'Táimid inár n-aonar le chéile,'was the thought that crossed his mind. 'We stand alone together.'

'What summoned us from Tír na nÓg? Why was my rest disturbed?'

His sleep was the sleep of hidden ancients, the sleep of his people, the sleep of the daoine sídhe, the aos sí, who had their sanctuary behind the veil. Rarely but each annum as time by the Milesians was measured, might they continue to be seen at Maige Tuired where they were once deemed deities and now creatures of fable.

These were visits by the gate assured, perceived by mortals as the will of the wisp or the flaming eyes of the cu sídhe by night, and - if heard - as the caoineadh of the bean sídhe that filled a mortal spine with fright at night. The harp of the Dagda Mór might break the dawn, conveying to those who still might dream Airgetlám's words.

'My King, Airgetlám,' cried a voice in reply. 'Ard Rhi? Your Royal Highness?'

He knew now that, from Tír na nÓg, the Sguaba Tuinne now hurtled through space again. His destination was Maige Tuired, and his people pierced the veil again. He took no comfort in this. Cath Maige Tuired was the battle where he lost his arm. Cath Dédenach Maige Tuired was the battle where he lost his very own head.

Triumphantly, the Formorian held Nuada's very skull aloft before the life of the High King was by Lugh Lamhfada avenged. Decades later, Manannán mac Lir would lead Nuada's Tuatha Dé Danann to Tír na nÓg whose inhabitants do not know death, and where Nuada was by the Cauldron of Regeneration restored.

'What summoned us from Tír na nÓg? Why was my rest disturbed?'

The Tuatha Dé Danann have from beyond Tir na nOg returned, the daoine sídhe, the aos sí, beings of myth no more, riding their furious fiery chariots in the sky to set forth from the pit of Din Scaith with serpents the legendary smoke, the mist of faeth fiadha. Of this much, Nuada knew. The question now was why.

Muted by the regeneration technology, the revenant's command was by the written word. Where voice was needed, his Ollamh Érenn would convey his moods with Uaithne, the Harp of the Dagda Mór. He lifted the silver hand that his nephew, Miach, had provided him. He winced with pain as he flexed its fingers once more.

Several eons had passed since his dismemberment, and still quite new the hand felt...

'Those who knew you beyond the veil,' came the reply, 'now find themselves at war.

'We have no role in this war,' the King of Kings directed. 'To subject other fleets to the Hunt of Cernunnos; To consign entire moons to Pit of Din Scaith; To smash other defences with the Whip of the Dullahan? It is not for this that we sought Creidne's forge and Dian Cecht's well of Slane. Faeth fiadha, the veil, is sacred.'

'Táimid inár n-aonar le chéile', he said, 'we now stand alone together.'

'Let the mortals enjoy what their summons avail them....'

The signature tones of Ollamh Érenn again pierced the veil of fabled fog as the mythic Sguaba Tuinne once more pierced the mists of the faeth fiadha to venture forth from the nothingness of Tir na nÓg...

His rest so many months ago yet upset, as time by mortal Milesians was measured, the King of Kings of an isle of legend that was to the skies a portal located a newfound home amongst other peoples of legend.

What a mute revenant of several eons amongst mere mortals known understood of a fae ring of only to legend amongst men known, was a gate held in common trust amongst an alliance of others said wizards or god.

Ó Cogadh go Chogadh ag iompú agam anois?

The steersman anointed to pilot the vessel replied....

Is ea

The Lord of Yore, whose realm was of forgotten lands, slumped in his seat to favor his ages ago dismembered hand.

Is é mo foighne caite anois. Maraigh iad go léir.



note: as I wish not to run afoul of any rules regarding language use if such exist, a translation of the Gaeilge:
'From War to War have I turned?'
'Yes'
'My patience is taxed. Kill them all.'

Sorry, I fell asleep after the fourth line.

*giggling* very funny Oz, that's not a nice thing to say, considering that our friend here, spent quite a bit of his time writing that piece......whatever that is.
Nice one Nuada, it was lovely! ^_^.

King-Immortal wrote:*giggling* very funny Oz, that's not a nice thing to say, considering that our friend here, spent quite a bit of his time writing that piece......whatever that is.
Nice one Nuada, it was lovely! ^_^.

King, I think that "Táimid inár n-aonar le chéile" translates as...."Cure for Insomnia"!