Well, without preamble, or much in the way of editing, here's the prologue. I thought I'd put it up here because I'm probably going to slash this sucker to 1/3 of it's current length before the editing is all done.
Prologue: 840 AD, Connacht Kingdom, Eire
The king patted the last of the newly placed earth back around the base of the twelfth mountain ash sapling, effectively completing the ring of newly planted trees. His subjects and allies looked on in satisfaction. This was a moment that had been a long time in coming, generations of conflict, tentative advances of friendship, and occasionally outright assistance had led everyone to this point.
The day was warm, late fall, on what would eventually come to be known as “all hallows eve” or Halloween. The leaves had turned recently in the emerald isle, and the air held a hint of the coming frost. King Voronwe, the head of the elven contingent, resplendent in his silk and silver armor, advanced and offered his hand in peace to the king as he straightened and handed the spade back to his squire.
The elvish king launched into an uncharacteristic impromptu speech to his new ally. “Well friend, I've seen many men come and go, trying for the same seat that you now occupy, and if Danaa wills it, you shall hold it well.” He paused for a breath, stretching his tall frame, then continued, “With the planting of this grove, and our recent travails, we have cemented what I truly hope will be an ongoing peace between our family and your line. Should you or your descendants need us, just call. On the full and the new moons, from the center of this grove, we shall hear you and render aid as we may.”
Fergus mac Fothaid, the human king was visibly taken by such an outburst of warmth from his usually aloof and reserved elvish counterpart. “We thank thee again for thy part in the recent unpleasantness … friend.” The final syllable rolled awkwardly off his tongue. While it was true that the two races had of late been unusually co-operative and close, a time not to long ago saw the same individuals had viewed each other from opposite sides of the conflict. While Fergus and his followers had had to fight their way back to the throne, and overthrow the then powerful and ruthless Cathal the Cutthroat. Cathal had been aptly named, essentially murdering his way into power, and then ruthlessly draining the country until somebody stopped him. That somebody had come in the form of Fergus and his companions, who were striving for a resolution to the untenable situation their country was faced with.
Fergus continued, “ I know my grandfather Dub-Indrecht mac Cathail spoke highly of the fair folk, as I was just a wee bairn in the dirt at his feet, and he treasured the grace and knowledge he gleaned from his relationship with your kind. I.... we of the kingdom of Connacht hope to foster such a relationship as well, to the benefit of all.”
With this, the new and future king of Connacht hoped to cement the bond of friendship with the powerful but indifferent elvish allies he had gained in the recent conflicts. He also hoped to smooth over past misunderstandings, asking for forgiveness and understanding from these inscrutable elves .
King Voronwe, stifling a snicker at the transparency of the humans attempt at diplomacy, decided that the humans intentions were genuine if not entirely refined to the standards required by the circles the elvish king commonly found himself in. Turning briefly to his second, King Voronwe muttered a few lines, indicating that he wished to pull the forces back, and begin mustering them up for their transition home through the newly completed gate/anchor which had just been handed into the care of the newest king of Connacht.
“Yes, friend,” the elvish liege stressed the second word, “such a situation as you describe did exist between your grandfather and myself, I will miss him. But such is the fleeting nature of your lives, vigorous, but fleeting. I do look forward to meeting with you under less trying circumstances. Now that the most recent of skirmishes are behind us, I would prefer to meet without the need for steeds, armor and enchantments.” Here the king stopped, looking confused and concerned for a moment, his long silver hair rippling in time with his minute head shakes. “There was something else, my queen reminded me on the way here today, what was it?” He looked truly mortified, then he brightened. “Now I remember, she asked if we might visit with you and your lovely wife before the new baby arrives. She does so love the little ones; we have three ourselves, but they've grown by now, off on their own lives.”
Fergus, taken aback at such a familiar approach from one he had considered at best an ally, stammered for a moment, then relaxed, “Of course, my lady Maeve would love such an opportunity. Say at the next new moon, we will hold a feast for all, to celebrate our new union, and God willing, our newest child. You and yours are welcome at any time, should you ever feel inclined, from my family to yours, my hearth is yours.” The traditional format of friendship extended, Fergus looked around at the new grove of Ash trees one more time. “This grove has been planted, and I will take it as my personal responsibility to ensure the continuing health of these trees, what they represent and who they invite into our home.”
King Voronwe looked pleased, his face once again radiating that warm glow that had been there intermittently throughout the whole ceremony. “And with that, my newest and youngest friend, I and mine must be off, we have a situation brewing at home which, if left unattended, could become infinitely worse. I will let my wife know of your delight at her request, and be assured, that with such an open invitation, she will be pushing me to bring her visiting weekly, more often possibly. Take care, and fare thee well.” With those parting words, the elvish contingent began to file into the circle, between the newly planted trees. As they crossed the threshhold of the circle, they began to dim from sight, transitioning back into the Realm, newly anchored to this point and this circle. Voronwe looked on with a relaxed air of one who had patiently watched such proceedings before.
As the end of the parade of soldiery drew near, the elf king readied his own gear to take up his position as the last to leave. He shifted his weight beneath the significant weight of the decorative silver armor, thankful that the seasons had cooled to the point where such an array of weight didn't require magic in order to keep cool. Chuckling at the thought of what waited for the human king later on, the elf king simply smiled, waved once again, and stepped through behind the last of his troops, vanishing from sight as he passed the middle of the circle.
As he watched his newest ally depart this realm for another, king Fergus shivered, the sun had dropped behind the horizon and the temperature had dropped accordingly. He whispered up a prayer to both the new God of Rome and the old gods of his childhood , feverishly asking them to watch over and support the new trees in the faerie circle that he had just deliberately formed inside his own castle walls. Only a couple of years ago such a course of action would have seemed sheer madness to him. But, he remembered ruefully, a couple of years ago he was a lad in love with a beautiful maid, looking to tend a small plot beyond that very hill over there. But that had all changed when his beautiful maid had come to him with a revelation. She had been visited, the fair folk had asked her to convince him that they need to talk to him about an issue, urgent to the very land on which they all depended. Being a true and upstanding man, he initially brushed her off, thinking that she was merely being hysterical and had imagined the whole thing. She persisted however, until he agreed to a walk with her that very evening, to the old clearing by the ancient willows down at the river.
The night had been warm, and he thought to himself that he was in for a treat, with his lovely betrothed, alone in the cool night air, the grasses whispering in the breeze, the river burbling in the background. That anticipated image didn't materialize however, as there was someone waiting for him when he and his lady arrived at the river's bank. A tall, lean man lounged carelessly against the ancient willows which ringed the clearing. Looking both bored and vaguely worried, the tall man pushed himself up when the two approached.
As the three had stood, assessing each other, Maeve broke the silence with, “I expected Trinity, may I ask your name and how you bear on the subject we were to discuss?”
Fergus grinned to himself in the near darkness, his Maeve, never one to try to avoid an issue or soften words. Again, he considered how lucky he was to catch her eye, and to keep her heart.
Rida had been started at the sharpness of the human woman's tone, but replied, “I am Ridaithbrar, Son of Voronwe, and Trinity's older brother, first in line to assume the throne should my father fall. And I have been sent in Trinity's place, to discuss the topic as you understood it.”
Yes, those were trying and touchy times for our alliance, Fergus thought to himself as he made his way back inside. But his introspective mood was shattered by a piercing scream. Maeve! The overwhelming need to get to his wife banished all former thoughts of a mug of beer by the hearth. As he careened up the spiral stairs to the third floor balcony where he thought her to be, he offered up yet one more prayer to any gods who might be listening. “Please let her be alright, please.”
As he rounded the final turn, and burst out on the landing, he saw the midwife and his treasured Maeve over in the sunlight, reclining and looking for all the world like nothing was wrong. “Men, never around when you need them, and can't help if they do show up, just stand around like dumb ox.” The midwife muttered her usual insults towards him as he moved over to his wife's side.
“What happened?” He asked in a rush.
“She's pregnant, and tired of it.” the midwife grunted cryptically.
“It's the birth pains, I'm a;right, but you look like you could use some help Fergus.” Maeve, in typical fashion, fronted bravado, but on her last word, her facade cracked, and a second cry resounded off the walls of the castle. With that, Fergus was hustled out of his own home and put to work outside with the soldiers.
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