Chronicles of Kells and Temra
The withered leaves cracked under foot as the knights went through their training. This was late autumn, a brief interval before winter snow. Autumn was a last hurrah before winter, a brief time of plenty before the belt-tightening season of winter.
Cathbad watched the knights train, as he limped around his shop, casting incantations and studying signs. An old injury was acting up and this combined with the cold, put him in a rather gloomier mood than usual.
It was true Druids aged differently from ordinary people, but they still aged, and these days he couldn't help but feel his years. This season always brought it out in him.
The wind whistled through the open window, stirring the protective charms and powders he had laid all over the shop. Though the past weeks had been peaceful, he was well aware of the danger that lurked. Nemain still sat on the Temran throne, but eventually, she would make her move and the knights and Kells had better be ready.
He studied and restudied his notes he had made on his observations. So far all signs pointed to the same thing: Kells was in for a hard winter. So he made sure that the harvest was carefully stored away and rationed so that they may survive the hard winter that was coming.
Then he saw something. The vision was difficult to make out at first, but gradually it became clearer: Maeve had returned to Kells, not as a queen bent on conquest, but a half-drowned vagrant clinging to the shore. As soon as the vision ended, he looked up to see that Aideen had seen the same thing in her travels around the island, and was now informing the knights.
The knights came forward. Deirdre, heir to the royal family he had served for generations, led the way, her face a mask of anger. Ivar and Angus, Knight of Sea and Knight of Earth, followed, as did Rohan and Garrett, all of them looking to him for guidance. "Is what Aideen said true?" Rohan asked.
"Yes," Cathbad said, "Maeve has returned to Kells." Deirdre's face turned white with rage and it looked like she might erupt with anger; Cathbad directed his next reply to her. "I will inform the King. You must go and find her before our enemies do, and remember only your father can carry out the sentence laid against her." She nodded, but Cathbad hoped the knights would keep her in line. Deirdre was a fine young woman and would someday make a good queen, but she did have a temper.
As soon as the knights had left in pursuit of Maeve, he resumed his work, casting incantations in hopes of finding out more about what the future held.
Maeve retched, but since there was nothing in her stomach, all that came up with a thin, white liquid. Her head throbbed. How long had she been at sea? It felt like an eternity since she had had water to drink and food to eat; she would even settle for the mush they fed animals now.
This was not how she had hoped to return to Kells. She had planned to gather her resources and come back with an army in tow, overthrow the king, and set herself on the throne. She planned to come back in glory, not like this. She groaned as her stomach churned and prayed that nothing more would come up."
"You…" She looked up to find herself staring down Deirdre and her crossbow. Deirdre snarled at her. "You knew the penalty for returning to this island. I ought to kill you now."
"Hold it," Ivar said. "Only his majesty can carry out such orders." Deirdre looked ready to pounce but she held back as Angus, Garrett, and Rohan walked closer to the shore to inspect Maeve.
Maeve groaned as she struggled to get to her feet. Pain shot through her body; she sank back into the sand. Garrett studied her. "She's been at sea for some time."
"Well give the man a prize." Maeve saw no reason to be kind to them. They were just going to take her to her enemy and he would have her hang. She had no intention of being pleasant and making her transport an easy one for them.
But Rohan looked thoughtful. Maeve shuddered. She hoped he hadn't gotten soft on her.
She held no illusions that Rohan had any kind of feelings towards her other than scorn. She didn't expect any less of him. Honesty compelled her to admit that if she'd have been disappointed if he did have warm feelings towards her; it'd prove he was no relation of hers.
"What are you doing here?" Rohan asked.
"I was in the neighborhood and I thought I'd give your King a hello," She said her expression as stony as possible. "What do you think?"
If he was affected in any way by what she said, Rohan didn't show. Instead he turned to Garrett and Angus and said, "Come on, we need to carry her back to the King. Perhaps she'll be more willing to talk to him."
So they scooped her up as though she were a small child and carried her to the castle.
She didn't expect a warm welcome and didn't receive one. As she passed through the gates, not as a reigning conqueror like she had once dreamed but as a prisoner, the soldiers jeered and threw garbage at her. But she didn't care. She was going to hang soon enough anyway. Might as well enjoy her last few minutes.
She let them carry her into the castle, but as soon as she was there, she insisted upon standing even as pain shot through her. No way was she going to appear before the King cradled in somebody else's arms.
She studied the King seated on his throne. Pity, she thought, she had rather hoped to outlive him at least. He did look aged, more grey streaked his beard, but she knew the odds of him deciding to spare her were not in her favor. He was the most irritating type of man: the kind that always kept his word.
She decided to speak first. "You're looking well today, your majesty." She spat out these last words with all the venom she could muster.
But King Conchobar was not easily swayed; she didn't expect him to be. She would be the same way if the tables were turned and he was facing her, she wouldn't show him any mercy.
"What is your business in Kells?"
"What do you think, your highness?"
He stared at her as stone-faced as she was. "You understand the penalty for returning to this island is death by hanging."
She started to speak, but before she could, Cathbad rushed in, carrying scrolls of parchment. "My king, I must ask that you spare Maeve's life?"
"What?" Deirdre said.
"I've studied and restudied the signs and all I can conclude is that Maeve, for good or bad, has a role to play in future events. We can't have her die, not yet."
"What if her role is for bad?" Deirdre said.
"That's not for us to say, but remember, she knows Nemain better than any of us. If Nemain ever decides to make her move, we might need Maeve's help."
Deirdre looked appalled at the idea of ever needing Maeve's help. Maeve herself couldn't help but smirk. She had spent much of her life trying to outsmart Nemain to no avail. If they thought she had special insight into Nemain, they were mistaken.
She studied the faces of the knights assembled in the King's court. They too, looked shocked at the idea of sparing her, but King Conchobar looked thoughtful. "So Maeve might still have a role in the coming conflict?"
"That's what the signs say," Cathbad said.
"Very well then. Treat her injuries and take her to the dungeons. We can hold her there."
"What?" Deirdre shouted.
Rohan watched as Cathbad set her broken bone and splinted it then had the soldiers escort her to the dungeons. He wished he could watch all this with a dispassionate eye like Angus, concerned only with what it means for Kells, but the truth was that Maeve's arrival in Kells brought all sorts of mixed feelings in him. He had no illusions that their broken relationship could ever be healed—he had severed any emotional ties he had to her ages ago and she to him—but he was curious. Just how had she wound up in Kells? But there was more he wanted to know than just that: Maeve possessed information he desperately coveted. She knew who his father was.
Cathbad had done his best to try to find out more information about his father to no avail. It was like Maeve had systematically erased every part of her history. So much as he didn't want to see Maeve again, part of him was grateful that the King had spared her and she was still alive. Alive, she could still give him the information he craved. Dead, she was of no use to anybody.