stag brooch

anonymous asked:

Do you think or was it ever mentioned if Claire equated the ghost Frank saw before she went through the stones to Jamie? Didn't Frank describe the stag pin to her? And she saw Jamie's once she was in the past, right?

Hi anon,

We don’t ever see Claire make the connection - though we as readers certainly make that connection, whether later in the book or upon a future reading.

Yes, Frank described the stag pin to her:

“Big chap,” said Frank, frowning in recollection. “And a Scot, in complete Highland rig-out, complete to sporran and the most beautiful running-stag brooch on his plaid. I wanted to ask where he’d got it from, but he was off before I could.”

I had thought that Claire provides a description of Jamie’s brooch in Outlander - but she doesn’t until Dragonfly in Amber:

He wore his plaid today pinned with a brooch at the shoulder—a beautiful thing his sister had sent him from Scotland, made in the shape of two running stags, bodies bent so that they joined in a circle, heads and tails touching. He pulled up a fold of the plaid and wiped his face with it.

And when she *does* make reference to it - it’s just in passing, as a statement of fact. She makes no connection to that long-ago night when Frank told her he thought he’d seen a ghost. And I doubt that many readers made the connection on their first time around as well.

Which raises the question - had she recognized Jamie’s brooch and/or realized that he was the ghost that Frank had seen - would her relationship with Jamie have been different? Would she have been quicker to embrace her position in the past?

Je Suis Prest.

A continuation of ‘For Love’ full fan-fic series over on Archive of Our Own. Thank you as ever to everyone who reads, likes and comments on my work. I am continually overwhelmed by the support and love shown by the Outlander Fandom. You guys are all awesome. xx

Jamie woke just after dawn. The embers of excitement that he had put to bed the night before were glowing hot and fierce in his heart and he all but leapt from the small bed. He hoped Murtagh had found a decent Fraser plaid for him to wear. If not Jamie had his stag brooch to try and smarten himself up a little and he crossed to the window to inspect it in the pale grey light of the early morning. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship but he wished he had taken more time over the polishing he had given it at Leoch. He set it on the broad window sill and stepped back with his hands on his hips looking at the large silver brooch and biting his lower lip, his fingers tapping his sides impatiently. If Murtagh could not find him the plaid he would have to present himself as he was but it would hardly do Claire justice to marry him in a grubby shirt and a tartan that was as dull as the worn leather on his boots.
A stray thread caught his eye and he plucked it off, twirling it between his fingers. This was no life for a lady like Claire. He would have to do something about the way they were living now that they were to be wed. She was his responsibility or would be soon … How many hours before they had to be at the church? Too many but then at the same time not enough! Jamie was desperate to see Claire in the bonnie dress Ned had found and to take his vows with her and perhaps, if she was not too adverse to it, kiss her when the priest gave blessing to do so but at the same time he was absolutely terrified. What if she was disgusted by him? He had nothing to offer but the protection of his body and that was covered in scars and hardly a bonnie thing! What would he do if he looked into those beautiful golden eyes and saw fear or worse, hate. Fear he could assuage in time but hate … there was little to be done about hate except try to earn his way from it by loving her with all he had.
The door swung open and Murtagh bustled in, his arms laden with food, a package wrapped in burlap and two mugs of ale in each hand.
“Good, ye’re up.”
Jamie took the drinks from him and put them on the table as Murtagh dumped the burlap on the bed and handed Jamie a plate of bread, cheese and meat.
“Eat first then we’ll get ye sorted.”
“I dinna think I can manage a bite. My guts are floppin’ like a fish out o’ water.”
“I ken, but food will help settle ye stomach.”
Murtagh offered Jamie a rare gentle smile that reached all the way to his eyes and tucked into his own portion. Jamie took a tentative bite and realised just how ravenous he was. Once they had eaten Murtagh picked up the sack and emptied its contents onto the bed.
“Right ye’ll be wanting some o’ this no doubt…”
Jamie peered over his shoulder and swallowed heavily.
There was a clean, folded Fraser plaid, a dress shirt, it’s white linen bright against the homespun bedding, a comb for his hair, a razor, clean woollen stockings and a tub of polish for his boots.
“Where did ye…”
“Dinna fash about that. The shirt should fit ye fine and … Oh …”
Murtagh fished around in his sporran and produced something that Jamie had not seen in a long time.
“Da’s ring! I thought it lost! How did ye come by it?”
“I stole it.”
Murtagh shrugged and then grinned at the bafflement on Jamie’s face.
“Dougal had it, he said as he meant to gi’ it to ye when ye werena afflicted wi’ a price on ye head. I dinna ken what logical thread he sees to the two things so I thought it best to just get it back to ye before it could be misplaced.”
Jamie clapped a hand on his Godfather’s shoulder and hung his head, too overcome to speak.
“Do ye need anything else?”
Murtagh asked gruffly and Jamie shook his head
“No mo charaid, ye ha’ given me everything I need and more.”  
Murtagh grunted and jerked his head in the direction of the door.
“I’ve asked for a tub o’ water and a bit o’ soap to be sent up to ye.”
“Thank ye Murtagh, truly. Thank ye for everything.”
Jamie folded the ring into his fist and stroked a finger down the plaid, already feeling more himself than he had in the months since his return to Scotland.
Once the water arrived, Murtagh left to seek out beer and ensure Claire was being properly attended to. Jamie would have liked to have someone club his hair properly but he didn’t like to ask Murtagh and supposed that with her own wild curls, Claire might not mind too much if a few of his flew astray.
He scrubbed his fingernails, elbows and knees almost raw to get the dirt of the road completely off and felt that he had done a decent enough job, though a couple of grass stains on his kneecaps had proven more stubborn than soap and water would allow for. Jamie glanced over his shoulder to ensure the door was properly shut and scooped a handful of suds into the golden mass of tight curls around his manhood, combing them through with his fingers before rinsing the soap out. He half wondered if he should neaten them a little but quickly dismissed the notion as daft and stepped out of the tub.
The razor Murtagh had found had seen better days but his Godfather had clearly given it a quick sharpen for him and as the light of the morning filtered in through the window, Jamie shaved his face as neatly as he could. There was a knock at the door and after quickly wrapping himself in a blanket from the bed, Jamie bade the caller enter.
“Ye managed well enough.”
Murtagh said gruffly as Jamie frowned and ran his fingers up his throat, finding a few more rough patches that the razor had missed.
“Thank ye but I need a mirror I canna…”
Jamie spoke out of the side of his mouth as he craned his neck to try and catch a tell-tale gleam of red hair in the light.
“Ye canna do anythin’ if ye slit ye throat, gi’ it here.”
Murtagh took the razor from Jamie and deftly rinsed it in the tub water before pushing Jamie’s jaw up lightly and getting rid of the last of the stubble.
Jamie wiped his freshly shaved chin on the blanket and turned to his clothes.
“I’ll do ye boots.”
Murtagh sat down on the floor and proceeded to buff Jamie’s boots with the single-minded ferocity of a berserker.
“Do ye mean to skelp the leather right off them?”
Jamie teased, wrapping the kilt around his hips and securing it with his sword belt.
Murtagh didn’t look up from his work but Jamie saw a small smile alight in the centre of his beard.
Jamie eased the shirt over his head carefully, his hands only trembled a little which was better than he had expected as the time to leave edged nearer. As he collected his brooch from the window he noticed that the sun was peeping out from between the clouds and he hoped it would hold, it would be nice for Claire to have sunshine on her wedding day.
“Right. How do I look?”
He asked, turning to face his godfather, holding himself unnaturally upright and puffing his chest out slightly self-consciously. Murtagh cocked his head to the side and studied Jamie for a moment
“Ye look verra fine, laddie. Verra fine indeed. Mistress Beauchamp will consider herself most fortunate to become Mrs James Fraser.”
“Mrs Claire Fraser.”
Jamie smiled shyly. It thrilled him to think of her as either but he understood feeling completely deprived of being ones old self, understood it more fully now that he once again stood in Fraser plaid and somewhat restored. He would not deny Claire her identity.
“Aye, Mrs Claire Fraser.””
Murtagh nodded and stood up, handing Jamie his considerably smarter looking boots.
“Come on then, one last dram as a free man!”
Jamie grinned and ducked his head as he pulled them on.
“If I’m to be a prisoner, I think I may be the most willing prisoner that ever lived.”
Murtagh rolled his eyes but a small warmth filled his heart
“I ken, laddie. I ken. Je Suis Prest, aye?”
“Oh, aye!”
Jamie beamed, love lightening his eyes to a sweet, soft blue and excitement adding just a little spring to his step as he lead the way.