Draíocht

[beadingbritt]

Beltane, 1236 A.D.


We met quite the interesting character at the ritual after the festival today. If only the people in town realized that the Fae that they tell stories of to frighten children into behaving, or explaining things they fear away, are real! The queen of the Seelie came to see Murtagh today, and he insisted that I meet her. She seems kind, though I must be careful not to cross her or offend her in some way; even a Seelie Court member is not someone you would want to incur the wrath of. It does make me wonder, though: does that mean that I shall meet the Unseelie as well?
I think I would rather I didn’t.

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1242


The scent of nearly a dozen different plants and herbs had the interior of the cottage smelling very odd indeed.

“I shall return this evening, my love,” Ruadhan had excused himself with a tiny chuckle, eyes watering, as he always did on one of her drying and blending days.

“It is a good thing indeed that no other person knows that simply a few flowers will bring the mighty warrior to his knees,” she called after him playfully.

The door shut behind him, and Brighid returned her attention to the plants laid out on the long wooden table, retrieving a long roll of twine and her dagger from the basket she had just emptied the plants out of.

She meticulously stripped the leaves off of some plants, bundling them together and tying them tightly with twine before hanging it from the rafters. Humming softly as she worked, Brighid spent several hours this way before realizing she had forgotten the calendula flowers. “A simple enough matter to solve,” she muttered to herself as she grabbed her cloak from the chest beside the door. Snatching up her basket and tossing the dagger inside, she slipped it over her arm and stepped out into the mist.

Even with the heavy cloak, the cold, damp air sent a chill down her spine as it always did. Despite the chill, there was a warm, welcoming feeling that spread through her as she crossed the small river that ran behind the house, separating the cottage from the expanse of forest behind it. “Good afternoon,” she smiled to the shy figure that watched from the branches of a tree that formed a tunnel with its neighbors.

“Good afternoon, lady Brighid,” the dryad nodded back to her.

“Shall I be on the lookout for anything today, Nomilia?”

A simple shake of the head was all she got as a response before the tree spirit began to sink back into the bark. “All is quiet today.”

“A pleasantly easy day for me, then,” Brighid laughed, beginning to cross through the archway of branches. "Farewell, Nomilia!"

The remainder of the walk was uneventful, though she did occasionally stop to say hello to local plant spirits with whom she had developed a relationship over the years.

Finding the flowers and picking many of the bright yellow blossoms efficiently, she set them in her basket and was nearly ready to leave before she heard something behind her.

Instinct as well as years of training with Ruadhan kicked in, and she flew into action. Whirling around to face the intruder, she had her hand tight on the handle of her dagger and was fully prepared to attack until she recognized the beautiful woman standing before her.

Standing before her was a slim woman in a flowing green gown, a vibrant contrast to her bright red tresses. Hints of freckles were dotted across the woman's nose, and a youthful blush tinted her cheeks a light pink. Her eyes, precisely the same emerald shade as her gown, sparkled as if she knew a secret, and yet seemed to speak of unparalleled knowledge. Slender, pale hands were just barely visible beneath the wide sleeves of the dress.

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty! I was unaware it was you behind me, Queen Iminyë.” Brighid bowed her head, relaxing her grip and setting the dagger back in the basket before setting the basket on the ground and clasping her hands in front of her.

With a gentle smile and a nod, the vibrant red-haired woman waved away her apology. “You need not worry, Brighid. I did not mean to startle you.”

“It has been many years, Queen Iminyë. What can I do for you?”

“Indeed. The last I saw of you, you were but a child, training with Murtagh. Beltane, wasn’t it? Now you are married, and a Druid in your own right. Your power has at the least doubled, Brighid. This is part of why I sought you out today.” Solemnly, the Fae inclined her head. “There are those, not of my court, who have taken notice of you, and of your abilities. There are also, however, rumors that the book once entrusted to Murtagh is now in your care. I needn’t tell you that many of those beings are those who, for the good of everyone, must never lay their eyes on a single page.”

“I understand, Your Majesty.” A moment of silence passed before Brighid spoke again. “If I may, I have a question I would greatly like to ask of you.”

“By all means,” Iminyë nodded. “If I can provide an answer, I will do so.”

“Just a few days ago,” Brighid said, “there was a couple in town. They were killed, and their child taken. I do not mean to imply that it was any of your court, but I did wonder if you had heard whisperings at all.”

Iminyë frowned deeply. “No, I had not. I will do what I can to find information, Brighid, but this is disturbing, to say the least. Either the Winter Court is acting out of their season, or there is a rogue among us.”

Glancing worriedly upwards, Brighid noted that it was nearing twilight. “I must return home before dark settles in, Your Majesty, but you're always welcome to call on myself or my husband at our home.”

“Travel safely, Brighid,” the Seelie Queen smiled. “Until we meet again.”

Thoughts swirled around as Brighid followed the familiar path home, slipping into the house and bolting the door behind her.

“Hello, my love,” Ruadhan greeted from his seat near the fire, where he was carving away at something. “What is it? Something is on your mind.”

“I encountered Iminyë again,” she murmured as she stored the flowers and removed her cloak, going to sit beside her husband. “It was no member of her court that harmed the Ó Leannains, and she fears the Unseelie may be acting out of turn.”

“Is there naught we can do, lass?”

Brighid looked up at him somberly. “I fear what it may come to. You know as well as I that the courts have been nearing war for decades. This may be the tipping point.”

Sighing, Ruadhan set down his carving and took her hand. “Then we must begin to prepare.”

[abeille]

oh.
my.
god.
i don't know how i never found this.
jeeze louis you are an amazing writer, and this is just brilliant.
so well written and also dryads are the best thing ever so tysm.
ugh, i'm eagerly awaiting more.

[casimir]

omg im right here with you
how did i not see chapter two
ahhhh
britt never stop.

[beadingbritt]

@civility (Irish folklore buddies!)
Thank you! I worried because I'm more than a tad out of practice, and I've never actually tried writing fantasy before.
The dryad wasn't originally planned but it sort of popped into my head and I went with it.
You should see the list of Fae that are going in here. (I'm cheating a little by incorporating some Scottish figures as well, admittedly.)

@cas:
I posted it late-ish Saturday night, it kind of got buried in there.
I don't think these guys will let me stop for a good long while, lol. Chapter 3 is NEARLY finished, just one quick scene to wrap up and some dialogue to solidify.
So, next chapter soon!

[beadingbritt]

1243


For months now, nearly a year, I have searched for the identity of the man who killed the Ó Leannains. Iminyë has heard nothing of him, though I remain convinced that he is a Fae, and just as I think I near an answer, I find nothing but more questions.
I have reached a similar stalemate with that damned book. I managed to decipher a few pages, though the sheer mass of time required to do so irks me.
“Set it away,” Ruadhan tells me. “You needn’t learn all the book’s secrets now.”
But I feel that I must. The book is somehow important, I know this. It cannot be coincidence that all this began to occur after Murtagh died and I received the book. Perhaps Murtagh’s madness and obsession was not as unfounded as I had thought.

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Samhain, 1243


Wrapped in a heavy woolen shawl, Brighid had a roaring fire going in the hearth to combat the fall chill. As usual, the book was open and parchment scattered beside it, though there was much more parchment and more notes than there were a year ago. But for the crackle of the fire, all was quiet- until Ruadhan rushed in, removing his sword from the wall with haste.

“Brighid, my love, I must go.” He stroked her cheek gently with the back of his hand. “I cannot say to where I go, nor when I shall return, but know that I will return to you, now and always.”

“Be safe,” she nodded, swallowing back the impulse to beg him to stay.



Weeks later, Brighid sat alone, still compulsively glancing behind her at the door every few minutes, listening for the telltale sound of Fionn coming toward the stables. The empty space on the wall above her own sword served as an unnecessary reminder of her husband’s absence.

With all her instincts on high alert, Brighid instantly stiffened at the faint noise coming from her garden behind the house. Setting her quill back into the inkpot, she rose and retrieved a short sword that Ruadhan had once had fashioned for her, designed to be lighter weight and therefore easier for her delicate frame.

Going around the cottage to the garden, her sword was at the ready, every muscle tensed. “What are you doing here,” she demanded coldly, the blade pointed at the brown hooded figure crouched among her plants.

The cloaked figure stood, hood falling back to reveal a waifish young girl with pale blonde hair in disarray and striking blue eyes wide. A split second later, she was tearing across the garden and towards the river that marked the edge of the property.
“Damn it,” Brighid hissed, barreling after the girl. Her longer legs and knowledge of the terrain gave the older woman the advantage, and she was not even remotely winded when she caught up with the teenager.

Reaching out an arm to her, the raven-haired woman was just slightly too far away to steady the girl, who lost her balance as soon as her foot hit the smooth, worn stone that Brighid frequently used as one of the stepping stones to cross the small river.
The splash prompted curses from the smaller of the two, in a language Brighid recognized as Welsh from her studies with Murtagh. “Never thought I’d thank you for forcing my hand at learning the tongue, old man,” the Druid murmured as she stepped forward and clasped the tiny girl’s arm, tugging her to her feet.

“Get off of me, woman!” The tiny blonde had narrowed her eyes, jaw set, and nearly spat the demand at her. The moment Brighid let go, the girl tumbled back down, landing in the (thankfully mild) current.

“You’ve hurt yourself,” Brighid sighed, taking her arm again and pulling her back up. “Come with me.”
After a few moments of struggling, she fixed a cold gaze on her. “You should consider yourself lucky that I’ve not run you through yet, do ye ken? Now, let me look at that ankle, and I’ll let you on your way.”

Holding the girl steady and trying to keep most of the weight off of her injured ankle was no easy feat, given the way the blonde tended to squirm and yell. With a fair bit of effort, however, Brighid managed to get them up the slight incline of the land and into the cottage.

“Sit beside the fire, we’ll see if we can get your dress dried off.” Guiding her to the chair, Brighid pulled over a carved stool that Ruadhan often used when he was carving and she in her rocking chair, settling on the stool before carefully picking up the girl’s injured ankle and bringing it to her lap.

“Have you no proper boots,” she asked as she took the bare foot in her hands, glancing up with concern, only to be met with an irritated gaze and a curt shake of the head. “Well, you’ve not broken anything, which is a blessing. You’ve strained it nicely, though.”
Heading out to the garden quickly, she found herself looking back on the pile of herbs the girl had picked. “Healing herbs, not food,” she mused aloud, picking up the plants and carrying them back inside.

“Would you care to explain to me why you intended to steal my healing herbs?” Carrying them to her workbench, Brighid picked up a mortar and pestle, selecting several plants and grinding them together with practiced ease. A basket on the table contained strips of bandages, and she grabbed one of those as well.

The unpleasant smell of the poultice brought a grimace to the blonde’s face, though Brighid, who had blended it many times before, was unaffected. As she meticulously applied it to the already bruising joint, she asked, “I assume you can understand Gaelic?”

“Yes.” The deceptively hard tone contrasted sharply with the delicate appearance of the girl.

“Have you a name?”

“Gwenhwÿfar. Gwenhwÿfar Edris.”

Brighid sighed. “May I call you Gwen?” At the nod, she asked, “Gwen, what are you doing here? Have you family here?” A hesitant shake of the head this time. “Why did you hesitate?”

“I do not know.” At Brighid’s raised eyebrows, she clarified. “I do not know why I am here. If I have family.”

“I see,” Brighid hummed as she bound the ankle tightly. “Well, Gwen, until you’ve a place to stay, or at the least until this ankle has healed, you’ll be staying here.”



It was sitting in much the same manner that Ruadhan found them when he returned home nearly a fortnight later. Brighid was sitting in her rocking chair, stitching away at a deep blue gown, and the tiny blonde girl sitting on the stool across from his wife, laughing, stopped him dead in his tracks.

Immediately, Gwen stood, hand on her dagger and muscles tensed. “Shall I kill him?”

“No, Gwen,” Brighid laughed. “This is my husband, Ruadhan. Ruadhan, this is Gwen.”

Still obviously confused, Ruadhan went to the wall and hung his sword back up before removing his cloak and setting it neatly in the chest beside the door.

“I see… and how did you come to find Gwen?”

“She… expressed an interest in healing herbs,” Brighid said coyly, eyes sparkling as she glanced over to Gwen, nearly failing to suppress a smile. “She agreed to be my apprentice, my love.”

“I do not like him,” Gwen mumbled as she sank back onto the stool.

Warily, Ruadhan pulled over a chair to sit beside his wife, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it.
Seeing the way he flinched as he slowly sat, Brighid pulled her hand away, turning to face him. “Where?”

“I do not know what you mean,” Ruadhan shifted uncomfortably.

Fixing him with a cold look just shy of furious, she said, “I’ll not ask you again, Ruadhan. Where?”

With a grimace and a sigh, he shifted forwards and began dutifully unlacing his shirt. “A mere scratch, love.”

The mottled purple bruising on his chest and side surrounded a cut that had been hastily bandaged, and was beginning to heal. “They did a poor job of this,” she grumbled. “Gwen, come here.”
When the young girl was by her side, Brighid nodded toward the injury. “What would you use for this?”

Hesitating only a moment, she spoke cautiously. “Comfrey boiled in water for bruising, to be drunk.”

“Yes,” Brighid nodded. “Would you care to prepare it?”
As the blonde went rushing over to the work table and began the drink, Brighid walked to the table and pulled out a small container and began to work it into the skin.
“This is a salve of calendula, Gwen,” she called behind her. “It will help the wound finish closing, and prevent infection.”

Ruadhan groaned, letting his head fall back. “I cannot handle one of you, let alone two!”

[beadingbritt]

1243


With each passing season, I realize more and more that I cannot protect Gwen from the Fae courts much longer. They certainly are not losing their interest in me, and she is with me so often that I think it is inevitable that she become involved with them as I am.
Admittedly, she is more interested in herbs and alchemy, and I do not teach her the ways of the Druids –partially due to her age; to begin a 13 year training at thirteen years old…-- and of course I may not teach her our ways unless she is one of us. Out of respect, she nearly always leaves if I must do more than a simple spell, unless I tell her that it is alright for her to stay.
None of the other Druids have any ideas regarding protection from this Unseelie rogue, if indeed that is who is to blame for the threats to myself as well as the Ó Leannains and their missing bairn.

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Three days before Litha, 1244


When Brighid awoke from a nightmare, hair plastered to her skin with sweat and breathing heavily, there was a small piece of parchment on the table beside her bed. Neat scrollwork in an elegant hand ready simply,


Brighid-
Come to the grove just before sunrise.


Immediately, she rose and began to dress, pulling a heavy green gown with golden knotwork embroidered at the neckline and elbows. Tying a darker green fabric belt at her hips, she called to Ruadhan. “Ruadhan, love, wake up.” As he stirred, she braided and bound her hair.

“What is it, Brighid,” he asked as he sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“I have been summoned. I must go.”

Here he shot up, instantly alert. “By whom? To where?”

Biting her lip, she sighed. “I do not know. I am to meet them in the grove.”

“You cannot go alone.” In an instant, he had thrown back the covers and hastily pulled on and laced his breeches and tunic. As soon as his boots were on, he strode to the wall and grabbed his sword, as well as Brighid’s, off of the wall.

“Indulge me,” he requested of his wife at the disdainful look she shot the sword.

With a sign, she belted the sword at her waist before donning her cloak and extending her husband’s to him. “We must go quickly.”

He grabbed a lantern, which Brighid lit with a muttered spell.

Her footing on the familiar path was sure and fast, despite there being only minimal light. The night fog obscured what little illumination the crescent moon had to offer in the wee hours.

With a brief greeting to the dryads, Brighid lifted her hood and entered the forest. The occasional animal would break the silence and make her jump, and Ruadhan had one hand on the lantern, holding it aloft, and the other on the handle of his sword, ready to draw at any moment.

In the clearing, two figures stood with their hands clasped before them. “Brighid,” a melodic woman’s voice said, “thank you for coming.”

“Welcome,” her companion, a man, nodded.

“Your Majesties,” Brighid nodded back. “A pleasure to see you. May I illuminate things?”

“Certainly,” the red-haired Seelie queen agreed.

With a gesture of her hand, Brighid conjured several globes of blue-white light that hovered around them.

“Greetings, King Aradan,” Brighid bowed, and Ruadhan followed suit. “I trust you are well?”

“Indeed, I am,” the auburn haired man said.

Hesitantly, Ruadhan extinguished the lantern. “Meaning no disrespect, of course, but… why have you brought us here?”

“Your husband is as direct as ever, I see,” Iminÿe laughed. “We have brought you here to warn you, Brighid.”

Bristling, Ruadhan took a step forward, hand still on his sword. “I care not who you are, you think to threaten my wife?”

“No, my love,” Brighid shook her head, stopping him with a delicate hand on his bicep. “That is not a threat.”

Aradan smirked. “Your loyalty and instinct to protect your family is commendable, Ruadhan. But your wife is right. We pose her no threat. We have come to warn you that, with the changing of the season in just a few days’ time, we cannot offer the protection that we have thus far. Our power in the Court will soon be turned over to the Unseelie Court for the fall and winter months.”

“I understand,” Brighid nodded.

“Brighid,” Iminÿe sighed, “Be careful. Until we know who is behind this, we cannot offer more counsel on the course of action to take.”


Three hours before sunrise, Litha
As they closed the ritual to celebrate Midsummer, Brighid let the energy she had been raising and sharing with her fellow Druids crescendo, raising her face to the sky and raising her hands high before releasing the built-up magic. The loose, flowing sleeves of the forest green gown did nothing to restrict her range of motion, nor did the white cloak she wore over it.

They closed the circle, bidding the elementals farewell before beginning to say their farewells to each other.

“Brighid,” one of the older druids stopped her as she made to leave with Ruadhan.

Turning to face the gray-haired man wearing robes the same color as her gown and an identical cloak, Brighid smiled. “Jarlath.”

“Have you made any progress with that book,” the older man asked, feigning a tone of indifference despite speaking in a hush.

Shaking her head slightly, Brighid changed the subject. “How is Gráinne?”

“She’s well, and I’ll thank you for asking. Come see me at the next full moon, Brighid- I’ve some crafting I’m wanting to do, but my hands aren’t what they used to be.”

Thoughtfully, Brighid nodded. “Gladly so. And I think I may have a plant for your aches. I’ll be bringing it with me.”

Ruadhan came forward and touched her arm gently. “My love, we must go.”
“Goodbye,” she nodded to Jarlath, who returned the farewell.

Brighid walked to Ruadhan’s left, right hand through his arm, though even with the robes and cloak, he wore his sword. His right hand over hers on his arm may have been mistaken for simple affection, but though it was that, it was also mere inches away from the hilt of his sword.

“And you're sure you haven’t drained too much of your own energy?”

“Do you ever cease worryin’, my love,” Brighid laughed as they walked home in the dim light of the waxing moon. “It’s but a little tiredness.”

“About your safety and health, love? Never. You always seem to get yourself into enough trouble that I’m thinking it’s warranted.”

“You wound me,” she retorted, rolling her eyes. “It’s not as though I seek it out!”

When they were nearly home, Ruadhan froze mid-step, disentangling his arm from Brighid’s and pushing her back a few steps as he drew his sword.

“What-”.

“Shh,” he hushed her. “Listen.”

Sure enough, there was stirring in the trees surrounding them. Even the woodland spirits were eerily silent, and Brighid was suddenly aware of the feeling of being watched. With a shudder as a chill ran down her spine, she began preparing to defend as well as attack.

Preferring to do so on a physical level, Ruadhan drew up energy from the earth while his wife did the same, though he channeled that energy into his reflexes and strength while Brighid began to bolster her own energy and magical stores.

Exchanging a glance with Brighid, who nodded, Ruadhan called out, “Come and face us, you coward! State your intent!”

Silently, five figures that stood just around two-thirds of his height stepped forward, all dressed in dark trousers and a white tunic with a red jacket over it.

“Damn it all,” Brighid let out with a sigh as she noticed the red hats they all wore. “I hate redcaps. Already I long for the return of summer.”

The moment they crossed her boundary, each of the fear deargs received a jolt that set them back and immediately reduced their speed.

Sword swinging, Ruadhan began sparring with one, each of the fear deargs armed with staffs. Brighid was furiously launching energy at them.

One such spell was her fireballs, and the moment one of them caught fire, he disappeared with a yelled curse. The remaining three were all focused on avoiding Ruadhan and reaching her. Despite their best efforts to the contrary, he was fending them back and giving Brighid time to target them all.

“Doing alright, love?”

"It’s better I’d be doing if you weren’t distracting me, darling,” she shot back, taking out the two visible fear deargs with well-timed blasts of green energy.

Neither of them saw the third coming up behind her with his staff and launching into the air until it was too late.

Caught by surprise, Brighid was unable to defend herself against blow to her skull. The crack seemed to echo in the trees, and she fell to the ground. As she lost consciousness, the shields of energy around Ruadhan and herself dissipated.

“Brighid!” Ruadhan rushed to the fear dearg, sword held high, and brought it down swiftly, neatly cleaving the fae’s head from its shoulders.

“Brighid, darling, wake up,” Ruadhan murmured as he knelt beside her, gently lifting her head onto his lap. Stroking the hair away from her face, he frowned as he saw the blood trickling down the side of her face.
When she showed no signs of waking, he lifted her into his arms carefully and rushed down the hill, willing the distance to the cottage to go quickly.

Hands full, when he finally reached the door to his home, he kicked it heavily. “Gwen!”

Sleepily, the teenage girl opened the door. “Oh, wonderful. What is it you've done now?”

“We were attacked. Her head's been injured.”

Eyes widening, Gwen opened the door widely, gesturing for him to put her on the bed as she rushed to the herb storage. Within moments, she had the basket with strips of bandages over her arm and the mortar and pestle in her hands, grinding several herbs together as she crossed the cottage to her mentor’s side.

“Hold her hair away,” she instructed calmly, beginning to blot away the blood. When the wound itself was visible, the blonde nodded, “she’ll have a devil of a headache, but she will be fine.” A quick application of a poultice and binding with a bandage, and Gwen cleaned the blood from her hands in the small washbasin.

“Thank you,” Ruadhan said tiredly from the chair he’d dragged to the side of the bed.

Gwen simply nodded. “Sleep. You’ll be no good to anyone if you drop from exhaustion tomorrow.”
After a moment, when they were both settled back into their respective beds, she asked, “Why were you attacked?”

“I wish I knew. The only one who may be able to tell us isn’t conscious.”

With a sigh, she rolled over. “Then we’ll have to ask her.”