O'Seamus sat on the cot in the room that was to be his quarters and shut his eyes. The last three days (as far as he could tell) had been a blur - a waking nightmare. Even now he wasn't sure he was actually awake as he was thousands of miles away from anything he'd known.

Gone were the mountains and the loughs; the fleeting shafts of light on the water bright like silver; the frequent rains; the soft green grass. The warmth and camaraderie of his men around a campfire. But also the thrill of the battlefield and the screams of the vanquished. The wash of elation and fear as you could never be sure out of your men who would still be alive at nightfall. And the strange quietness in his head as he focused on where to send his troops as the battle unfolds. How he could be sure that those who were closest to him he could trust with his life...

He awoke with a start - a rank wash of fear sweat on his face.

The screams and then the silence and the frantic dash to a new position. The dawning realization that the advice he'd been given had meant he's sent his men into the calvary with no back up. They were surrounded and cut down to a man. He fled with those troops still alive. They were picked off too by the archers. How had it gone so wrong until it was only him, running into the chilly darkness. No longer from the battle. And so he'd kept on running until exhaustion and cold caught up with him and he collapsed in the dark.

After that, memories didn't seem real. He woke up and too soon the realization that he wasn't dead flowed into him. He was hurt and exhausted and the night had been cold, but not enough. His last clear memory of action was to climb up the steep hill behind the cliff which led straight down into a lough. The shining meres and the mountains clad in a ragged veil of cloud. The fitful wind that nipped at his bare head.

It is forbidden to be a self-murderer. You should have let them take your life like a warrior.
Why did you run? Their lives are over. So is yours. Why did you run?

He wandered on the edge. Enough. This is all I deserve.

He turned his back to the edge, folded his arms and allowed himself to fall backwards. If the fall didn't suffice, then the chilly waters of the lough would make sure.

The next thing he felt was a jolt - surely he couldn't have fallen that far. He hadn't. Someone had caught him as he fell but he was still clear of the water. Yet there he was in mid air.

There was silence - nothing apart from his laboured breathing. The man holding him looked at him dispassionately. O'Seamus glanced at him. Words deserted him.

"Quiet now. Do as I say. I have been watching you. And you are valuable to me."

O'Seamus looked at him, uncomprehending. They were still apparently floating in the air seemingly without effort from the man, even though O'Seamus was seven feet tall and as muscled as a bullock. Whoever he was, he had the cold hauteur of a Norman noble which was matched by the hair and the fine robes he wore. He had a strange pallor to his face and long points to his ears, along with a strange accent he didn't understand. Was this an Unseelie...?

"Damn you! Just let me die Norman scum!"

The man without flinching loosened his grip.

"Ahhhh!"

The man grabbed O'Seamus outstretched hand as he fell.

"I knew it. You are not so ready to end your game. Come now. This is your choice. Either I can let you go or you can come with me."

What choice was there? One thing for sure was that he could not do what his enemies in battle failed to do to himself.

Then sudden blackness and awakening inside a well-appointed bedchamber.
He wasn't sure about how he had gotten there but then the strange man started to interrogate him on who he was and how he got to be where he'd been found. Despite his reluctance to reveal anything to this strange Norman sorceror, he could not help but speak. If anything it hurt more not to speak. This strange man had an allure about him like an Unseelie. Perhaps he was one of the Good People. But why him?
The man finally ceased his questioning.

"In case you are wondering, I am Count Bleck. I have an important mission in life. I aim to rid the world - indeed all worlds of the horrors of war. My powers are great but one powerful man cannot achieve their aims on their own. I have been watching you, you have great potential to aid me in my goals. You may speak now."

O'Seamus gasped - he hadn't realised that he couldn't speak until then.

"Wha..What'd you think I should help you? I don't know yeh. If yeh not a Norman than you're a Unseelie! I'd be daft to have dealings with yeh!"

"That might be so. But what have you here. You're a warrior with no battle, a general with no army. I could let you go - perhaps to have you try a third attempt at ending your life? Oh, and the way I'm not a Norman. Where I am from is of no relevance to this."

O'Seamus swallowed hard. There was nothing. But yet he didn't have the nerve to finish what he had denied himself - a warrior's death. Perhaps that's all he deserved.

"One more thing, O'Chunks, is that you must meet my assistant, my second in command. She will verify what you have said is true. She will also be the person who will rely my orders to you when I'm not present. But before we can return to my domain I need to be sure of your loyalty."

O'Seamus sat upright with a jolt.

"Hey now! My name is O'Seamus and I'm nae taking orders from a woman-"

He felt a stab of pain and could not speak.

"I should have warned you, O'Scheunks but we have other means of defense beyond brute strength. Now, this is your last question. Will you swear fealty to me and aid me in my mission to build better worlds? You will leave with us to my domain where you will be given everything you need for your role. Or will you have me return you to the place we first met? No need to answer now - wait until my assistant has seen you first."

O'Seamus sighed. There really was no choice now.

A young woman entered the room. She was dressed in the manner of a Norman noblewoman although in contrast to those who had gold in their coffers her clothes were white and grey - almost like a nun's habit. She too had the same pale face as the Count had. She looked him in the eyes - strange pink eyes like the Count.

"Greetings ..O'Tchunks? I am Nastasia. I am the Count's personal assistant and when you have joined us I will be your line manager. It is my job to ensure that all in Castle Bleck know what they are doing. In return I expect all my fellow Minions and all staff to report to me when requested. Ultimately, the Count is fully informed at all times and the plans can proceed to schedule. Think of me as your line manager, 'k?"

O'Seamus nodded dully. He understood about one word in three of what the woman said as she had a similar strange accent to the Count. He had no idea what a 'line manager' or a 'schedule' was but he wondered if those were places he was going to sleep.

She stared at him intently during her speech. What was more unnerving was despite the fact he was still wearing the filthy kilt, shirt and armour from yesterday he felt naked when she looked at him. He shuddered.

Meanwhile the two strangers exchanged glances. The woman known as Nastasia gave the Count a curt nod. They both turned to face O'Seamus. The Count spoke.

"We are satisfied that you are suitable for the mission. Now you must swear fealty to the Count or else we will return you from whence you came."

If he wanted death so badly, it would be an obvious choice. But now...

"I swear fealty to you, Count Bleck that I, O'Seamus will serve you and your clan and that death shall befall all who dare threaten yeh!"

The Count nodded.

"Then we may proceed. Nastasia, do what is required as we shall return to our domain. Do not worry about provisions - everything you need is there."

And with that a pall of inky blackness and a period of nothingness until he awoke in Castle Bleck.