Part Twelve

A/N: Here we go again. Another chapter! In the same week! That's a first for me. But, time to thank my reviewers! To: Warrior-princess, Evenstar-mor2004, Mustang Gal, PhoenixFyre, camlann, starnat, Tracy137, Amirra, Twilight Eternal, SpectralLady, and Barbara of the Tea. My deepest thanks to you all!

Oh, just a side note. The curse I used in pt 11 is an original work based upon the real Druidic Three Fold Curse. As a follower of the Druid faith myself, I found it suiting that I should use it because Fainne is also of the Druid faith. And, since many of you have asked, I am Irish. Moreover, I can trace my roots to one of the most ancient Celtic Clans of Ireland.

But I divulge…. On with the story!

Part Twelve

When I awake, my head throbs. Carefully I feel my head and find a bloody bump at the back where I believe I was struck. That is going to hurt for a while. My hand then flies to my belly to check on the child. Nothing seems to be wrong. My head clear of preoccupation; I can now observe where I have been thrown my Ciaran.

Everything is almost devoid of light. There is a small oil lamp that hangs out in the hall casting a feeble glow. This place reeks of mold and rotting corpses. My nose crinkles in disgust. The aftermath of the battle on Badon Hill smelled like a field of flowers compared to this stench. The floor I sit on is hard earth, scattered with a bit of moldy straw.

My hand unconsciously rubs my belly. If my reckoning is right, the child should be here around Beltane. Just my luck to carry a child through the bitter winter months of Erie. My thoughts then stray to Guinevere; she is to bear her child around Imbolc.

Curling into a corner to avoid a draft, I examine what I have become. I speak aloud, not caring if the walls hear my secrets. "Fainne Senara O'Turlach, you are a mess," I chide myself. "You have become weak, shrinking from hard times. When you were captured by the Romans, you never weakened like this. What would Dagonet say? Or would you rather hide behind your husband instead of standing tall beside him?" I pause my personal rant as I realize what I am saying to myself. "My mother would be ashamed…"

"I am ashamed." A stern voice cuts through the darkness.

"Mathair?' I murmur.

"Aye, iníon, it's me." She moves toward me from the corner that she had been in.

"But, I thought you had died…" My mouth still asked the question even though I knew her solid, earthly body was sitting before me. She still had her fire red curls, the O'Turlach blue eyes, and the same milk white skin as me.

She looks at me closely. "Iníon, I am your mother, Aíne Senara O'Turlach. It takes more than a simple village raid to kill me. Nay, I was captured by Ciaran around the time you ran away. He thought I knew where you had gone." She sits back on her heels and regards me. "Now, if what ye say and what the guards say is true, I have every reason in this blessed Earth to be ashamed to call you my iníon."

"I broke the promise, mathair. I did nothing to make you proud." My head hangs in shame. Something inside me longs for her to strike me across my head. The last thing my mother had told me before I ran away was to make her proud.

"Ye have broken the promise, but not entirely. Ye have done some things to make me proud. For one, ye have survived. Secondly, it seems that ye have married an honorable man and willingly bear his child." Aíne reaches out and tucks a stand of auburn curls behind my ear. "Fainne, ye are my iníon. Nothing ye do can change how much I love you."

Leave it to my mother to show me that I'm being selfish and stupid. But, she is from a great line of warrior women. They all are willing to show you the truth. "Mum, was it a disappointment for you when you realized that I would not follow the line?"

"At first, yes. But then as I watched you grow I realized that your path lay elsewhere. Our clan village was filled with girls eager to become a great warrior. While they shirked their chores, you were there, doing yours and theirs without complaint. You even cared for the village children whose parents had other things to tend to. Besides, we had your elder brother Ronan to be the warrior in the family." My mother's voice held a hint of sadness while she remembers Ronan.

But I wanted more answers. "Then why did you allow Father to promise me Ciaran?" This is a question that has haunted me for years.

"He had us all fooled. I believe that you were the only one in the entire village that ever saw him for what he truly is." Aíne's eyes cloud in anguish. "Had I known, I never would have agreed to the match. Foolish of me to deny the Old Ways of not allowing you to choose your own husband.

I yawn widely, suddenly aware of how tired I am. I pull Dagonet's cloak close, longing to be safely wrapped in his arms.

Aíne comes over and smoothes my stubborn curls away. "Sleep, a chroí. We will have plenty of opportunities to speak later."

The passing of time is documented by the wounds on my body and my growing belly. Ciaran has ignored the Three Fold Laws in his hopes of having me miscarry the child. Each time I am returned to the cell, Aíne rants and raves and fusses over me. She curses Ciaran for his stupidity, each time declaring loudly that to bear a child is a blessing. Each time she does this I must remind her that yelling will do us both no good.

On the day of Imbolc, my mother and I hold a vigil in honor of Guinevere. We pray to Brigid, the Goddess of Healing that Guinevere will bear her child safely. Though we do not know for certain, our hearts tell us that she has borne her child by the end of the night.

The winter is bitter down her in these drafty dungeons. Once and awhile a guard will pity us and build us a small fire while he is on duty. Sometimes we even get some warm stew instead of a hard bread crust for supper if the guard is benevolent. We pass the long hours telling stories and learning what has befallen the other during our years apart. When my mother tells me that many of our clan were killed in the village raid supported by Ciaran I weep. My clans-people were good people; we only fought to protect.

One day, Mother brought up Ronan, a subject still sore for the both of us. "Ronan, I believe, has joined the Finna. We rarely see him anymore. He's always off fighting somewhere…" Aíne's eyes hold a far-off gaze while she thinks on my elder brother. From what I remember of him, he was a caring young man, trying to fix the injustice around him. She turns her attention back to me. "But tell me Fainne, what of your husband? Ye have barely mentioned a word about him!"

I give a half laugh. I have been trying to avoid broaching this subject for fear of the pain it may cause me. However, after listening to my mother tell of the strife our village faced, I realize that my own little story is no where near as horrible. "If I mention him, I must mention the entire family! You cannot mention one without the others. Dagonet is the name of my husband. He is a Knight of Arthur's and of Sarmatia. Dag is the most caring man that I have ever met. We have a son, Lucan, who is about eight." My mother's eyes widen at this statement. "Don't fret, mum. He is an orphan who adopted us…" For the duration of the day I speak of my family in Britain.

"I must meet this Vanora," my mother says between laughs. "She seems like a formidable woman who could do some damage with a fry pan!"

Our mother-daughter moment is ruined by the entrance of Ciaran. "Well what do we have here? A little family time?"

"Since this is family time, I suggest you leave," I blatantly state.

Ciaran's hand strikes my cheek. "SHUT UP!" He stalks about the cell, obviously pissed about something.

"Sit down, take a load off…" The glare he sends me it full of poison.

"I would be careful of what ye say, wench. It may be the difference between life and death for you." He grabs the back of my head. "Once that child is born, you are mine!"

I meet his eyes. "I will never be yours. I belong to a man far greater than you." I then proceed to spit in his face. This earns me a lash across my back.

Ciaran's attention then turns to my mother who has been sitting quietly in a corner. "What, the famous Aíne O'Turlach, Warrior of Erie, is not coming to her daughter's rescue?" Ciaran scoffed at her. "Shows what kind of woman you are." He releases me and stalks around my mother. "Remember what I told you." This is all he says before he leaves us.

Many of our peaceful days in the dungeon are like that. I am never able to ask Aíne what Ciaran meant because she always avoids the subject. Winter is fading, making way for Spring. Oh the joyous Spring. It reminds me of Arthur and Guinevere's wedding and when Dagonet and I first realized our love. It makes me sigh to remember these sweet memories.

My belly has grown huge, reminding me that Beltane is close. My mother only smiles at me knowingly. It is almost as though she laughs at me each time she smiles. I roll my eyes at her childishly, ruing the day I was placed in these Goddess forsaken dungeons. The only good thing that has come with me nearing my time is that Ciaran no longer comes near me. It is a relief to not feel the bite of a whip on my back for once.

I stand by the small grate feeling the cool Spring air on my face. It is refreshing to smell the wild flowers in the air instead of mold and rotting corpses. Suddenly, a pain sears through my body. It is so intense that I almost fall to the ground. I give a cry of surprise that has my mother running towards me.

"Iníon, what is the matter?"

"There's… so… much… pain," I manage to explain between clenched teeth.

"Congratulations Fainne. It's time for your child to join us."

Mother eases me to the ground near the grating. I insist on having the cool breeze on my face. My braided hair is released and all of the other knots are undone. This is an old tradition so that the cord will not wrap around the child's neck, causing death. The contractions cause my stomach to ripple under the skin. I know not how many hours I lay here, sweating and cursing everything I know. Sometime in the middle of the night, my mother deems it time.

"Fainne, you need to sit up, sweets. When you feel ready, give a mighty push."

She makes it seem so simple. I feel as though I am being torn in half. Next time I see Dagonet, he is going to get a piece of my mind. I have no idea how Vanora can deal with this so often. "The babe is crowning!" My mother cries out in excitement. Gathering my strength, I give a mighty push. I feel the babe slide out to be caught in my mother's waiting hands. "You have a daughter!"

I fall on to my back in exhaustion. Aíne cleans the babe and swaddles it. Ciaran was nice enough to lend some clean water and cloths for the babe. "Mathair, let me see her." I hold my arms out for the child. She is placed in my arms. She is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Her eyes are those of the O'Turlach's and her hair is the dusky curls of Dagonet. I am filled with so much love for the child.

"What will you name her?" Mother asks from beside me.

I think for a moment. Considering everything that I have been through with her, only one name seems appropriate. "I shall name her Aíena. My brave joy." A conflict of emotions crosses my mother's face. "Mum, what's wrong?"

"Ciaran told me months ago that if I wanted you to live, I must kill the child once it is born. But seeing this child and understanding what she means to you and knowing that she is of my blood, I cannot do the deed. Therefore we have only one option: get you out before Ciaran comes back.

Oh Goddess! How I wish that I was home right now. But now I must prepare for my next journey. My flight from Dubh Seascann.

A/N: Me again bringing this time with a little Gaelic lesson. I realized that I used some terms that you may not be familiar with. So, here goes my impromptu lesson.

Iníon daughter

a chroí my dear

Aíena (name) means brave joy. Pronounced aw-eena

Aíne (name) means brave. Pronounced aw nee

Ronan (name) means seal child. Pronounced ro-nan

I think that's everything. See you next chapter! It might not be for a while due to the Hamlet paper I must write. Ugh. Well, review of you feel so inclined! Toodles!