The boy was acting up again.
"Lugad," MacAlpine said sternly, admonishing the young warrior, who quickly tilted the point of his sword to the ground. "Lugad, I feel I've been too soft on ye."
Lugad drew his brows together into a dark, bushy line. "What do ye mean, my lord?"
"Walk with me, lad, will ye?"
Lugad nodded, sheathing his sword carefully in the leathern at his belt. MacAlpine led him down a small wooden path, motioning with his right hand but saying nothing for several minutes.
"Ye knaw why the warriors we fashion here are sae different? It's not just the way we train them, ye knaw."
"No?" Lugad asked lightly; his voice had gotten much deeper recently; he sounded like a Scots version of his brother.
"No," MacAlpine stated. He led Lugad down toward the training yard, where they kept carefully behind a copse of trees as they watched the other warriors train.
"Look, lad," he said, pointing to a blind, kilted soldier who was learning to 'see without sight'. "Someone else can be yer eyes; but not yer heart. Do ye see? Fighting requires a certain fixity of purpose. Not many people possess such qualities."
Lugad glanced down, his green eyes then fixing onto MacAlpine's as the older man brought his hand down gently on the younger one's shoulder.
"Ye do, Lugad. Ye have that enthusiasm, that purpose. Until now I somehow failed to see it."
Lugad's eyes sparkled, and MacAlpine smiled as he attempted to explain.
"I'm not prescient lad. I canna tell ye how ye'll fare, whither or no ye'll prove a strong, mighty, and wise warrior. But I think ye'll try." MacAlpine nodded slowly, narrowing his eyes as he took in the darkly tanned skin, the slightly mussed brown hair that was braided in three places in back; the lightest green eyes, eyes that seemed so kind and yet also to stare into a man's soul. "Yes; I think sae."
"I'm sorry about before, my lord," Lugad said softly. "But I was distracted. I'm up against sae much here; having tae kape on the right side of the other warriors..."
"It's commendable, Lugad, the way ye try sae hard tae hald yer own against them. Ye speak yer mind and regard honesty as the highest virtue in a man. I need fellows like ye."
"Alas, my lord; I must return tae Ireland soon."
"Reasons?"
Lugad shook his head.
"I canna tell except; well, I've unfinished business there. And of late I've felt this...almost overpowering urge tae find my true father."
"Ye said when ye first came tae us that ye might be staying fer sum years..."
"Aye, my lord; but I had not expected to learn all I needed to knaw sae soon."
MacAlpine studied Lugad, then nodded and smiled. "Ye doona mane tae settle any scores with the Mystic Knights, do ye?"
Lugad shook his head. "No. When I return, I hope tae make them understand that we mun be friends."
"Ye're my best warrior, Lugad, and like a son tae me," MacAlpine said, settling a hand once more on the young man's shoulder. "Of all my best men, of only ye am I truly able tae say..."
"Yes?" Lugad asked, digging for something he'd never had.
MacAlpine nodded. "I love and respect ye, lad. Ye're a verra good man."
Lugad was honored and deeply touched.
"Well, I wish ye well, though I'd far rather ye stayed here."
"I may return, once I've found my father, made ammends for my mistakes. Perhaps, when that is all done..."
MacAlpine nodded.
"We shall see."
The first thing Lugad noticed about Kells was truly how little it had changed in his absence. Only his personal view of it had altered and that only because he felt older. More mature perhaps. But still not ready to face his brother. Or Deirdre...he felt completely unprepared for what he would say to her...if she even recognized him. He knew he had changed greatly since their last meeting on the nighttime battlements of Kells Castle...
The next thing was that there were strangers in the village. Rohan's old hut had become home to three young men and a small...but nonetheless quite attractive...blond girl.
What had happened? Had he missed so much? Vaguely he recalled that Rohan and Angus now resided in the castle...how strange he felt, having forgotten so much only to have it all come back to him now...his memory used to be that of an elephant; all things remembered and nothing forgotten; and now he had the mentality of a human.
"I promise ye; I am Lugad."
King Conchobar narrowed his eyes as he studied the handsome young warrior before him, then shook his head.
"I'm sorry...but unless you have some way of proving what you say, I cannot allow you to see Prince Rohan."
Lugad looked up from his study of the floor, shock registering in his eyes. Prince Rohan? Prince of Kells, or prince of Temra and all it's lands?
He let his confident smile cross onto his face as he pulled his thick white sleeve up past his elbow.
Cathbad drew closer, touching the birthmark there; and the bird-shaped brand beneath it. The mark of destiny proved him to be related to Rohan; the mark of the raven proved him to be Lugad, raised all his life by Numaine. The druid nodded.
"It is he. I could prove it with my second sight...but why waste precious time?"
Conchobar made a quick wave of his hand toward the door-guard, who quickly retreated and brought the knights back with him; as well as what could only be described as an honor-guard of Queens Maeve and Nepthumae, the guarded Xena, and the patient, radiant Gabrielle.
Rohan approached Lugad, touching the man's shoulder. He smiled; no one needed to tell him who the stranger was; his true identity was clear to Rohan. That he was Rohan's brother was clear in Lugad's thoughts as well as in his eyes; which were now emerald green instead of the color of sea-foam.
"Welcome home, Lugad," he said. Maeve smiled wryly as Lugad reached for her to recieve a hug he hadn't had since what seemed like a lifetime ago; when an accident had caused her to send her son to be raised by her sister.
"You'll finally have the chance to know me as your son, Maeve," he said softly, his features softened as he glanced at Deirdre. Relieved when she smiled and came to hug him, he knew she didn't look at him now and see the...creature...Numaine had sent after her.
Lugad averted his eyes, his face gently flushed as he thought for a moment how things might have been different...and now were for him and Gruoth, since their coupling so many months ago. His sweet Gruoth...
"I should like very much to explain a few things..." he began, and Rohan clasped his shoulder.
"We all have much to discuss, Lugad," he said as they converged into the hallway. "I'll ask King Conchobar to gather all our friends in the kitchens. There we can eat, drink, and come face to face with the recent...changes...that have come about."
Lugad elbowed Rohan as he whispered; "I noticed you carry the title of prince now, my brother. Is it because...", and he motioned back at Deirdre.
Rohan shook his head sadly as he glanced back at the princess.
"Not yet. I'm prince of Temra, Lugad. A title I bear with more than a little apprehension..."
There was a dance to celebrate Lugad's return; but no sooner as the dance over than the king, two queens, and knights sat at the table for bread, nectar, and a meeting.
"Now, Lugad," said King Conchobar; "what's this about explanations?"
"My real reason for returning was to ask Mae...my mother...who my father was. And if he's still living somewhere."
"Yes...mom," Rohan said, trying out the term Hercules often used when speaking of his mother, Alcmene. The red-headed man leaned forward with his elbows on the table. "Who is Lugad's father?"
Maeve was silent for a moment before touching the band about her eyes; a motion that brought the strange marking to everyone's attention.
"His name was Cinhil Joram. And yes; he was a demon. But he was also...my first real friend..."
A sixteen year old Maeve tapped her foot against the stone floor impatiently as she waited at the altar for Lord Cinhil Joram, the man her father had chosen as the father of his grandchildren...
She hadn't expected a red-skinned demon some twelve feet tall. A demon with the head of some sleek wolf, the body of a man, and the legs and cloven feet of a goat.
"Some husband," Maeve thought as he pounded down the aisle toward her.
"You are Princess Maeve?" He asked in a voice that would no doubt have shaken the mountains if the wedding had taken place outside.
Maeve found herself unable to do anything but nod.
"I am Lord Cinhil Joram," he said. He turned his head just enough to catch the eye of Maeve's father. "I'd like to speak with my betrothed alone a moment, King Ailill."
The king glanced at his daughter's pale and drawn face.
"It's not generally done..."
"Now," Cinhil said, his voice soft and daring Ailill to cross him.
"I'll...I'll go prepare the papers, sir," said the cowed king. "The wedding must take place before the moon wanes..."
"Go!" Said Cinhil, raising his hand. Ailill hurried from the room. Maeve rolled her eyes and turned her back on her husband to be. Cinhil turned back to her.
"I take it you don't approve of me as a husband."
Maeve shook her head, looking down at her clasped hands.
"Why?"
"Because you were betrothed to my sister Numaine..."
"And she does not satisfy me. Her appearance is...not what I would wish for the mother of my children."
"And I suppose I'm a perfect match?"
"You're not afraid of me, girl, not like she is. You've a hellcat's temper on you the likes of which will sit well upon any one of my future sons' shoulders. And you are quite attractive. Pretty even, one might say..."
"Yes, one might...but I don't..."
"Don't what? Don't love me, I suppose. Who, then? Who is it who's taken your heart and left me with your body, unwilling as it may be?"
Maeve closed her eyes, touching the silver butterfly comb in her hair, its wings studded with fine jewels...the ornament that eighteen year old Torq had given to her when he asked her if she might love him. She had said yes in an instant.
"Torq," she whispered softly, "I love Torq."
"The brother of Uaan O'Phelan?"
"Yes."
Cinhil laughed, crossing his bare, muscular arms over his huge bare chest.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked," he said softly, his smile fading.
"You had a right to know," Maeve replied, voice equally as soft.
"No marriage then," Cinhil said after a moment's thought. Maeve's eyes grew wide as her gaze met that of Lord Joram.
"My lord?"
"Bear me a son, according to the arrangement in the marriage papers," he said gently, laying a hand upon Maeve's shoulder. "Just that, and then I shall be a happy witness when you finally marry Torq."
"I'll be ruined, my lord, and he may not want me any longer."
"I will perform a spell which will remove all signs that you ever laid with a man or bore his child, but you shall have a marking forever more; here, across your eyes. It is necessary if the spell is to work."
Maeve nodded agreement, and half-smiled. The smile faded quickly when her father re-entered the room.
*Let Cinhil explain,* Maeve thought as she backed into the shadows, effectively concealing herself from the view of all those present.
Lugad sat stunned as he heard this tale, his eyes meeting Rohan's every few seconds.
"Now you know, Lugad," Rohan said softly after a certain amount of respectful silence. "And soon, perhaps, you can go looking for him."
"I hope to do just that, one day in the near future," Lugad said, nodding. "But first...with King Conchobar's approval...I should very much like to stay on here at the castle. To find out what I've missed in my absence."
The king nodded to the young man.
"Of course, Lugad; stay as long as you like."
"My king," Rohan said, standing. "My mom's story has made me curious about something myself. Soon I will go to tir na nOg, if you'll allow me, to ask my father about the swords of Eire. Hercules and Angus have requested to accompany me; perhaps Lugad can go as well?"
After a moment's thought, the king nodded yet again.
"Very well. Rohan, you may take Lugad with you on your quest. We will discuss his future here when you've returned."
"May Dagda grant it be soon," Deirdre said. Rohan motioned to her.
"A word with the princess before we go to make preparations for our journey?" He asked her father.
The king nodded, and Rohan led the princess from the room into a quiet corner in the hall.
Rohan placed his hand on Deirdre's stomach; wishing he could feel the life of the baby within her, the little creature that was already making her smooth stomach rounder. He studied Deirdre's eyes.
"Will you be alright until I return?"
Deirdre nodded.
"I'm already feeling the sickness when I wake up," she said, a rueful grin cocking up the corner of her lip. "But Cathbad says that's perfectly normal. We'll be fine," she told Rohan, placing her hand over his own. He leaned down and kissed her softly.
"I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised, letting his fingers tickle along the gentle curve where the new life rested. "Think only happy thought for our baby, and don't worry about us overmuch. Let my sisters and Gabrielle do that for you," he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers. She nodded and swallowed the lump of tears back into the pit of her stomach.
"We'll miss you," she said, wishing she could say what she felt.
She didn't have to.
"I love you," Rohan said, his voice husky with raw emotion. Deirdre smiled widely and hugged him, closing her eyes as she inhaled his scent for the last time in what would become many weeks.
"I love you too," she whispered fiercely.
When Rohan pulled away, he studied her so closely, so carefully, that it nearly frightened her out of her wits.
"I swear to you, on my own life, I shall return." Rohan looked down at his shoes. "What I'm doing is really more dangerous than anyone could imagine," he told her. "I may have to see another vision, as I did in Dagda's Temple. That time nearly killed me. But I will return this time too; for you...and for our baby."
"Our baby..." Deirdre whispered happily, not quite able to believe as yet that Rohan would be father to her child. "Ours..."
Rohan nodded, turning to join his brother and Angus, then to head down to the hut and get Hercules.
"Ours, Deirdre," he said, smiling, "yours and mine."
