FourtyTwo
LadyAmber
GubGar
Ersa93
Carlyle
MrSkimobile
udonoodles
Noctis
Damycles
The Bard’s College
Year 15AA...
A single bead of sweat rolled down over Eòghan’s forehead, the blazing midday sun bearing down on him with relentless fury as he worked. He gripped the last of his roughly hewn stakes and slotted it neatly into the grooved support posts. With a solid bit of applied pressure, the wood gave way just enough to allow the intrusion, and clapped back neatly around the stake to complete the fence, with his custom carved joints and rails enough to keep it solidly in place. A confident smile built on his features as he scraped up from the dirt to observe his work properly. His father would be proud to see his innovation and craftsmanship no doubt.
“Brie, I think I’m done, wanna take a look?” he said loudly, eyes fixed on his work, the neatly arranged stakes shielding the entire house. Simple, effective, and good-looking. He heard the idle rustle from inside the house as she made her move outside, and felt his pride swell when he heard her gasp. The blonde housewife wandered out into her little yard, a hand stretched out to gingerly touch at the new fence, and then grip it to test the durability. Eòghan smirked to himself, confident it would hold, and instead watched the Dûnan woman as she leaned and moved about. Her simple dress did little to mask her curvaceous form as she waddled around. Through his time in Ha-Dûna, Eòghan had come to find a natural appreciation for the natural beauty of women with a belly full of life. She caught him looking as she stood half-bent to inspect his fencework, and a self-conscious, shy smile built on her features. She toyed with a lock of her hair as she stood up, halted in hesitation before she approached. Every motion made Eòghan tense with a smug anticipation, watching her torment herself in thought.
“Oh, Eòghan, it’s wonderful! Ever since Gwyn told me what you’d done for her, I’ve been hoping we could finally put an end to our escaping goats and keep the children safe. Thank you!” Brie recounted with a warm smile. He watched her with a brimming smile, steadfast and roving over her features. He could see her battle with her thoughts. After another bout of hesitation, she grazed his arm with a flighty set of fingers, exhaling unsteadily to break her shy smile. The sensation sent a torrent of butterflies rippling through him, and only served to build his smile up further. This was paradise. “I’m-.. perhaps you’d allow me the courtesy of-... well, if you want to come in.. I could… make something. I feel like I should.. thank you.”
Eòghan gripped her hand into both of his own, and raised it to his lips. Keeping his gaze firmly on her eyes and face, he kissed it gently, and watched her face burst into new hues of red and pink. “The summer season has barely begun, Brie. I would hate for you to have forgotten me by autumn’s first breath,” he offered with a husky, confident tone. He’d practiced his voice for perfection, and it was a delight to see her so captivated. “And I’m afraid I’m promised elsewhere. But I’d love to come back tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” She offered, and her face grew redder as reason began to intermingle with shame. “I-.. well, it’s-..”
“Wouldn’t want to leave you without a fence gate to match, after all.” he offered with a smile, and gently laid her hand against her own chest, patting it briefly as he smiled.
The wash of relief, confusion, and anticipation that followed on Brie’s face was worth it. She exhaled deeply, unsteadily, and looked over towards the gate before snickering sheepishly. “Oh. Oh, right. Yes. Hah.” She locked eyes with him of her own volition, clearing her throat. “Tomorrow, then.”
“I’m already looking forward to it.” Eòghan mused calmly.
“Me too-.. I mean. Yes. Thank you again, Eòghan. I’ll.. I should start on dinner, I think.” Brie offered with flushed cheeks that were once more flaring up with shame. She bowed her head to him twice and then turned to waddle back towards the house, touching her cheeks. Eòghan followed her with his gaze, and she twisted around to thank him a last time before dipping back inside her little cottage.
Eòghan chuckled to himself, flexing his fingers thoughtfully as he watched the little drape cover the entrance to Brie’s home. He wasn’t sure how much Gwyn had told her, but it certainly wasn’t bad. Shaking his head, he wandered out of the yard, closing the soon-to-be-replaced gate behind him. The dirt paths of Ha-Dûna stretched out before him, and it was like stepping back out into another world. Without Brie to steal his attention, he heard the bleating of animals, the everpresent cries and yelling of children that really had become its signature melody, and the sights of folk going about their day.
He caught sight of Zelda watching him from two houses away, and smirked to himself. He still remembered the feel of her lips, and her soft skin against his. He lifted a hand to offer her a casual wave in recognition, and even from afar he could see her struck with embarrassment, shrinking together behind her gardening tool - but not enough not to return the wave shyly. He’d have to pay her a visit sometime soon, reassure her he hadn’t forgotten her. But first - he’d promised Gwyn to give her what her husband couldn’t. Ha-Dûna was a well-oiled machine, and Eòghan had found his place in it. He smirked to himself, considering his coming evening as he strolled down along the paths, learned feet carrying him towards Gwyn’s homestead by rote.
In the span of a second, however, two white-cloaked shadows appeared before him as though they had skipped out from behind a nearby bush. Their arms were crossed over their chests sternly, and one had a face with a fuzzy shrub while the other looked to have a bit of a back problem. They each offered Eòghan a scowl as the shorter of them, the one with the back, muttered, “Big plans today, Eòghan?” in a nasal, female voice.
Eòghan froze in his tracks, eyeing them both with confusion. ”Ah. Kaer… Rana, isn’t it?” he offered back at her with a quick smile, before looking at the fuzzy man. ”...And I want to say-... Hm, Garm? Jarn? Just enjoying the summer, myself. How about you two? He tried to look happy, but their stern posture made it difficult. Druids in general were difficult to deal with, that had never changed. Even Aoife had become demanding and aloof, always droning on about responsibilities.
“Gorm, and that’s -Kaer- Gorm to you, man,” the fuzzy druid responded and gave his temple a scratch. Kaer Rana followed Eòghan’s eyes back over to Zelda, who by now was hurrying back indoors. The old druid scoffed quietly to herself and looked back at the young man with her toad-like frown.
“Who’s turn was it -this- afternoon, then? Hers?” She nodded in the direction of Zelda’s house. “Anni’s? Perhaps it was Lubas? We’ve noticed you’re quite fond of her after all.”
“Well, I--”
“No, you know what? Following -this- route, it’s more like you were heading for the Shepherds’ home. Tell me, Eòghan, are you aware that Gwyn’s been married to Skallar, respected son of the Shepherds and proud member of the herjegalling tribe, for almost three years by now?”
”Oh. Uh. Three years, already?” he remarked with as much of a polite smile as he could muster, but felt a pit begin to form deep in his gut. An unpleasant, nagging worry. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, and shrugged his shoulders. ”Time sure does… uh, fly, around here. Now, whatever this is I’m sure there’s some misunderstanding.”
Both of them shook their heads. “Nuh-uh, not getting away that easily,” said Kaer Rana and looked over his shoulder back towards Brie’s home. “Eòghan, when was the last time you were home? With your wife where you belong? Aoife keeps telling us she’s worried sick about your behaviour, you know. The gods see all, my son.”
“The gods see all,” echoed Kaer Gorm.
“Sins like these are hard to wash away.”
His face washed free of his expression, a momentary lapse as worry gripped him tight. ”Aoife? Why-.. I mean, what did she say?” he shook his head, trying to ward away the spite they were so clearly trying to sow into his mind, and frowned at them both. ”No, you know what. Keep my wife out of this. I don’t like what you’re implying, and you’d better not be poisoning her mind with any of these… implications. I know what the gods see, I’ve spoken to Naya.” Eòghan continued with a little more fervor, grasping at what he could to muster a defence. He’d seen Aoife cry. He’d assured her nothing was wrong. Why was he like this? He shook his head, and pushed his thoughts down. The shame. He stared at them both with some conviction left in his body.
“Naya’s not the goddess you should be worried about, my son,” Kaer Rana mumbled with a sigh and reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “Taeg Eit, on the other hand, is devastated that you’d disregard the sacred oath of marriage like this - and lead so many other fine, young women astray to do the same. But there’s still time to do right, Eòghan - Reiya teaches love of all things, and Taeg Eit listens to the great Reiya if wrongdoers right their mistakes. Go home to her, my son, she misses you so dearly.”
“So dearly,” echoed Kaer Gorm.
Eòghan clenched his fist slowly, watching them both with a knot of frustration wrapped like a defensive shell around the storm of shame their words wrought. He’d been so careful. She didn’t know. Did she know? What would he say? How could he ever say something like this to her? It would ruin her to know. He loved her, after all, he wouldn’t hurt her like that. ”I-... I was headed there anyway.” he lied, feeling the stone lodged in his throat. ”Your rumour-.. rumour mongering isn’t helping anyone.” Eòghan decreed with the last of his confidence, shaking his shoulder as he frowned at them both. With that, he put a foot forward to continue - and then swivelled on his heel as he realized his home was in the other direction.
“Remember - Reiya forgives all!” Kaer Rana shouted encouragingly after him before they faded away behind a house.
His feet carried him at a sedate pace back towards his own home, and he let his frustrations out on every poor rock unfortunate enough to be in his path. Someone called a greeting, but he wasn’t paying attention anymore. Despite the clear weather, it felt as though a rainstorm was building, just over him, to sour everything. The stone in his chest and throat only grew as the path began to lead properly towards his own home. She’d asked what he’d been doing, and he’d always talked about his carpentry. Made sure to do work around the village. Did she know? Why didn’t she say? They didn’t talk a lot these days, though that had been squarely on her - somewhere along the way she seemed not to appreciate life as she had before. That was part of the problem, that much Eòghan was certain of.
Before he knew it, his hand fixed on the small wooden latch on the first fence he’d built in Ha-Dûna, and he lifted the small gate aside. The groan of the latch brought a pair of heads out from around the corner of the house, and two copper-haired girls came running over, shouting, “Mommy! Daddy’s home! Daddy’s home!”
Following them around the corner came none other than Aoife, her form fuller and tested by labour since the day they married. She offered him a tired frown and wiped her hands free of dirt on a linen apron over her white robes. She didn’t wear her tartan cloak due to the weather, which was uncommon even for her. She didn’t say anything, but crossed her arms over her bosom and watched their children grab at him eagerly. The door to the house also swung open, revealing another girl, this one copying her mother’s frown, but still going over to hug her father. From inside the house sounded a duet of baby screams.
”You bet he is! He-Heey!” Eòghan offered happily, accepting the initial tackle of hugs with jovial empathy. His children had a way of wiping away the worries. Such fearless, lovable scamps. He embraced them back, tussled their hair as he always had, and smiled warmly, eventually extending a hand to embrace the late arrival as he knelt down to hug his three girls. From his crouch, he smiled to himself, letting his thoughts stay in the moment. He glanced up to Aoife, a lingering smile sent her way. Just looking at her was enough to drain some of his confidence. ”What mischief are you all up to, hm?” he offered to his children, but kept his gaze on his wife.
“Tabby ate a fistful of dirt earlier!” shouted the second eldest of them, Juniper.
“We were making mudcakes,” gurgled the four year old and brandished her dirty hands. Juniper, a year her senior, started picking at grass stuck in Tabby’s hair, but then Tabby started touching her all over her face, causing Juniper to squeal.
“Nooo! Stop it!” The two of them fell to the ground as Juniper tried to pull Tabby off of her like a wild animal. The eldest daughter groaned and put her hands on her hips.
“Don’t do that in front of daddy! Behave yourselves!” she shouted. Vina had hair a shade darker than copper, like Aoife, and her voice shared the same notes, too, albeit lighter. Aoife crouched down next to the wrestlers and pulled them apart.
“Vina, take them inside and, please, try to calm your brothers down.”
“Yes, mother,” said the seven year old and grabbed both Juniper and Tabby by the hands, dragging them before they could properly stand up. “Come on!” she snarled and the two younger sisters both began to whimper.
“But daddy!”
“Later, sweety,” said Aoife. Finally, after much struggle, the three of them went inside and closed the door behind them. Now only Aoife and Eòghan were standing in the courtyard, Eòghan hardly being within its perimetre at all. Aoife almost stood like a barrier for further entry, arms ever crossed defensively over her bosom. She gave him a knowing look as if waiting for him to speak first.
Eòghan watched her in silence, feeling the feelings of shame return to his body like nervous jitters rippling through his muscles, and his fingers. After a few moments of awkward silence, he turned around to close the gate properly, and busied himself a little too long with the wooden latch. Anything to think. Finally, he swung back around, and mustered a soft, dampened smile. ”They’re as cute as ever.” he proffered calmly. On the inside, he wanted to hold her tight, kiss her, and go inside. He knew that wouldn’t work. Or at least, he wouldn’t want to see if it didn’t.
“Where have you been?”
He breathed a shaky sigh, taking a step forward to try and bridge the gap between him and his forlorn wife. He still remembered when he won her over with but a song and a smile. The days they spent together. She just needed to remember, too. ”You know, helping out. Building things. Fixing things. Working on my music.” he said with what he felt was an adequate amount of conviction. It was the truth, after all. Some of the truth.
Aoife’s frown deepened and anger sparked in her eyes. “Mhm? At the same five girls’ homes? Every day? From dawn ‘til dusk?”
The stone was back in full force, and it seemed to wrench his gut something fierce. He breathed out slowly, and took another step towards her. Arm reaching out to touch hers. ”No, my rose. It isn’t anything like that. I’ve-... I’ve been around a few houses, sure. Building fences, mending tools,” he began, eyes shifting to the side as he considered his words. ”Is someone spreading rumours about us? Is it Gillie you’ve been talking to again? I’ve said-.. I’ve said she’s never liked me.”
“No one’s spreading rumours, Eòghan!” she snarled a little louder than she looked to have intended. Her following words were almost so quiet that they couldn’t be heard: “I’ve seen you… I didn’t want to believe it, but I saw you a week ago, when you were just getting started on that fence for the Shepherd’s family. The way you held her, caressed her, looked at her… Is it me? Am I not pretty enough anymore?”
He thought back to his time with Gwyn a week ago, the frown clear on his face. After this long. They’d been too careless. He’d been careless. All these years together, undone by a fence Gwyn had insisted on. He knew it’d been a bad idea, and he’d done it anyway. Internally swearing, and some measure of defeat clear on his face, he looked at her properly and squeezed her arm. ”Is it-.. No! Aoife, you are my everything. I-... I know I have… that I have not given you the attention you deserve. But I'm here now." he offered with a shaky determination. Another step closer, and he tried to embrace his wife. "I'm here to stay."
Aoife stepped back reluctantly, but her steps grew smaller every time. Eventually, she stopped and let her husband embrace her warmly. Eòghan could hear her whimper into his chest as her small, yet work-tested hands tugged at his overshirt. “Do you promise?”
"I promise," he voiced with more warmth, the wrenching feeling in his gut slowly dissolving in the embrace. In the moment, none of the other women mattered. A distant memory, replaced with all the nights of passion he'd shared with his wife. "I love you more than anything, Aoife."
The following morning, the family had gathered for breakfast as usual. The resthouse system was kind to them all, and their household received bread and grain at the warehouse, along with milk, cheese, butter, potatoes, carrots, kohlrabi and onions. Aoife also kept a small herbal patch in their yard next to the wash tub and clothing line. They all had oatmeal cooked on goat’s milk.
“OW! AAAAAAAAAAAAH!” screamed Juniper after receiving a spoonful of hot porridge in her face at the hands of the gruesome Tabby-made spoon catapult. The four-year-old cackled maniacally, and the shouting taunted the two boys in their shared crib to join in with her on squeals. Aoife groaned from the bottom of her throat and pulled out a cloth from her apron’s pocket.
“Tabby, don’t throw porridge at your sister! Eòghan, honey, would you try to calm the boys down, please? No, Tabby, put down the spoon!” Aoife seized her hand and squeezed it until Tabby’s grip weakened about the spoon and her giggle turned to a whimper. Meanwhile, she wiped the porridge off of Juniper’s chest and stopped her from taking her revenge with claws and teeth. Vina, meanwhile, stared hopelessly into her bowl, covering her ears with her hands.
Eòghan rubbed at his eyes with a weary breath. He hadn’t slept this poorly in a while, and the chaos did nothing to soothe his yearning for peace and quiet. Still, he pushed up from his place, and steadily moved to the squealing duo of boys. He still felt awkward around them when they were this small. Aoife couldn’t stop telling him all the ways he was doing wrong holding, feeding, or playing with them back when they’d only had Vina. ”There, there,” he began with as much calm and charisma as he could summon in the morning, though it was quickly drowned out by the table. Instead, he resolved to scoop them both up, and gently nurse them to a quiet peace. He tried to shut out the chaos behind him, and focused on his boys. Beautiful - no, handsome, like their father. He was looking forward to teaching them all sorts of tricks. Things his father had never taught him. It quickly became clear to him however that his strategy was doing him no favours in calming them. Resolving to do what he knew best, Eòghan instead took to a calm song he’d written for Vina, as he laid them back gingerly and crouched down beside them.
”The spider climbs,
in a quiet and calm nook.
The worm crawls,
on the fisherman’s hook.
The snake prowls,
in grass and under rock.
The goat bleats,
frolicking in his flock.
Over forest and field,
the animals’ rule extends.
But to a Dûnan,
all of them are friends.”
The boys stopped crying little by little, looking at Eòghan with big, curious eyes. The oldest of them, Brégo, reached out with his small hands to grab at Eòghan’s thumb, cooing quietly as he tried to shake it. His brother, Hama, had not yet mastered rolling over, so he laid on his back grunting enviously at what he couldn’t participate in.
Eòghan considered himself a generous father, and extended his unassailed hand as he stood up, to offer Hama a chance at contact as well. Humming the melody through a jovial smile, he watched his sons for a long moment, taking in the majesty of young life. Brégo had his mother's eyes, a trait he was sure would stun many women as Aoife's had stunned him. For a fleeting moment of peace in the household, at least in Eòghans mind, he glanced at his wife without worry or shame.
Aoife was still busily wrestling Tabby and Juniper apart while Vina had left the table and headed outside, leaving the curtain door halfway pulled aside. Finally, Aoife just sent Tabby and Juniper out of the house, too, and started cleaning the table, which by now had become a mess of spilled porridge and milk. “Uuuugh, those two, little--...” She took a deep breath. “Remember, Aoife, Reiya teaches you to love your children… Loooove your children…” She then breathed out again with a little more relief and walked over to rest her head against Eòghan’s chest. “... They never tell you about this part of motherhood. I wonder why.”
Eòghan exhaled a quiet chuckle, lifting a hand from his sons’ sanctuary to lay on her back instead. ”I suppose we should not fault them for having the spirit of life in them. Part of it is my fault; they take after their father. I always got in trouble when I was little.” he offered up with newfound tranquility, gazing down at his sons with a smile. He stroked Aoife’s back gently, musing to himself. ”Perhaps if we even out the number of boys and girls, the gods will be so pleased they instill them with some calm.”
Aoife sighed. “I know Reiya teaches otherwise, but… Honestly, five is fine by me. I also feel like it should be my decision to make, considering…” She trailed off, pushing herself away gently and returning to the dishes.
Eòghan frowned ever so slightly, a twinge of that unpleasant feeling deep down bubbling up to make certain it was never forgotten. What did she mean by that? Why couldn’t she let it go? Perhaps she was simply talking about her being a woman. How could he know what to say? He knew if he said nothing, she’d sigh for the rest of the day. ”If you want to wait, that’s fine.” he eventually managed, watching her back as he moved to lean against the table.
“It’s not that, Eòghan. Most women have someone who helps around the house… It makes raising the children easier.” She sighed and refused to face him. “I’ve slept on what you said yesterday… About your promise. Would you commit to me - to us - if we had a sixth child?”
”Of course! he promised with a swiftness that surprised even himself. Could he make such a promise? Of course he could. Aoife was his to love, and the thought of her leaving him brought on a sour taste on his tongue. It had to work. He would be better. Eòghan nodded, mostly to himself, and stepped away from the table to walk across the room. Back towards his wife. ”I love you, Aoife. With all my heart.”
“You keep saying that,” she replied with a sad frown. “Over and over, you keep telling me that you love me, but then you go away, sometimes for several days, and you leave me behind with five children and a whole house and nothing to do but be the housewife like some, some peasant.” She dragged her finger along the corners of her eyes. “I am a druid, Eòghan, and I can’t even do my duties because I’m too busy with our family.”
He took another few steps forward, daring to extend his arms in an attempted embrace of her, unassuming and low, though thoroughly a move to trap her in place. ”I know, I know. I’ll-.. I’ll do better, Aoife. Be the man you need me to be.”
“You always say that, too!” she shouted louder than expected, faced him and pulled away from him. “You always just ‘say’ you’ll do this and that, and then you never do it! You instead leave to go work on, on fences and houses, or to gather inspiration for your music. Tell me, Eòghan, have you even made any new music in these past seven years? Have you?”
A bitter sting flowed through his body, a flash of anger he tried to keep down. ”Oh, you know I have. Don’t-... Or-.. have you forgotten the uh, the celebration of Reiya I played at Cewyn’s ceremony? I’ve made plenty of music. It’s just-.. just hard to, well, work with all-... all this!” he bit back with a little too much fervor, and watched her with a sullen mixture of regret and frustration.
“What’s ‘all this’, Eòghan?! You’re never here! It’s just me - it’s always been just me! Your daughter Vina, your oldest daughter, looks at you like a stranger, and Tabby and Juniper are only happy to see you because I keep telling them that you will be back eventually!” Her cheeks were awash with tears and she had to look away. “Cewyn’s ceremony was five years ago, Eòghan… Are you telling me you… Are you telling me you’ve spent five years…” She couldn’t finish her sentence, but instead dragged herself over to the table, collapsed onto a stood and let her sorrow drip all over the table top with loud sobs.
A cold chill ran along his body, first up his spine and then out over his arms, and into his fingertips. ”No,” he protested weakly, a tame rebuttal to the sobs of his red-haired wife. He had to do something. Anything. He dove deep into his mind, trying to conjure up any memory, any song that he had made. Only the one he’d written for Gwyn came to mind. There was nothing. Nothing except lying. ”I’ve-.. I’ve been working on an epic-.. My masterpiece. I-.. I was… I was gonna play it at the festival. An ode-.. to, uhm, love, and us.”
“Stop…” whimpered Aoife in response. “Please… Just…” The sobs choked out the rest of her sentence.
Eòghan stared at her for a long time, unable to speak. Somewhere deep inside, he felt the dam burst, his last hope crashing and falling away. There was only shame. Shame and resentment. He didn’t choose any of this. He had been perfectly happy in his village. Where there wasn’t anyone to ground his accomplishments to dust. Then she gets pregnant, and everything has to change? It wasn’t fair. The world was never fair. Eòghan burst into a sharp exhale, shaking out of his daze with a frown. He moved over towards the wall to unhook his lyre, and briefly inspected it with unsteady eyes. ”I-.. I can’t talk to you when you’re like this. We’ll, uh, talk more after dinner. I need to-... I...” he offered, trailing off himself as he found no suitable words. Still, he moved for the door. Aoife glanced his way and her arms buckled under the weight of her sorrows, laying themselves down on the table to cushion her head as her weeping loudened.
The searing sun had risen to its highest point, yet even from such a perch it could not find Eòghan, stowed away in the shade under the lone oak tree, plinking away languidly on his lyre. He’d gone to his usual spot, but there were too many people to greet, too many questions. He felt like something had changed in the very wind. The smiles people gave him were not as genuine, their eyes were judgemental. Just like his old village, he had to claw and bite to get any sort of respect. What did they know? Dùnans. Self-righteous zealots. He’d spoken to a goddess. Curried her favor. Where was his respect? They should come to him for wisdom. Not tattle on him to his wife, or stick their nose in matters that had nothing to do with them. Aoife too. If only she’d listen, there wouldn’t be any problem at all.
Eòghan sighed sharply to himself, and shifted his seat in the grass. It wasn’t fair. He was just as valuable a member of Ha-Dûna as any other man - more so, in fact! Who if not he would entertain those abandoned, do what needed doing? If he’d done anything wrong, it was on the husbands’ that didn’t satisfy their wives. Not him. No, no one - not even Aoife - understood his worth. Only the Love Goddess had ever given him trust and affection without demands. Truly understood who he was and what he wanted, without question. She was a goddess, though, and perhaps it was her knowledge to have.
He toyed with that idea, strumming on his lyre distantly. What did a goddess look like? He had been told of his village’s view, and that of Ha-Dûna, a mourning woman with small horns. He scoffed quietly, and dreamed an image of what a true love goddess would look like. Borrowed the best features of each of the women he knew, and found in his mind the perfect woman. A picture fit for a goddess. Eòghan smiled to himself, stuck in a simple fantasy of lascivious beauty and comely smiles. He strummed a few more notes on his lyre, and paused as he strummed something he enjoyed. Slowly, an idea came to him, and he began his writing process in earnest, repeating and murmuring words to himself, half-singing to a few more notes of his lyre. He reconstituted an old section he’d dreamt up but never used. It would bridge his words with a little adjustment.
The sun slid over the heavens slowly, cautiously treading closer towards the horizon, watching Eòghan spend the day consumed in his songwriting. Finally, when bells and shouts could be heard from Ha-Dûna as parents began to call their children home for dinner, Eòghan put his fingers on his lyre properly, breathed a gentle breath, and sang his first new composition in years.
”My goddess Naya, hear my song,
it is for your heart I do so long,
You are the one, the one I need,
the only woman I would ever heed.
I like the way you love,
as gentle as a dove.
I like the way you speak,
make my knees weak.
You are the one, the one I need,
the only woman I would ever heed.
I love the way you embrace,
gentle, caring and with grace.
I love the way you wear your hair,
framing a face with no compare.
You are the one, the one I need,
the only woman I would ever heed.
You are the perfect goddess for my heart,
every bit of you a work of art.
No one brings me joy like you can,
let me be your one true man.
Fragrant, beautiful, and slender,
Fair and gorgeous too,
Are the qualities of you.”
With a final breathed sigh to cap his song, Eòghan let his fingers slide along the strings of his lyre softly, allowing the melody to play out into the ether and vanish into thin air and silence. A rustle of leaves from the tree followed in the silence, a singular caw from a particularly bothered bird. Eòghan was about to rise when a strange but familiar feeling came over him. A rush of wind pushed through the oaken leaves, sending the bird flying away swiftly. A gentle gust tousled his hair and whined past his ear like a sultry breath cut short. He felt the air grow warm, a soft pressure on his mind, and his body. He was no longer alone.
"Oh, how sweetly you sing, Eòghan, son of Baltair and Muire,” a voice that he had not heard in a very long time crooned. His astonished expression shifted to a small smile, which grew when he felt a gentle pressure against his chest, as though someone pushed against him with their hands. "In all the love songs of the world, few take the time to remember me. Your voice carried through stars and void to soothe my spirit and fill me with fire. And-.. Oh, my.”
Eòghan made an effort to speak, but a firm, invisible force gripped his chin, tugging upwards slowly and compelling him to crawl to a stand, pushed back against the tree. Other sensations rushed across his body, like a dozen hands feeling and squeezing his form. "You imagine my form in such a base way, my dearest. Flattering. Riveting, even. Do they know you hold another in your heart? That they are but yours to use to build a form for me? A sinful, debased form, for your pleasure?” the voice continued with a conspiring tone.
He made another attempt to argue her words, but before sound left his lips, his mind flashed with the body he had dreamed up for his version of Naya, posed against him, breathing heavily, flitting across his eyes in vulnerable poses. It was exhilarating, shameful, and captivating, all at once. Almost real. "Is this what you’d like to see, my love? What you’d do? the voice questioned with a breathy whisper. She gave him no time to answer, still. "Perhaps you’d like to see my real form? To think of me when you linger with other men’s women?”
That made him frown, and he did his best to shake his mind free of the unbidden - but not unwanted - images. ”Will you mock me as well, Goddess?” he grunted with bubbling irritation, thinking back to his confrontation with his wife, and the druids. ”They think I’m just a liar and a layabout. No one here appreciates good music, good spirit, and helping your neighbour. So what if I’ve seen a few women when my wife turns me away? You don’t see Aoife bending over for another man. If the men in this town were good for anything beyond brutish labour, the women wouldn’t come to me.” Eòghan almost yelled towards nothing in particular, feeling his pent-up frustration bubble to the surface.
"You have it all figured out, my love, except for how to proceed. A house of twigs and leaves blown away by the slightest wind,” the voice retorted, almost sounding amused. "What have you done to fight these accusations, my dear? Argued? Lied? Mortals spend their lives proving their worth to each other. Life, love, desire. Nothing is free in life, my one and only. You took my gift, went to war, and put your weapon down after one battle. How can you expect a war to be won with no fighting, Eòghan?”
He scoffed at first, but frowned as the imagery set in, and mingled with his experiences. What had he done besides empty promises? Lying? Was this truly how it would be? ”I-... I can’t lose my family. Aoife. But I-.. I don’t think there’s a way back after today. I’m not strong like the others, I’m not a dumb farmer or even that skilled a carpenter. These backwards folk don’t appreciate my music like… like you do, Goddess. I have no way to prove myself. To win the war, like you said.”
"Dear, sweet Eòghan. They do not appreciate it because you do not share it with them as you do with me. Your songs, your music, it steals the heart just as a spear steals a life. If they will not listen, then you must make them.” the voice crooned back at him calmly, and he felt another brisk touch rustle through his hair. "Worry not, my sweet love. You’ve captured my affection, and I will treasure your words forever. For that, I will give you what you need, so that you will treasure me the same. Simply say what it is you wish, and it shall be my delight to equip you for your war of hearts, and minds.”
Eòghan's mind reeled with the possibilities of her offer. He had to be sure not to squander it. To gain back what he risked losing, in a way that suited him. Slowly, a thought began to take root in his mind, and he felt a smile return to his lips alongside his confidence. "Well,” he asserted with a firm tone. ”What Ha-Dûna lacks is a place for me. There should be a space for me to work and create, just like the farmer and the druids, and be appreciated for it. Something that makes people proud to share a roof with me. And, uh, a war, it needs warriors, right? I want others to take up the arts, who will love to learn from me, and laugh with me, and respect me! And, and, together we’ll be loved and respected like never before!” Eòghan declared with a heavy set of breaths. He blinked a few times, and hesitated. Perhaps he demanded too much. He was about to speak again when the voice cut him off once more.
"So be it, my sweet. You shall be a general in the war of hearts and minds. A conqueror. A king. And a king needs a fort. Behold your fortress, Eòghan, as others shall. Teach your army in the ways of your war, and you will build a legacy of song and dance that will carry far beyond your own lifetime.” the voice whispered into his ear, and the cloying feeling intensified. Leaves snapped from the tree and whirled around him in a furious vortex, and he felt himself lift from the ground.
In the distance, the ground rumbled and quaked with growing intensity, sending the poor village into an uneasy stir. Entire blocks of a nearby cliff toppled and cracked into fine dust, revealing smooth sanded brown stone walls rising from the ground beneath. With it came buildings unlike anything Eòghan had ever seen before, red roofs and windows decorating the smooth, angular stone structures. It jutted out of the ground like the crowning glory of Ha-Dûna, and simply looking at it instilled a calming sense of purpose in him. It was unique, reached for the sky, and commanded an instant respect. It was glorious.
When the quakes subsided and the massive building stilled, having completed its ascent, so too did the vortex around Eòghan. He touched down on the ground gently, lyre still clutched tightly in one hand. "If your war of hearts and minds falters, my dearest, sing for me, and I shall give you my heart once more.” the voice whispered quietly, and drifted into silence. At once, the air grew lighter, and his mind cleared of the subtle pressure he had felt.
Eòghan grinned with all his might, staring up at the grand structure in the distance. When he was done, Ha-Dûna would be a place of song, mirth, and pleasures. Surely now, no one would ever doubt him again. The man who seduced a goddess with song.
Years later, after Eòghan’s untimely death at the young age of twenty-nine, Vina stalked through the halls of the College of the Bards, flute resting snugly in the pocket of her baggy pantaloons. She caught herself all-to-often stopping in the courtyard, where outsiders came to be wooed by handsome bards and sexy bardesses, or to get a good laugh by seeing plays or hearing mealhouse songs. There stood a statue of her father, the founder of the college institution and revered servant of Naya, to whom the building was dedicated - how could they not have, after all? From top to bottom, inside and out, the Horned Goddess’ busts, statues and carvings filled every room, hall and wall. The monks, nuns and druids had been arguing over the clerical implications of this for ages, and what parts of ancient mythology would have to be rewritten to fit this new, unexpected face of the Mourning Goddess. Vina’s years in education were approaching their finale - the last thirteen years had been a mess of making curriculums and adjusting to this new appearance of musicians, playwrights and storytellers that seemingly just popped out of nowhere.
There was something else, too. Ever since the college had appeared, Vina and many others had felt a heightened tension in the air, as though it was charged with an invisible thunderstorm. Foreign merchants and pilgrims were gradually being segregated first to the fringes of the city centre, then outside the city centre. Nowadays, foreign merchants were often segregated to the outskirts of the city, where they set up faires in desperate hopes to draw in customers; foreign pilgrims were shown to leftover resthouses after the Dûnan druids had received their reservations. The sensations had culminated in the Conquests two years ago, and ever since those days, it seemed to Vina as though the Dûnans had lost much of the romanticised simplicity preached by the Clennon Fen factions. Their taste for war and rulership had driven them to professionalise those who had survived the campaigns, forming them into units of soldiers supported by the resthouse system. One regiment among these had shown immense promise, Vina had heard the visiting generals discuss earlier: These were the Stone Boars, the elite of the elite. Numbering a humble fifteen currently, they nonetheless put down outskirts bandits almost before blades were crossed on the battlefield, their charge alone terrorising the enemy into surrendering half the time; the other half, they luckily had support from the untrained levies that Dûna had started employing in a more and more organised manner.
Vina shook her head. You heard so much just stalking around between the guests to the college, casually spitting notes into your flute as to not rouse suspicion. The mood in the city had been oppressive, but it could hopefully be allowed to die down for a little bit soon.
Helgensblot was right around the corner, after all.
