Private Tales A gift from the sea

[Maeve]

Harsh breathing, the roar of her heartbeat pounding in her ears, the distant sound of the horn calling for the hunt…

Maeve opened her eyes to nothing but blue skies. The sun beat down on her oppressively and she turned her head weakly to the side. Her mouth was dry and her side was a blaze of agony as she tried to roll over and reach the skin that was just beyond her current grasp. Tears streamed down her cheeks but she held the sob in as her fingers fumbled on the leather pouch and she dragged it to her lips.

Plunging into the undergrowth, her horse disappearing from beneath her as an arrow found its mark, her light feet pounding into the earth as she ran…

It was getting harder to keep opening her eyes. The sky was no longer blue so she must have been out for a while, instead darkness wrapped around her. She was sure her eyes were open though because she could see the stars and the two moons. In her fevered mind she wondered if her parents were looking at the same site and wondering of her fate. Would they even…

The spray of water hit her cheeks, a soft gasp escaped her lips at the frigid temperature of the ocean, pushing the boat out just a little further…

Hunger and thirst were nothing but constant companions she had long ago forgotten so preoccupied was she with her sole tormentor which was pain. She tried to pull the arrow out of her side and her back arched with the agony of her attempt, screaming into the emptiness around her.

Footsteps on the sands behind her, a shout, a plea, scrambling to get into the boat with her pack as arrows thudded into the side, into her flesh…

Morning again, or maybe… afternoon. Definitely day. This time she was shaded though. Trees leaned over her and a soft wind blew across her face. It was almost pleasant especially in her delirious state. A faint smile played across her cracked and broken lips. The bleeding had stopped but in drying it had almost melded her hand to the wound on her side around the shaft of the arrow. She daren’t move it, daren’t move at all in honesty in case the pain got worse. This had been the first time in days she hadn’t been met with his presence upon opening her eyes. As unfocused as they were she moved her head as much as she dared to look around her but all she could make out was land nearby.

“Where are you taking me?” Maeve asked the wind, her only true friend though even that felt tainted, her gift probably the result of the pact her father made. It ruffled her red hair in response and a beautiful voice sung her back to the depths of unconsciousness.

 

[Liath]

She had washed up as Liath was sitting near the shore. It was as close to home as the exile dared to be. Some exceptionally clear days, though he knew it wasn't true, he fancied he could see the faint glimmerings of the Island he had been born on. But he never went much further than the low tides and outcroppings, ever aware that though it had been years... Maybe decades... His Patron would still be watching, the bargain still binding so long as his heart beat across the centuries.

But still... That face... There was no doubting where she had come from. The tattoos were different than when he had lived there. A darker blue. They likely used a different plant or mixture altogether to make the marks now. For a moment, after dragging her from the sea, he had sat next to her in the surf, catching his breath and staring at the fire-kissed hair. Wondering what sort of fresh torment Fiadh meant by this.

Eventually, after what felt like an Age but was in reality only seconds, he had decided to himself the fairy could be damned. He wouldn't let anyone die. Particularly not the first potential kinsmen to himself he had seen since he had left.

So he had broken the arrow shaft just above the wound and bound the rest in place and padded it, stripping off the worn hunting jerkin he wore. Tattoos similar to hers covered every inch of his torso, interlaced with scars and burns and other signs of a life lived in war. When done, he had scooped her up. Brought her into the house. Done his best as he knew how to bandage her. This lands' herbs were less potent, but he had dressed the wound in her side and others, Bathed away dried blood to make sure there was nothing he had missed.

From there he had set the fire higher, bundle her in furs and split more wood, and settled in to watch his visitor. Thanks to his gifts, he didn't really sleep much, if at all. So as he waited, his fingers drummed on the table, firelight casting across a craggy face. Humming softly in his mothertongue, singing a song of the sea and summer. And waiting.

Maeve

 

[Maeve]

His face fading as the shore grew further away...

The sound of singing was drawing her back but it mingled with a memory she had long forgotten, of sitting at her grandfathers feet as he sung of a legend of a man, a king who had once been the king of all kings, had united the tribes, then sailed across the seas. She remembered wondering why anyone would ever want to leave their home and the comfort of their people. How her grandfather would be shocked to see her now on a ship in the middle of an endless blue. It seemed she had finally discovered what could drive a person to commit such a crime.

Consciousness tugged at Maeve and her brows pulled together as she resisted. All that waited out there was pain and the sea. If she stayed in the darkness perhaps she could just pass over peacefully. Letting out a soft sigh she stretched her limbs and buried her face into the soft fu-

She definitely had not brought furs with her. Was this the next stage of pain, tiredness and hunger? Hallucinations? The singing that had drawn her from her sleep was still there but she didn't feel the wind and it was not one of their voices. This was... familiar and thus confusing, she had been expecting to hear the Common Tongue. Gods, had she just sailed around the island? Very slowly she opened her eyes, just a slit, to try and assess where exactly she was.

The only thing Mae could make out through lidded eyes was the fire and a pair of feet, a wooden floor and the fact she was on a mound of furs. She was half tempted to let herself go back to sleep, her forehead was hot but her body felt like ice. Fever. That explained the dream a little at least. Slowly she opened her emerald eyes, blinking away the salt and sleep. The more she opened them the more she was able to take in the room. Some sort of cottage, homely. It didn't scream threat. Perhaps a fisherman? Her eyes followed the boots up, though panic began to rise in her as she noticed the marks. Outsiders didn't have marks like that. She truly had sailed around and back to imprisonment.

Within seconds she was scrambling to her feet and making for the door. The fever, dehydration and the fact she hadn't been vertical for days sent her head spinning and her legs buckled under her. She hit the floor hard, panting, but that iron stubbornness had her scrambling to get her feet back under her. All Mauve could think was how soon her tribe would be knocking on this door and dragging her back home.

 

[Liath]

Swift movement born of centuries of war saw the second fall be into his arms, song cut short. Strength as he held her, speaking calmly and softly. The words were oddly accented to her ears, the phrasing almost overly formal and flowery. But languages changed in this long a time, even on an isolate island. The lass was likely running, from some one or maybe even some thing.

"Ease, be at ease. I am not your foe, but rather a boon companion. We are not on the isle. We are at my home, near the Elven Forest. I know not what hunts you, but ill would be the odds for it to come to these walls. And long the odds against it's victory."

As he spoke, gently his arms pushed her back to the bed and furs, and he tried to soften a face marred by years of scowling and pain. Like most of his people, she was fire and spirit personified. In the corner rested arms of a warrior, antiquated by now in all likelyhood. An ovular shield with iron boss, a long spear that looked like a single shaft of wood, with still living vines covering it. Sword in worn leather and even a helmet on a shelf next to the weapons. Books lined the cottage in several shelves, with trinkets on the mantle from the many lands the warrior had fought for, or against, or just visited at the whim of the one who held his bond.

Overall the place was homey, safe feeling. But almost lonely. There was evidence only one person lived here, as everything seemed to lay just so. But likely next to catch her attention was the smell. Lemongrass, butter, various herbs. A stew boiled in a large iron pot over the fire, and bread sat the table. There was hardly much purpose to a life as long as his if your diet was bland and poorly made.

"Please... Sit... You are safe. And free to go at whim. Though I implore you to rest at least the night, to let your fever break. There is stew, and I will leave you to it and take mine outside if you wish..."

Maeve

 

[Maeve]

Frustration welled inside of her breast and blossomed like a thorny rose at her inability to control her own limbs. Maeve could feel the tears welling up from the pain her impact with the floor had caused, but nevertheless she made a second attempt to get her feet beneath her. She was Ilcinki, Erainn, she would not be held back by her own failings. Alas, despite her iron determination, the second pass at standing was no more successful than the first and she braced for the impact of the floor. But it never came. Strong arms caught her around the shoulders and behind the knees, then she was being carried back to where she had started. If anything it only spurned the panic inside her more like a horse who had scented fire and blood. Even as her head lolled against his chest with the same vertigo feeling that had caused her to fall she was hitting at his chest with the fist that wasn't crushed between their bodies with surprising strength.

"No, please, He will find me and-"

Finally his words seemed to reach her and she did still, breathing ragged as she was set back down on the pile of furs. The words, though that of her people, sounded out of place. More suited to a throne room than the simple cottage she appeared to be in. Her green eyes showed nothing but mistrust and wary scepticism as he stepped back, watching him go. Then slowly, hesitant hope.

"Truly, we are not on the Isle?" Mae had never heard of someone else leaving the island the Erainn called home outside of stories. Her gaze flicked nervously around the room as if it might disappear and all be a cruel joke. They rested on the pot of stew for a moment and her stomach betrayed her with its loud complaints before back to the man opposite her. Manners first. "I... thank you bráthair, for your hospitality. It would be rude to make a Host who has done so much already spurn his own fire."

Liath

 

[Liath]

"We are not. A clear day's light and you can almost see it. But we are on the mainland. And.. Whoever seeks you would do well to seek elsewhere... "

Here the warrior nodded to the collection of arms in the corner. Obviously well cared for, polished and sharpened for years.

"Should they come within, to my domain, I will send them to whatever God they choose to meet. No Lady should be without some safety and comfort..."

An emphasis on the word "Lady" showed he had sussed out that she was no farmer's daughter. Turning, he grabbed two well turned wooden bowls, worked with simple concentric lines. Not crude, but hardly much finery for a Princess. A ladle that had a bent handle and it's share of dents in the spoon. The stew ladled out had chunks of vegetables, herbs, and meat. He offered her one, after sitting his down, the other hand holding clean water.

"There is a spring up the hill. It is fresh water. I have mead and whiskey, but not much else. I have been gone on campaign. You are lucky I came by the beach earlier on my way to my home. I usually do not, but whimsy took me to catch a glimpse at home."

Maeve

 

[Maeve]

Her doubt on whether he would be able to stop her pursuer was written in her eyes but she passed no actual comment. Instead, Maeve took the bowl he offered mutely, cradling it in her lap between her thighs and then taking the offered water with a slight tremor to her hand. Her lips throbbed at the mere mention of anything stronger, so cracked were they, and she shut her eyes tightly as she drained the entire glass of water in one long drought. Her throat had been dry and the taste of the sea still lingered in it so she was glad of the fresh and tangy taste of a young spring. Even still, taking on the water stung a little after so long without and she grimaced a bit as she set the glass down.

"Then I must be thankful for your whimsy even if I do not understand your desires to look upon such a place," Mae spoke quietly and stirred the stew with the spoon as she thought about whether she would ever want to look at her home again. If the humbleness of the items or the cottage bothered her even after he had marked her as high borne she didn't let it show. In truth it did not. Besides, she was more concerned with what it contained than how it looked. With great care she took a spoonful and raised it to her lips, blowing on the liquid to cool it before tasting it.

After days at sea it could have probably tasted like mud water and she would have praised it as the best meal she had ever had. The hints of spices and herbs were not too overpowering but neither were they lacking. Despite it being a combination of flavours she had never tasted before a soft moan of appreciation escaped her lips and from that moment on all decorum she had attempted to uphold went out the window. She fell upon the meal like an animal starved and finished it in a time that her teachers back home would have frowned upon.

"Blessed again that I was found by someone who can cook," a small lift at the corner of her mouth. "May I ask the name of the man who pulled me from the sea? Mine is Maeve."

* * *

Liath​

 

[Liath]

"May I ask the name..."

It was simple. Innocent. An honest question. But he stiffened for a minute. His name wasn't common even in his day. He could only imagine it was less so in the intervening years. But she had obviously fled something terrifying. And to deny or lie would be a terrible way to start things. At the least, custom and morals demanded he help her find her feet and strength, and a way to make her own.

For almost three hundred years he had hidden his name under so many others. Often his Patron demanded it. But when he spoke this time, he spoke truly. His shoulders relaxed, and he let a small sigh. Preparing for doubt or any number of other negative reactions. Sitting, he took a pause, taking a spoon of his own stew, before speaking.

"Liath Seabhac, son of Manaaen. I am pleased to have you, Maeve. I am not a broadly skilled chef. But I have had long enough in this life to learn what I like."

Maeve

 

[Maeve]

Maeve's mind was whirling, going back to that memory he had stirred up when he was singing whilst she slept. Sitting in front of the fire at her grandfathers feet and listening to the story of the King of Kings. Of Liath Seabhac. There was not one person on the Isle of Delbhna that did not know his name. There were countless songs of how he had united the clans under one banner, of his pact with the Seildhe that had brought him eternal youth. He was the stuff of legends. No, the stuff that legends aspired to truly be. Her eyes roamed his face, the tattoos, looking for anything that would firmly tell her what he said was a lie. She had thought his markings out of date but had dismissed it simply as a young man who had wanted to try and embody the histories of his people. It was not common but it wasn't entirely uncommon for those who had such bold ideas for their future to pick such a great patron as to inspire their marks. Of course, the lightness of the pigment had also confused her - the darker shades had been used since her grandfathers time. But again, perhaps the sun in these parts bleached them quicker.

There were many excuses she could make for not believing him but were any of them solid reasons and not just based on assumptions?

If it was true she was sitting in the presence of her King. The True King. The King that many of her people believed would return one day and bring back peace. And if it was true, how would she be able to defend her actions if they were rude and beneath the respect he deserved? She may have left and sworn never to return but no simple sea journey would be able to remove the years of heritage she had been taught and moulded by.

Emotions warred across her face as she debated her next move, then resolve settled in her heart. Despite the pain it caused her she stood and then took a knee in front of him, her head bowed in the due respect and her fist pressed over her heart. Even as a Princess, he was deserving of a level of respect she would show nobody else.

"Mór Rí please forgive my digression on not offering you the proper respect sooner, I am sorry for imposing on you like this," a pause. Her tutors words ringing in her ears of how not to act but she couldn't help the next comment. "But I am more thankful now for your years away if it has taught you how to cook."

* * *
Liath​

 

[Liath]

The custom made the Exile awkwardly off foot for a moment, which was not something he was used to seeing. But the pain in her face was visible even if brief. Her words next were polite, and the second bit brought a smile that danced in his eyes, if only quirked his lips a bit. Visibly, to a keen eye, he relaxed.

A sturdy hand helped her up, and back to sitting. The next words seemed gruffer, but they were also in common. He spoke mostly without accent of any sort, a nod to the wide roaming and long-lasting life he had.

"No need for that, Maeve. I am not your King. Not anymore. The lovely Lady Fiadh saw to that. Hasty words brought untold and unforseen debt. Caused my exile an all that followed. You don't owe me much but scorn." For a moment he nodded before speaking. "Just don't ask me to bake. Rebuilding this fireplace is tedious even for one with virtually limitless youth."

Maeve

 

[Maeve]

Maeve felt a bit like a small child the way he helped her to her feet and back to the pile of furs, but even she couldn't deny the state she was in required it. So, even though it wounded her pride a little, she went with the movement rather than against it and sunk gratefully back into the furs before her legs took the option away and did it for her. Her mind struggled to pick up the Common Tongue for a moment, eyebrows pulled together in focus, before it seemed to click back into place, like the dust was coming off the cogs.

"But...." Maeve couldn't get her head around it. What did he mean he wasn't her King? Saying 'you are' sounded too whiny and she couldn't bring herself to do it even if there were no other words to express the deep rooted knowledge that was burning in her heart; he was wrong and he was her King. "I don't understand." A soft sigh. Her head was swimming. "They say you left because you had restored peace and would come back if you were needed again... this is not so?" As with all histories it changed, grew, depended on the person putting quill to parchment or whether the teller had had one too many whiskies that night.

 

[Liath]

For a moment, he looked wistful, gazing into the distance. Since Fiadh had forced his exile, he could always tell where the Isle lay. Like iron to a lodestone. And his gaze drifted there, memory dancing in his mind. Slowly he shook his head.

"I cannot return. My patron, the one I made a deal with, twisted my words. As they do. I had been ordered against returning... I do not know what will happen if I do so. I know if the bargain is broken on either side, the magic will take unexpected turns. What turns, and how.. I do not know... It could be the powers I gained will diminish, and I will become mortal. Age normally and die. Might be that there is retribution... The moment I touch the shore, I could fall over dead. But I know she will wreak vengeance against the Clans if I return. She takes joy in my suffering. So I remain here. In exile. You are the first person from home I've spoken to in centuries. And when you are well and on your way, I will return to a life of solitude and adventure, trying to find a way to break her hold on me."

A long, slow exhale. Few bites of his stew. Then he smiled.

"But for the time you take your ease here, I will do all I can for you. Teach you. Train you. If you wish to survive off the Isle, you will need skills."

Maeve

 

[Maeve]

It was a weird sensation that dawned on Maeve as she listened. All this history and hope that had been passed down from generation to generation simply gone. There was no greater man coming back to steer them out of the wars the Clans were descending into again, only chaos lay ahead. He snuffed out her belief like a candle. She was quiet for some time, staring at him blankly as she tried to rearrange her entire belief system. Slowly she closed her eyes.

Too much.

"I'm not going back," a quiet voice and tired but determined. "Fiadh is your Seildhe? They can leave the Isle?" another myth that surrounded the creatures their people made pacts with. Twisted pacts. If the King could get it wrong and find himself in this predicament what hope did she have when she didn't even know the terms that had been laid out on her behalf? Especially if he had a piece of her soul - could he truly follow her here and beyond?

"What I... What I need to learn is how to kill one. To break a pact."

* * *
Liath ​

 

[Liath]

"Aye. Some can leave and some can't. Has to do with their power, and age."

Suspicion tickled the back of his mind that maybe this was a trick by the Fey who did so love to torment him. But... She was usually more direct in her sadism. A shell puppet would likely be beneath her.

"Breaking a pact and killing aren't always the same result. It's sorta like letting down a weight tied and hung on a rope. A sudden cut may be the only and best way, but it has other consequences. Same with killing a Patron. I know they despise iron. Fire. They seem to like silver. Iron though... Iron will burn them, and it will take forever to heal. If it does at all."

Sitting back, he took a few more bites, considering as he chewed.

"Fiadh is strong enough I never thought to break my own. I worried about the consequences to our people if I had. I don't know much on it. But... There are places of lore & learning. We can discuss it as you heal. If you prove sturdy enough, I can take you as I wander. See what resources the libraries of the world have. Little else to do with my time, and she hasn't came calling in decades for me."

Maeve

 

[Maeve]

Maeve listened to the information quietly, putting every little bit of it away on a shelf in her mind to use for later. She had another goal at least; to find something made of iron and turn it into a weapon should she need to use it. There was hope after all that the creature she was bound to was not old enough or powerful enough to leave the Isle. Doubt gnawed at the thought as soon as it crossed her mind but hope would not be a danger to her, it would keep her strong and focused.

She realised she had been staring into the fire whilst he was talking and sat up a little straight before turning her attention back to him.

"I... would like that," Mae said after his words actually sunk in. Even if he wasn't going back to the Isle to go and travel with a hero of her people would be something to behold. "Thank you," she added hastily as if remembering her manners. Yes, she would find this information and then, maybe, when she was strong she could go home and get rid of her problem once and for all.

"Thank you for all of your hospitality, truly, I wasn't sure what to expect beyond the sea but it was not a countryman. It... is a pleasant surprise."

* * *

Liath​

 

[Liath]

"It's not so much of a bother. You live alone long enough... Any company is welcome. Though such as yours is a bit better than those I was with prior to coming home. To be sure. Eat though, please. We will rest a few days. Let you get your feet under you. Give me time to hunt, bring in extra food and wood as you do. Give us both time to know the other. If we travel as a team, that will be useful knowledge. I didn't find a boat... Or supplies. We can head to the nearby village tomorrow. You'll need better clothes. And we can talk weaponry. What skills you have. I won't have dead weight. Can you agree to that?"

As he spoke, he smiled. It was good to have another voice and person in the house. Though there was the one bed, so he would be taking the hammock out under the overhang. It was nice weather though. Would give him time to mull over what was needed to. It would be an adjustment, not operating alone. Most might have regarded the girl with suspicion. But Liath was not of that sort. Omens and portents existed plainly in his life. And this one bore watching. Besides, his various gifts and boons from his Patron and life in general would make him a hard kill for most anything.

Maeve

 

[Maeve]

"Y-yes?" Maeve wasn't sure what other answer she could truly give without being thrown out and she didn't want to be thrown out. Her great adventure had not started so well and she was young still. Even if she was perhaps skilled for a Princess she did not have the years enough under her belt to call herself a master of anything. First thing was first though; listen to the request to eat. Her stomach was more than keen to rush to fill that order. Quietly she stood and helped herself to a bit more of the stew, a creeping burning sensation across her cheeks. She was a slender girl on the cusp of being a woman but she could put away a lot of food. She sat back down with a grateful sigh the task of moving was done and ate this helping slower.

"I guess the best way is for me to talk and for you to make an assessment. I am Princess of the Ilcinki Clan," a brief pause as she glanced his way as another thought dawned on her. Her family were proud to call themselves descended from the King of Kings. Did that make him her.... she counted but lost her way at around the 20th great. A shake of the head and she continued. "Our skills lie with the horse and hunting mostly. I am good with a sword but I am better with a bow and arrow or javelins from a horses back. I've been schooled in a lot of things you might expect I guess. I do not think it has changed much since you were on the Isle. Languages, reading, writing..." she made a dismissive gesture. Things she considered basics. The next bit was harder and her brows pulled together as she spoke it.

"I can hear the wind, talk to it. Sometimes it helps me sometimes it doesn't. I do not entirely understand the gift. My parents... when I was little made a pact on my behalf with a Seildhe who cured my illness in return for a claim on me. It was why I ran. I tell you this only because I think it is connected to these... boons with the wind. Not for pity for pityssake." Mae would never want that. Ever.

 

[Liath]

"You won't find pity within me. Not often. Charity, mayhap. No pity. They likely are linked, the wind and your parent's bargain. These pacts seem to sometimes have unintended consequences and boons. Or maybe it's lesser Fey having less control over their wilder magics. Hard to tell. As for skills, it's helpful you have skill with a bow. I can hunt, but I am no marksman. Spear and sword are my work. Thaeryl, the village I mentioned, has a bowyer of suitable ability. It may not be an artifact of the Gods, but it will more than serve."

He noted the blush, and chuckled. Some things never changed. Women always hesitant to eat around men. Understanding and humor were best to shatter that facade with the youth.

"Please, Maeve... Eat. This is not the High Court or even your house. We are just two travelers. If you eat five bowls all it says, under this roof, is that I got the herbs right and that you would probably love the spice-jerky from Vel Anir.

As to your... Gifts... We can test them. They usually start as a latent ability. Listening and talking to the wind is likely the beginning of what you can do. Though how to develop it, I can only guess. Mine own are in different areas. Fiadh made it so it seem centuries pass like a single year to me. I heal in days what takes others weeks. I sleep only an hour or two every day, if that. I can wrestle a bear and not be outmatched. More as time goes on, the gifts grow. In nature, I am hard to follow or track unless I wish to be. Especially in the forest. Darkness is easy to see in, though exceptionally bright light like a desert is... Less than ideal... And other less tangible abilities It is very likely that as your age, your gift will develop further, and other manifestations will emerge.

Though typically, it centers around an ideal. I needed to be king... My gift centers around the ideal of that - wisdom, war, wit. Yours was to cure an ill... So... Who knows, you may yet become a great healer. Or perhaps it will go another way. I suggest we start at Thaeryl in a week. Long enough for you to rest. Get your strength back. We can supply there, and seek out local elves. They will have advice."

It was hard to not speak so much in the company of this one. She was wise beyond her years, and felt familiar in an odd way. He would save the full details of his Gift for later. Part of him suspected the details would shock her, and if his guess held true, it worried him. An issue for another time, though.

Maeve

 

[Maeve]

It was... a relief to have someone explain it to her properly. To understand what had been made in her name when she didn't have a say and the impact it was going to have on her for the rest of her life. She quietly spooned the stew into her mouth whilst he spoke, only breaking eye contact every now and then to ensure she had scooped up a good spoon that had a bit of everything in it. Those were the best. She had a lot of questions about elves, villages, what types of adventures they would be going on or ways to test her magic but...

Most important question first:

"What is spice-jerky?"

Liath might regret telling the young girl she could eat as much as she wanted. The chef back home had complained she had hollow legs and she ate more than her own father when she had been out for a ride. She finished off her second bowl a little slower than the first and went for thirds. The colour was coming back to her face at least now, even if the signs of fever were still about her.

"I would appreciate the testing... I have been able to do it for as long as I can remember but I didn't really have anyone to talk to about it... Well no. I had him to talk to about it but I didn't know what or who he was then. My people don't tend to make pacts with the Fey... least it is not as common as other Clans." A deep sigh and a frown marred her brow. Why her parents had gone she would probably never understand unless she had children one day herself.

"I'm not sure I like the idea of them developing further though. It would mean I owe him and I didn't want any of these gifts in the first place. I would give them back but..." But there was no returns on pacts.

 

[Liath]

"Strips of dried and flavored meat. Rubbed with peppers and spices. It is... Delicious. As for your gifts... You don't owe him a thing for being what you are. And when we stab him with iron and burn his corpse, you'll really not owe him anything."

The last cold, quiet, and matter of fact. Seildhe were powerful, by Fey standards. But if it could be done, he would free her of hers. He was stuck, in all likelyhood. But he had spent a while honing and expanding his gifts. Strengthening his mind and body. And, crown or no... This was exactly why he had sacrificed what he had - To help his people.

Maeve

 

[Maeve]

Maeve made a quiet note of the food in her mind, she would definitely be trying some of that. Perhaps he would like a meal of home too one night. She had a few things in her pack which she noted he had brought in with her from the boat. A sad pang ran through her as she thought of the broken bow on the beach; she had had it since she was 13 and it was a bow she knew inside out. That it had broken on her flight was a hard loss.

The cold conviction in his voice was comforting and she visibly relaxed. It had been a daunting task to do on her own but that he thought this was now a task they could do together... For the first time since she had discovered her parents secret she felt hope. But with relief came tiredness. The adrenaline she had been building to keep moving and running was wearing off.

"Your gifts... those are the ones spoken of in the songs but you have been gone for hundreds of years and if they grow with time...." she left the question open. If he had started with those gifts how had they developed now?

 

[Liath]

"You would be hard pressed to best me in battle. Or wound me seriously. Though centuries of experience in general mean that I rely on the gifts less and less. Or maybe they are just more natural, and my body doesn't notice the toll. It is hard to say. The last true contest I had was with a Frost Giant up North. We fought almost from noon to twilight. With some chasing in between. It was... Unpleasant. At last I shoved my spear Gaelbug there between his eyes and nailed his head to the very rocks at the entrance of his cave. His kindred fled. The riches within started a nice kingdom just south of the Tundra of the bear-people. Nothing huge, but they are doing alright."

Realizing, that to him, his last 'good fight' was a saga to be sung to most, he chuckled. Reached for the skin of mead, bit the cork open and took a long pull as he looked into the fire. Thoughts danced in his eyes and he shook his head slowly in memory.

"But the best fight i've had since leaving was half drunk near the Spine. A stableboy almost beat me. With a bucket. I've a spear that can pierce mountains, and a battle-rage that can rattle plates of armor. Yet he gave me a good go and left me on my arse in pig shit. Because I was cocky. Ego undoes any warrior. Tell me.. You use a bow. You hunt. Can you track, outside forest and plain?"

Most couldn't, and relied on bent grass and broken twig. But even rocky scree left some sign, if one knew to look.

Maeve

 

[Maeve]

"So if I want to beat you in a fight I have to get you drunk and use household appliances," Maeve nodded solemnly but she smiled into her stew as she finished off her third bowl. The Princess eyed up the pot as if deciding whether or not she could handle a fourth and settled on helping herself to some more water instead. Sometimes dehydration was the real cause of hunger.

"I would like to say I can but my practise in those areas is smaller than the plains and forests for obvious reasons," that was her home environment and long expeditions for Princesses were a hard thing to win. "When we were visiting one of the Mountain Clans - Doguul - we had a three day hunt thrown for us. That was good fun, a real challenge," clearly it was a good memory because her voice was animated despite the tiredness that fogged her eyes.

"Why, do you have a mountain mission in mind?" Now she was feeling less like she was about to collapse she glanced down at her side and took a peak beneath the bandages. Grimaced. Least it didn't look too infected anymore. "I might be slow but we can leave tomorrow," steely determination or the recklessness of youth? She had known he had said a week but she wanted to prove herself.

 

[Liath]

"We can take time. I highly doubt they will think to look for you here, of all places. If they even look. And if they do... We shall see they regret it. We will take our time. Better to have you hale, then run off too soon and exertion weaken you to where we have to stop out there."

A soft, wry smile covered his features. She had fond memories of the hunt, and a quick wit. All good things. Sitting aside the empty bowl, he rose and went to the window. Black clouds on the horizon. Tang of salt on the air. Likely whatever had wrecked her boat out there was a precursor to the true storm. Or just another summer squall.

"Besides. Storm is arriving. Will at the least stop preparation for today. And likely tomorrow. So rest. Recover."

Turning, but pulling the window cover, he walked outside. Not unikindly. But to give her space. He would sit idly on the stool out under the light front "porch", humming an idle tune as he strung the hammock up and sat back, an aged pipe clenched in his teeth as he took his ease in the sling of the hammock. He would not need true sleep for days yet. Not really.

Maeve

 

[Maeve]

Maeve stifled a yawn as he spoke about resting. She was ready to put up more of a protest when he mentioned the storm and she conceded - even she didn't want to start a journey of this importance in the rain. She smiled to watch him go, a small thing that turned only one side of her lip upwards but she didn't protest. Once she was sure he wasn't heading back in she peeled her grimy clothes off and washed in the basin of water as best she could. Tomorrow she would find a stream to have a proper bath but this got off the worst of the dirt. With no more energy in her she crawled under the furs and promptly fell asleep.

The next day was probably proof she would not have made it onto the road, her fever burned and she barely remained awake enough to eat let alone do much else. Towards the end of the third moonrise it finally broke and she began to feel better, though still she slept through the night for a good ten hours. Her body was busy healing itself. It seemed, that she too healed at a slightly faster rate than normal humans not that she had ever noticed before; it had simply always been the way.

Of course she ruined it by fooling herself into thinking she was better on the fourth day and had ventured out on her own to explore the local area. Discovered what elves were. Perhaps a stressful encounter for Liath but Mae had partly enjoyed it despite the severely bruised knee.

The rest of the week as she truly showed she was on the road to recover and she spent talking, filling him in on things he had missed. The separation of the clans again, the way different monarchs staked a claim on the throne of clans by tracing their lineage back to Liath himself. Her family included. She talked a bit more about her own clan, passed on the news she knew of his mothers clan. In return she lapped up the stories he told her of his adventures in this world. It was a bit awe-inspiring to be living with a true legend and she found herself at times watching probably a little to intently when he did something, hoping to learn some secret from his work.

Finally the week he had set as their marker to begin the next stage of their adventure rolled around. Mae was up early, dressed, and stood on the beach shore as she waited for him to be ready too. She had a few rocks in her hands and she was skimming them across the ocean surface with childish glee. As he grew closer he might catch the few odd words she spoke to the wind which seemed to whirl only around her form. It was playing too, picking up rocks and skimming them after each one of hers as if they were in competition.

It abruptly vanished when it sensed him and Mae half turned.

"Good morning, Seanathair."