It had been three weeks since Rohan, Angus, Lugad, and Hercules went on the quest to discover the secrets; the hidden mysteries; behind the four swords of Eire. Rohan's sword, the Sword of Kells. Bridie's sword, the Sword of Temra. Xena's sword, the Sword of Connacht. Mider's sword, the Sword of Rheged. The four mightiest kingdoms in the land, the four most powerful weapons in the known world.
Meanwhile, back at Kells Castle, someone was watching from the battlements, pacing the stone floor, wishing that her beloved would return soon.
Ivar stood in the shadows of a castle turret, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched Bridie pace. He had been watching her for some time now, wondering what, besides the fact that Angus was not there with her, could be bothering her so.
He took a silent step from the shadows, and Bridie jumped, her hand rising to her breast.
"Ivar; what are you doing out so late?"
The Moorish prince joined her at the wall, leaning his elbows on the stones.
"I suppose I should ask you the same question, Princess Bridie," he said, using her new title as princess of Temra. She waved the title and the question away impatiently.
"I am no princess," she said. "I'm just a servant girl to Deirdre who was lucky enough to become her friend. And you know why I'm up. I'm worried..." She let the sentence drift into the wind.
"About Angus and your brothers," Ivar said for her. She nodded. So did Ivar.
"They've been gone for a little more than three weeks," she said softly, narrowing her eyes against a sudden gale. "I knew it would take some time for Rohan to find the answers he seeks; but not this long."
"Deirdre said he told her the quest was far more dangerous than anyone realized."
Bridie knew, somehow, what the danger was. She turned to Ivar.
"A vision?" She asked. The prince nodded. Bridie shook her head fiercely. "Another vision might kill him, Ivar, we have to do something!"
"Patience, Bridie," Ivar said, placing a steady hand on her delicate shoulder. "Let's talk of other things, to keep our minds from wandering to such an awful event."
Bridie nodded, breathing deep of the air that had to come from the nearby sea, it was so moist and tingly with salt.
"What should we talk about?" She asked, closing her eyes.
"I like Deirdre, that's a simple enough start."
Bridie turned to stare at Ivar, not bothering to conceal her amazement.
"You what?"
"I don't know, Bridie. So often I look at Deirdre, and I can imagine kissing her; and I wish that she returned my feelings...but I know she doesn't. She cares for Rohan; and he for her. So I'll serve her, loyally, and him as well, the rest of my life. It's the closest I'll come to loving her, to love her as my friend. We could never be more."
"Like Lancelot and Guinevere," Bridie whispered, and Ivar smiled and shook his head.
"Not quite. I heard the legends of Arthur and his round table when I was in England on my way to find the thief who stole my chalice. I learned of the betrayal of Arthur's wife and best friend. I would never do such a thing to Rohan. Or to Deirdre. If only everyone could learn from that story as I did."
"I know," Bridie sighed. Once again she let her arms rest against the stone wall as she looked out upon the forest and river that ran through the village. "I just...I hope they return soon, that's all."
Turning, Bridie placed her hands on Ivar's shoulders and kissed his cheek, noticing the look in his eyes and ignoring it as she smiled.
"Go. Find Nadia, Ivar. Make her your wife while you can; it seems now is the best time to plan our futures; while Numaine is restful, we shall be watchful."
Ivar nodded thoughtfully, stroking his goatee as he turned to do as Bridie bid.
For the first time since he met Nadia, Ivar realized how much he really loved her...and their son, the strange little 'elf' boy called Xander.
Bridie returned to her room, stealing beneath the covers and resigning herself to another long, restless night; never guessing that in another room down the hall, candles had been lit and a close friend was preparing to leave.
"I came as soon as the courier gave me the letter," Uaan told Garrett, who was busily packing his things. "Your father recovered his health two weeks ago, but then was murdered on his afternoon ride. The body has not been found, Prince Garrett, but they found these in a copse near the place where he disappeared."
Uaan dropped his father's gold and ruby broach and a folded bit of cloth into Garrett's open hand.
"You must wait for Rohan and the others to return before you and your sister leave, my prince."
Garrett nodded.
"Let's hope it comes soon, Uaan, for I cannot wait longer than a week."
Rohan's eyes were getting heavy. He had been sitting before the ceremonial fire, waiting for the vision to come as he sat in the circle of stones on the hill where Fin Varra had sent him.
Slowly, like the calm before a dangerous storm, the vision came, shutting the half-elf off from the rest of the world...
(Four warriors carried the swords now held by Rohan, Bridie, Xena, and Mider...four warriors on horseback, coming from four points of seperate origin...one by sea, rider and horse coming as one from a ship, the others by land, from three other kingdoms.
Rohan recognized one of the riders as Fin Varra, a much younger, much stronger Fin Varra, his hair and beard deep red, like a mixture of Rohan and Deirdre's hair. His ears were more pointed, not drooping with age as they were now. His body was built for fighting, not for magic. The others were recognizeable as a younger Maeve, Torq, and Cathbad, all ready for battle...but battle against whom? And they couldn't have held the swords before-they would have told him. Wouldn't they?
There was a mighty battle. The victors were not the four warriors, but the faceless enemies they fought. Before dying, the four warriors called upon the spirits to disguise the swords and pass them to the next generation deemed worthy enough of wielding such mighty weapons. One of these would be king one day; perhaps even high king.
Fin Varra was cursed by the victors to remain as a fairy for all time, immortal and alone, as he watched his children and families grow old and die around him.
The other three passed on and were tossed out to sea.
The vision ended with Rohan's mother placing the sword beside him in his bed when he was two. Bridie's sword lie beneath her cradle, and Xena and Mider had yet to be born.)
Rohan shook himself, hearing the voices of his friends calling to him through the mist of his vision; he heard Angus calling his name and felt his friend's sturdy hand on his shoulder before he tipped to one side and went unconcious.
"We carried him back to the castle," Angus was telling Bridie as they hugged three days later in the throne-room. "He's in his room now, resting. Cathbad will check in on him later."
"With my father's murder," Garrett said, his hand squeezing Gabrielle's shoulder gently, "I must return to Rheged before the assassins try to take the throne. But I want Rohan to come with me; I want him to counsel me, and to protect my sister when I cannot."
"I'll go too, Garrett," Mider said. He had dressed himself in the uniform of a Kells soldier, joining the ranks after Gabrielle had rejected him. Uaan and Torq stepped forward.
"So will we," Uaan said, smiling at his brother. "You'll need protection, too, if these assassins are any good at their jobs."
Garrett nodded briskly, and all eyes turned to watch a sickly Rohan stumble into the room, his arm on Cathbad's shoulder. His chest was bare, but he carried a red, sleeveless shirt and a black leather vest with him. The vest, when he put it on over the shirt, had no sleeves. The holes for his arms were decorated with strings of leather, each holding two white beads and a knot at the end. The length of the vest was roughly mid-calf. Rohan wore different pants too; also black leather, with rips in the legs that showed him wearing some sort of orangeish-red legging beneath. His boots were black with red laces going up the back instead of the front or completely around. He looked...distinctly powerful in the new garb, though not unhandsome. His curly hair was tied back with a black leather-band, and for the first time Deirdre noticed...
"Rohan," she said softly, "you've points on your ears. Like an elf."
He nodded. "I know. Now when are we going, Garrett, I've little time to recover, I take it, before we sail?"
Garrett wagged his head up and down, still in awe over how different Rohan looked. The warrior/druid looked around at all the dumbstruck faces, rolled his eyes, released Cathbad's shoulder, and hobbled painfully to a chair.
"Don't stand there looking like a bucket full of dead fish," he said. "I'm not the man I once was, that's all. Now I AM the druid I was meant to be!"
In mere hours, a ship left a nearby port headed for Rheged, carrying Prince Garrett, Prince Rohan, Princess Gabrielle, Commander Uaan, General Torq, and Lord Mider as its only cargo.
In Kells Castle, preparations were being made by king and country to attend the inevitable coronation ceremony in Rheged; and if that meant leaving Kells and Temra for a while, so be it. Cathbad was powerful enough to 'wake the dragon' as it were, and put Numaine to sleep for a few moons. There was nothing to fear...
