenette in the back, a table with four stools pulled against the other wall, a microscopic bathroom just by the entrance. The two horizontal windows over the beds are narrow and thin, letting in just enough light to make out the furniture.

It’s better than a cell in Panama, at least.

As he kicks off his muddy shoes, he ponders for a second if he should whip up something to eat, but he doesn’t have the energy in him to even heat up something in the microwave, so he lets it be. He ate some doubtfully satiating snacks on the plane and that will have to do until morning.

On top of all the recent stress – if he can even call it with such an innocuous term – he is now completely jetlagged, and he’s been basically stumbling around until now, working on muscle memory to walk.

He puts Sam’s duffel bag in the farthest corner, throws his drenched jacket on the only chair’s backrest, and proceeds to peel off his likewise drenched clothes, leaving them in a damp heap on one of the stools. He shudders from head to toe in an all but reassuring way, his skin prickling under a wave of sudden heat.

He throws himself under the hot shower before he can catch his death of cold, but when he emerges from the steam he's left with the same problem: the ones he had on were his warmest clothes and right now he’s still freezing to the bones. He recovers a t-shirt and a clean pair of briefs from his bag, but they do a very poor job at keeping him warm. He turns his bag inside out, his teeth now almost clattering – as if he didn’t already do exactly that on the plane. The content doesn’t change – how surprising.

Of course he doesn’t have a single shred of winter clothing. Of course he hasn’t, they were in fucking tropical Panama. He shoves the bag against the wall in a fit of anger, utterly distraught by how cold he is, and how he just wants to collapse on the bed and sleep.

He eyes the rough wool covers on the bed's foot and grabs one to throw over his shoulders. He wonders if they can keep him warm enough through the night, but that’s a solid no. He’s bound to catch a fever if he as much as sticks an arm off the bed in his sleep.

He steals a glance at Sam’s jeans jacket, which probably spared him pneumonia on the way here, and feels his heart shrink to the size of an acorn. If Sam had the foresight to bring a warmer jacket to an equatorial country, then, maybe…

Fuck.

He stands up before he can think again and opens his brother’s bag. He pauses, taking a deep, shaky breath.

The colors are more muted in comparison to his own clothes, but the content is almost identical: linen shorts, t-shirts, a tank top, a couple of Hawaiian shirts, a Panama hat – of course he has a Panama hat.

That’s a real Panama hat, little brother, ‘cause we are in Panama! he all but yelled, when he bought that monstrosity at the airport’s gift shop right upon their arrival. A smile ghosts on Nathan’s lips, then dies away when he can’t bring himself to remember Sam’s barking, unique laugh.

He keeps timidly rummaging through the suitcase’s contents. All the clothes are wrinkled and hastily folded. He threw Sam’s stuff in there with no rhyme or reason, barely looking at what he was touching, feeling like he was looting their own room.

But he just couldn’t bear to leave it all there. He had to force the zipper close with his own weight, even though Sam is– had always been a light, organized traveler and it had probably fit to a T when he zipped it up in their flat back in Boston.

There’s a crumpled pack of cigarettes in one corner. A pair of dirty, unmatched socks knotted together. A couple of condoms peeping out from an inner pocket. A small can of hair gel. A mangled paperback book, The Tigers of Mompracem – pirates, always pirates – Nathan saw him reading on the plane. A small tin box of licorice candy. His journal, tucked away in the front pocket – he doesn’t even dare to touch it. A red glasses case.

He reaches for his wet shirt behind him, takes out Sam’s sunglasses from his pocket, and sets them into the case, clapping it shut with a flinch. He looks down at Sam's bag.

That’s his brother, right there. All that's left. Nathan forgets he’s freezing for a moment, bare knees pressed to the hard, icy floor, hands gone white and trembling. He feels like he’s looking at Sam’s corpse.

He doesn’t even know what they did with his actual–

Nausea rises in his chest as he suppresses that thought. He feels tears rimming his eyes again. He can’t bring himself to even imagine it.

Only then, does he catch something in the mess of clothes and personal effects: a paper tag with a price in balboas written on it. Nathan tugs at it, pulling a hoodie out of a small plastic bag along with it. He doesn’t remember finding something like that in their room. Sam must have put it in himself somewhere during their stay.

The light-beige fabric is discreetly imprinted in dark brown with an old map of Panama – meridians, latitudes, routes, and all. It looks like a pirate map. He smiles a little: that’s exactly the type of hoodie Sam would wear. That’s exactly the kind of nerdy hoodie Nathan would tease him about.

It still has the industrial, anonymous smell of newly bought clothes, as opposed to his jacket, still bearing the faint scent of smoke, hair gel, and licorice his brother always brought with him, the one imprinted in his nose even now.

They didn’t hug much, even though they were joined at the hip. But when they did, there was always this warmth about Sam, this protectiveness that made Nathan feel at home even when they didn’t have one. And his home smelled of smoke, hair gel, and licorice.

Nathan grips hard at the fabric, barely taming the surge of sorrow scratching at his throat. Then he tears the label away and puts the hoodie on without a second thought. It’s a bit loose on the shoulders and it comes down below his hip, but it does its job in keeping him warmer. It's as if Sam is still taking care of him, in some irrational way he doesn't dare to disprove. He's allowed to be irrational right now.

He makes to zip up the bag, when something else piques his interest: there’s a small object, right at the bottom of the plastic bag. His hand is quicker than his guilt as he reaches for it – that’s still Sam’s stuff, he shouldn’t be prying in it.

He looks at his palm, where a small, round metal compass sits in the dim light. Panama’s red and blue flag and stars decorate the lid, and a keyring is attached to it. He can’t see any price tag on it, only the sign a sticky label has been pulled away from the bottom. Nathan stares at it with more intensity than ever, the kind of which he has never reserved for even the most precious artifacts he’s happened to hold in his hands.

Was this meant for him? Was this the real reason for “scouting the streets” back there?

Sam used to do this kind of stuff, spoiling him like a child with all sorts of small tacky gifts and tourist trinkets he would get here and there on their journeys, solo or together. And now he won’t ever know if that’s for him or just a mindless purchase. He’s not the little brother anymore. He lets the compass fall back in the suitcase, lost in the mess he’s made of Sam’s belongings, and he lets the top fall close on it. It's only fabric, but it still sounds like a coffin closing up for good.

Nathan stands up, legs slightly buckling. He’s still very cold, but at least he’s not freezing anymore, and the covers should now be enough to stave off hypothermia. He resorts to sleeping as he is, in his hoodie and underwear, since he hasn’t a single clean pair of shorts left, and they won’t keep him that much warmer anyway.

He sinks under the covers, coiling up in a small alcove of warmth that quickly subdues his shivers, then pulls the hood over his head for good measure. He doesn’t feel sleepy, just merciless tired. He’s not hungry or thirsty either – he should be, that’s for sure.

He stares at the moonlight shining through the small trailer window on the other wall. The clouds have scattered now, grey and still heavy with rain. Pointy treetops sway in the steady wind blowing from the north, rattling at the gusts. The cathedral’s eye blinks in the distance. Nathan grits his teeth, glares at God or whatever entity beckoning to him from the distance.

Stop looking at me.

His eyes sharply focus on the foreground, on the windowpane. It gives back his own reflection, huddled in an oversize hoodie like a kid under the blankets. Beneath it, lies the empty bed. Only, he can conjure Sam’s frame lying there, specular to his own. He still can’t clearly make out his face. It’s blurred, foggy, it overlaps with his own, but he knows he’s staring with the same blank eyes he had when he last saw him. When he let him fall.

Nathan breathes shakily, blinking fast to disperse the tears he’s so sick of spilling. He stares back at Sam, with that boiling pit of anger and pain and confusion bubbling inside him.

Stop looking at me.

He finally finds the will to turn his back to his non-existent brother. He lets his eyelids droop, if only to shut out the light and that vision, and soon dozes off in a fidgety, nightmare-riddled half-sleep.

⪼ Next Chapter ⪻

#uncharted #fanfiction #fanfic #rafe x nathan #nathan x rafe #drakler #nathan drake #rafe adler #videogames #angst #slash #sensitive topics #a thief's end

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