Old Light

Summary: Niamh thought she could outrun her ghosts and her dangers, but nothing can change the fact that she could decide the whole tide of the war.

Disclaimer: Rick Riordan owns Percy Jackson and those such things. I own the rest of the world. (Booyah!)

Author's Notes: How do you pronounce Niamh's name? NEEV oHICKey. That helps, doesn't it? =D!

If you watch my profile, you'll know I had uploaded an Old Light previously. This is the same character, but the story is much different. In other words: I restarted!

I just want you to know that I've done my best with my interpretation of Celtic mythology. The Celtic stuff is notoriously difficult to figure out, as there isn't much written down, and a lot of it was twisted around when the Christians came to Ireland.

Also, all of the Irish Gaelic words or phrases in this story have been translated by me, with the help of Erin's Web and the Irishionary. If I'm wrong, please tell me. D: Translations for the chapter names are under the chapter title, and translations for things in the story are at the end of the chapter.

De Facto Advertisement: If you like to forum roleplay, why not check out Go the Distance? It's a borderline AU roleplay that takes place shortly after the events in Battle of the Labyrinth. We are fairly open and relaxed, so I would suggest checking it out. 8D It's at gothedistance66 . Proboards . com

Prelude: Tús

(beginning)

"Niamh Ó'hIcidhe. We have a proposal for you."

"And just what would that be, exactly?"

"Help us bring down the Tuatha Dé Danann and the Olympians. Be our spy. Help us unite with the Titans."

"And how would that help me? Your little friends took away everything I had."

"You speak too quickly. If you ally with us, you could easily earn back that which you've lost."

"That which you stole from me."

"I am not patient. Choose."

I don't know what it was, but the dream made me wake up.

Nothing was particularly terrifying about it, but I laid in the dark, a hand on my forehead. I felt feverish and ill. Maybe that was why the dream disturbed me.

Or maybe the dream hadn't woken me at all. I could see my cat, Deirdre, curled up at the end of my bed. She could have easily pricked my foot with her claws.

I slipped out of bed, reaching up on top of my dresser to turn on my lamp. The glow gave sharper angles to the familiar sights of my bedroom—the rocking chair with the faded quilt, the stack of old Lassie movies on top of my bookshelf, a collection of candles on my windowsill, and the dusty guitar I'd never learned to play sitting in its mostly broken stand.

It was a hot night, humidity making my T-shirt clingy. Rubbing my eyes, I shuffled over to my window, leaning out into the sticky night. Below me was Church Gate, the road I lived on. It was quiet at this hour of night. I could see and hear the sea, although in reality, it was the lough I lived by.

Turning away, I opened by door and shuffled downstairs to the kitchen. Deirdre followed, slinking around my feet, then trotting primly away only to circle back and rub against my ankles.

I grabbed a glass out of the cupboard and an ice cube tray out of the freezer, pouring myself a glass of water. Leaning against the counter, my eyes alighted on a stack of mail sitting on top of it.

I am hopelessly curious.

Quickly, I flicked through the letters, seeing if there was anything interesting. Most of it was bills and junk mail, but at the bottom of the stack was one that was most certainly interesting. It was in a green envelope. It was addressed to Brendan Ó'hIcidhe, 28 Church Gate,Wicklow Town, Co. Wicklow, Ireland. The return address was Duane Cavanah, Cuan Cladach, Belfast, Maine, United States.

A letter from Cuan Cladach? Why would they send mail?

It was already open. I pulled out a pale green sheet of stationary, which had "Cuan Cladach" written across the top, with the camp's logo of a bow and arrow that also happened to look like a harp. (No one likes it.)

Brendan Ó'hIcidhe:

We request that you send your daughter, Niamh Ó'hIcidhe, to camp as soon as possible. We believe she may be in danger. We don't know what from, but for you and her safety, we beg you to let her come now.

-Duane Cavanah, Counselor of Cuan Cladach, Irish Group

I was obviously confused. Why would I be in danger? I hadn't had a run-in with a monster in three years, and I'd trained enough that I could fight them off.

"Niamh? What are you doing up?"

I spun around, a guilty look on my face as I held the letter in my hand. My father, the aforementioned Brendan, was standing on the stairs, bleary-eyed. "Uh, Dad I can explain, see, I went to get a drink-"

"And you read my mail."

I looked over at the messy stack of envelopes. "...yeah, that's basically it."

Running his fingers tiredly through his thick, wavy dark brown hair (like mine), Dad came down the stairs and into the kitchen. I handed him the letter. "I guess as long as I'm guilty, can you explain this? And can you explain why it took me so long to hear about this when it was postmarked a month ago?"

Dad tugged the letter out of my fingers. "I don't know what to say, Niamh. I think they're overreacting. I don't think you need to go, and I didn't want you to worry about it."

I hesitated to respond. Dad had a tendency to take everything with an oh, nothing's going to happen attitude. Sure, I'd known the counselors at the camp to overreact and be worrywarts, but they wouldn't ask me to leave home early because of that, I thought.

Dad most likely guessed what I was thinking. "I don't think you should go, but if you want to-"

I didn't like his tone. I knew that Brendan had never wanted me to learn my heritage and go to the camp in the first place, and it was only because of my insistence that I was allowed to. I didn't have to go now, when he didn't want me to. If I was in danger, I could handle it fine on my own.

Smiling up at him, I replied, "Nope. I'll stay here until I usually go." Finishing off my drink, I set the glass in the sink and hugged him. He was kind of a big guy. "Back to bed with me then."

Running upstairs, Deirdre appeared from wherever she'd been hiding and run ahead of me. I shut my bedroom door behind me with a quiet click and sat down on my windowsill, shoving a few candles to the floor, where they landed with soft thunks on the carpeted floor.

Looking out towards sea, I mulled over the letter.

I am a demigod, the daughter of a god and a mortal. Specifically, my mother is Brigid, the Celtic goddess of a lot of things: poetry, smith craft, wells, healing—you name it, she may be related to it. One of the more powerful goddesses of the Tuatha Dé Danann, I'd attracted quite a few monsters before I started going to Cuan Cladach, a summer camp in Maine for the children of the Celtic gods. I'd been training there for almost six summers now. I'm sixteen, and started going when I was ten, which was when Brendan finally told me the truth. It took almost dying by a kelpie to get him to fess, but he's a nervous guy.

He really loved Brigid. I guess he's sad she had to leave him.

The Celtic gods aren't the only gods aren't there. There's also the Greek gods, who are probably the most powerful and important of all the god groups. They started the whole camp system, with their Camp Half-Blood in New York. Everyone else just copied, although I like to think that Cuan Cladach is the best.

All the groups of gods tend to just coexist in their own spheres. It's like having multiple realities in one universe, which can be confusing, but most have come to just accept it. I hear that the Greek kids don't always know that the other pantheons are real, too, which makes all of us think they must be snobs.

I'd like for them to acknowledge our existence. There's hardly any Celtic demigods, so most of Cuan Cladach is empty, but it's a pride thing.

Standing up, I walked over to my dresser. I picked up an elastic from the tangle of various jewelry and hair things sitting on top of it and tugged my hair into a ponytail and turned off the light. It was still uncomfortably hot.

I'd almost forgotten what made me wake up, but as I was flipping my pillow over to the cool side and fluffing it up, I remembered the dream.

What a strange night.

Niamh's Home: The house where Niamh lives is an actual address. I found it in a real estate listing. If you have any way of getting there, please don't bother anyone that may currently be living there. .;