[Forgall Monach] said that it was true and that the chariot-chiefs performed marvelously, but that were Cuchulain to go to Domnall the Soldierly in Alba; his skill would be the more marvelous, and if he went to Scathach to learn soldierly feats, he would excel the warriors of all Europe. But it was for this that he proposed it to Cuchulain, that he might not come back again.
— Author Unknown, The Wooing of Emer
No man in Ulster could match the beauty of Cú Chulainn. So lovely were his looks that a single smile sent maidens' hearts aflutter. But most of all, no man could surpass his quickness and deftness.
So, where was he supposed to find the strongest warrior in all the land?
Cú released a long sigh. His eyes flickered across the game of draughts, jadedly waiting for his opponent's move. Conall, too, stared intently at the board.
"You gonna make a move there, buddy?" Cú asked dryly.
"Shut it. I'm concentrating," snapped Conall.
"Don't think too hard."
"I said shut it."
Raising a hand in surrender, Cú leaned back and gazed at the ceiling. A lone spider scuttled across the wooden beams, crawling toward a small clump of webbing. While a dozen flies darted about, one unlucky wretch struggled within the web. As he watched, Cú's thoughts wandered to a green-haired maiden bathed in moonlight.
She was everything he could want in a wife. Her sharp tongue could certainly give any unsuspecting man a thrashing if her gaze didn't scorch them first. He smiled at the thought. It was a shame the rumors undersold that. Perhaps, they were too focused on her beauty—not that he could blame them.
Were he anything but a knight, he'd scoff at her demands. But the challenge enticed him, thrilled his warrior blood. If his prowess made him more irresistible, then who was he to deny the fair princess's request?
A loud klack! of wood against wood disturbed him. "Your move." Lowering his head, Cú met the proud gaze of Conall. He pursed his lips and put his hands on his knees, his eyes scanning the board. Alas, it seemed Conall had captured one of his pieces. No matter—the game was still young.
"Are you still going to go through with that?" Off to the side, Láeg polished a silver shield. The charioteer was not referring to the game.
Cú snorted. "Of course I am. What kind of knight would I be if I backed down?"
"Sounds like too much trouble for a woman," said Conall.
His eyes narrowed. "Well, it's her or no wife at all." He moved a piece forward.
"Lugh help us all if that comes to pass…" Conall lamented.
"Don't worry, Conall," Cú reassured him, placing a hand over his heart, "on my honor, I won't lay a hand on your wife." He paused. Then he added, "But if she comes to me…"
"DON'T YOU DARE!" Conall slammed his fists on the table. Cú cackled, holding his forehead. Láeg rolled his eyes.
Wiping a tear from his eye, Cú said, "Your turn."
Conall glared at the board. His face pinched comedically, cheeks reddened by his anger.
It was true, though. Cú's dashingly good looks attracted the attention of all the women in Ulster. Even the married ones. Consorting with a comrade's woman always left unnecessary tension. So, concerned for their wives and maidens, Ulstermen took counsel and decided to find him a wife. A married man would be less likely to accept the love of another woman, they reasoned. Yet, no maiden they brought back could sway Cú's heart.
So, no one had the right to complain when he wooed a lass through a less-than-conventional courtship. As long as he got married, right?
"Would you quit sighing?!" Conall barked, disrupting his thoughts.
Cú tilted his head. "I was sighing?"
"You've sighed constantly every time it's Conall's turn," Láeg clarified. He spat into the rag and fiercely scrubbed a spot on the shield. He muttered crossly, "What animal did you bash this against…?"
"What is this, some kind of psychological tactic?!" Conall spat.
"Ah?" Cú arched an eyebrow. "I don't need any psychological tactics to win against you."
"WHY, YOU DIRTY BAS—"
Knock, knock. "Oi."
Their heads jerked toward the entryway. A knight stood casually, knuckles poised against the wooden frame. Seeing he had received their attention, his fist fell to his side. "His Majesty requests you three's presence."
"Huh? What for?" King Conchobar had excused them for the evening.
"An embassy has arrived. White Foreigners."
From Norway, huh? That place was certainly more than a casual boat ride away. What purpose did they have here?
"Whelp, you heard the man." Cú jumped to his feet, dusting off his legs. He glanced at Conall, smirking. "I s'ppose our game ends in a premature draw, Conall."
"Draw, schmaw." He crossed his arms. "I was about to beat your sorry ass."
"Yeah?" Cú crouched back down. "Where were ya gonna move your piece?"
Conall slid a chip forward. "Here."
Cú squinted, thinking. His hand reached out to grab a red piece. Klack, klack, klack, klack, klack, klack! He jumped over several white-colored chips, all the way to the king's row. Cú then swept his hand across the board, removing the captured pieces. "I win."
Conall choked.
The White Foreigners pleased King Conchobar with golden treasures, and as was customary to guests, the men of Emain Macha feasted and played in their honor. For three days the festivities lasted, each man eating and drinking their fill.
And on that final day, the leader of the White Foreigners approached Cú.
"Cú Chulainn, splendid warrior of Ulster!" he proclaimed with arms outspread. "If I may have a moment of your time, it would please me greatly. Let us go somewhere quiet so that we may exchange words unhindered."
Cú lowered the tankard from his lips. Clearing his throat, he gave Láeg a rough pat on the shoulder. "Be right back, Láeg."
Láeg grunted with a short nod.
Slipping from his seat, Cú followed the White Foreigner to the farthest corner of the mead hall. Cú glanced around jadedly, watching each of his comrades drink themselves into a stupor. A group gathered around Conall, chanting eagerly: "Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!" Cú chuckled to himself and shook his head.
Finally, they reached a quieter spot. "What can I do for you, sir?" asked Cú.
The White Foreigner spoke keenly, "In my travels, I have not seen a group of warriors more marvelous than those here in Ulster."
"That would be praise more appropriate for the whole gathering, wouldn't it?"
"Indeed—but not what I have to say next. For you, fair Cú Chulainn, performed more marvelously than the rest."
Cú barely stopped a smirk from distorting his pleasant smile. "You flatter me, kind sir. But, if you were worried about causing a fuss, you needn't be. Everyone knows I am the most adept warrior in all of Ulster—and Erinn," he added.
The man smiled widely. "If I may be so bold…"
Cú's lips twitched, amused. Well, he was in a good mood—why not hear the man out?
"You are great indeed, but do you not yearn for…a challenge?"
Leaning against the wall, Cú replied, "How do you mean?"
"It is as you said, Cú Chulainn. Your fellow Ulstermen know of your deftness. And it is just as I observed—no man here is your equal. A blessing of the gods, one might say. Yet, one might even say it is a curse."
Cú narrowed his eyes.
"If there is not a soul to match your skills, how will they ever be tested—nay, how will they become even greater still? A man like you would not want to stagnate, surely. But, I know of a place where you can become even more remarkable."
Heat rushed underneath Cú's skin. "Oh yeah? Where would I find this place?"
His pale eyes gleamed. "In Alba lies the Land of Shadows—a terrible domain. Yet, a warrior-woman resides within who can teach you great soldierly feats. She is called Scáthach—The Shadowy One. Go there, and you shall surely become the greatest warrior in all of Europe."
A terrifying domain with a terrifying warrior-woman in Alba? Cú's blood boiled fiercely, the fires of thrill igniting within his soul. The prospect sounded too good to be true! His gaze flickered around the White Foreigner's face, studying every wrinkle and whisker.
Those pale eyes…
Cú grinned. "If what you say is true, old man—then I will become great indeed."
Thirty nights had passed since the last snowfall of the year. As the days lengthened, the dreadful chill of winter faded into a distant memory.
Emer pushed her hair over her shoulders, leaning over to watch a young maiden thread the canvas. On it, the beginning of a simple vine pattern formed. The craftsmanship was awkward, but Emer smiled nevertheless. She had improved since the last time. "Don't be afraid to make the loops smaller," she advised. "It may take longer, but you'll have more control over the shape of the vine."
The maiden nodded, following Emer's instruction.
"Very good! Just like that."
Blessed with the gift of needlework, Emer taught her foster sisters when the days warmed. Something about working outside made them more at ease. Emer breathed in deeply, letting the smell of flowers and soil fill her nostrils. Indeed, she found herself soothed as well. The plains of Erinn were greener than any precious stone. No land was more beautiful than hers.
She stepped over to the next girl, observing her work. "Your threads are too loose. Be taut against the canvas, or else they will snag easily."
"Okay."
Emer glided about the gardens and tended to each maiden, providing a helpful tip or two. She soon reached Fial, who sat underneath a flowering tree. The woman's pale-green hair draped loosely over her shoulders, trailing down her back gently tease the grass. Emer smiled and bowed over Fial.
Fial tilted back to meet her younger sister's eye. "Have you come to breathe down my neck?" she asked jovially.
Emer replied, "Of course not. I merely want to see how you're doing."
"I'm doing splendidly!" she preened and held up her canvas. Indeed—her technique was flawless; the thread hugged the canvas snugly yet not rigidly.
Her artistry, however…
A bead of sweat slipped down Emer's forehead. "Mm, yes. Quite."
"Oh, hush, you!" Fial waved her hand dismissively. "We can't all be gifted with drawing skills."
Emer's lips twitched in amusement. Eyes falling back to Fial's work, she looked at it critically. She mapped out two people—a man and a woman—outlined in black thread. An arm from each figure fused together in the center, resembling what Emer assumed to be holding hands. It was a rather romantic subject despite its childish appearance. It added to the charm even.
Yet, the woman's hairstyle felt suspiciously familiar. And the spikes coming from the man's head…
"If I may," she asked tentatively, "are the woman and man of your own creation, or…?"
A wry glint twinkled in Fial's pale eyes. "I'm glad you asked, my dear sister. It just so happens that this is of you and your future husband."
"...Why would my husband have spikes atop his head?"
"That's his hair! No need to be rude!"
Squinting, Emer visualized how such a hairstyle would translate into real life. Perhaps, he would sport short, scruffy hair, the wind the closest thing to a comb it would ever see. That, or his hair would stay true to Fial's depiction. She hoped not. Furthermore, it seemed Fial fancied her a tall man; Emer's figure only just reached the man's shoulder. She supposed it wouldn't be terribly hard to find such a man, for Ulstermen were certainly—hold on.
Color splashed in her vision, painting wild hair a deep shade of blue and eyes a glistening crimson. Distress settled in her chest like barbs. "Surely, that is not Cú Chulainn."
"That's odd," said Fial. "I don't believe I said it was." Her lips curled deviously.
Emer scoffed. "Don't look at me like that. Who else would you be referring to?"
"Perhaps this man is merely one I saw in a vision." Taking up a pair of scissors, Fial clipped the remaining thread.
"Don't be coy," scolded Emer.
Like morning dew, her act evaporated. "But he's so cute! Not to mention dashing and handsome and hot—"
"Those all mean the same thing."
"I'll list every synonym if I have to!" Fial cried. Cupping her cheek, she sighed heavily and added, "You deny me a lovely brother-in-law…"
"You seem more interested in him than I."
"He is rather charming, but it would be cruel for the elder sister to steal from the younger."
"Fial…" Emer massaged her temples. She had long since given up on curbing Fial's hopes, for every time she tried, the pale-haired girl returned with even greater vigor. Fortunately, she was sensible enough to not speak about it around their father.
How cold his eyes had looked that day. It chilled her.
A rumbling rose from the distance, disturbing her thoughts. Emer turned and spotted a small cloud of dust floating on the horizon. Her chest tightened. This was uncomfortably familiar.
"Oh? Visitors?" Fial wondered aloud, shifting her weight. "Pity. Father has business elsewhere."
From the dust, the form emerged—a horse and rider. How odd for a man to travel alone. Unease pricked at her skin. She hoped the lone rider would not cause her foster sisters trouble. Still, if he stopped, Emer would have no choice but to humor him.
Finally, the lone horseman encroached on their gathering. Silver earrings caught the pale sunlight. Pushing his messy, blue hair back, the rider regarded her with striking red eyes. "Afternoon, princess."
Emer gawked. Her face betrayed her, flushing a soft red. "C-Cú?"
The blue knight laughed. "Don't look so shocked. It's only me."
Emer's lip thinned.
"Sir Cú?!" Fial squealed, scrambling to her feet. She nearly tripped over the leftover thread, but Emer steadied her. Smoothing out her hair like nothing had happened, Fial beamed at Cú. "What a pleasure it is to see you again."
"Likewise, my lady." Cú dipped his head. "So tell me, why are all you lovely maidens out here? I had assumed you'd be in the castle."
"And waste such beautiful weather? Nay," Fial said, squeezing Emer's shoulder, "we are learning needlework from my fair sister."
"Ah? Then her talents are not wasted."
"Never!"
Cú's eyes fell to the canvas clutched in Fial's hand. Emer's throat dried. "What did you make?" he asked.
Fial flipped it around. "Why, it is of Emer and yo—"
Emer snatched the canvas away from Fial. With a swift spin on her heels, she hurled it like a discus.
"AH, MY NEEDLEWORK!" Fial shrieked. She sprinted after it.
Clearing her throat, Emer adjusted her golden circlet.
"...That seemed unnecessary," Cú said after a long pause.
"Never you mind."
"I wish I heard her finish," he added. "You seemed awful frazzled about me seeing it."
Emer turned to face him directly, eyes guarded. "Why have you returned?"
Cú snorted lightly. "Ya don't have to sound so disgusted." He slipped down from the saddle. Just like in the stitching, Emer just met his shoulders.
"That was not my intention. Forgive me."
He smiled warmly, and her heart lurched. "No need. You're just being a little blunt as usual. I like that in a woman," he added with a wink.
"Have you merely come to tease me again?" she asked.
"Fun as that is—no, I haven't." Cú patted the neck of his steed, soothing it, and continued. "It's a business affair, you could say."
"My father is away."
"I figured that. But, I know you're smart enough to know my business is with you."
Emer exhaled through her nose, contemplative. "Very well. Speak."
"You really had my hands tied with that request, ya know?" he teased, fiddling with the pommel of his sword. "There's hardly a challenge left in Erinn for me—being the marvelous warrior I am." A small chuckle escaped him when Emer's eyes narrowed. "But luck has struck me, and I now know of a place to strengthen my skills as a warrior."
"What would this place be?" Emer heard Fial pitifully skulk behind her, whimpering about her poor canvas.
"The Land of Shadows." His irises burned like red fire.
She blinked. The words burst from her mouth before she could temper their intensity, "In Alba? Are you insane?!" Her outburst drew the attention of her foster sisters, the ladies peering curiously at the pair. Gulping, Emer recomposed herself, adding quietly, "Do you truly intend to make such a journey?"
He nodded earnestly. "You said I had to train with the strongest warrior in all the land, and as it stands, that warrior resides in Alba."
I had meant Erinn! Surely you knew that! "That is a land of death. Do you expect to survive under its lord?"
"I seem to recall," Cú said, stepping toward her daringly, "that some fair princess told me that I needed to 'survive' the training for my proposal to be considered. 'Survive' implies a manner of peril, doesn't it?" He leaned down slightly—the distance between them grew smaller. Emer's breath hitched. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were concerned about me."
Was she? Emer chewed on her lip. Her stomach knotted and twisted, and her throat constricted. The gazes of onlookers pierced her skin like rusty needles. Why? Why would she be concerned? It was she who had given him this task, knowing the potential harm he may encounter. She didn't want a weak fool as a husband if any husband at all. So, this would be perfect, wouldn't it? So why?
I'm not concerned.
I'm not.
What's wrong with me?
"...Pray," Emer mumbled, her voice brittle, "from whom did you learn of the Land of Shadows?"
Cú's eyes flickered around her face, silently appraising her. His eyes soon shifted toward the ladies before moving back to hers. Clearing his throat, Cú straightened. "A White Foreigner told me about it. He was rather insistent that I travel there."
Why would an embassy from Norway care about a Ulsterman's prowess? "And when did you meet this…White Foreigner?"
"Not too long ago. It'd be about a week since he came to Emain Macha, I think."
"Pity. Father has business elsewhere."
Emer's jaw clenched. She had been right to fear the coldness in her father's eyes that day. How dare he meddle? Emer had handled every man who begged for her hand before; what made the blue knight different in her father's eyes? "Cú, you must know that it wasn't a White Foreigner who told you of that place. It was my father Forgall—"
"I know."
Grimacing, she said, "Then, why do you persist? He sends you there because he wants your death."
Cú met her eye. "I'll make him sorry for suggesting the thought. Because I'll be coming back stronger than I am." His look softened. "Besides, maybe I'll have a fighting chance for your hand now."
She cursed those ruby eyes. Their bewitching power ignited an even greater warmth within her. Emer's fingers dragged through her bodice, disturbed at how her heart fluttered. No mortal man had ever affected her this way, yet Cú…
His dedication is somewhat admirable, I suppose.
Emer closed her eyes, sighing.
He doesn't need to know that though.
"You certainly are a fool, Cú Chulainn."
"One of my many flaws."
"One of many," she echoed.
Cú clucked his tongue and shook his head. "Oi, you don't need to agree so readily."
"As I've told you," Emer replied, smoothing out a wild hair of green, "I don't suffer for fools. Go on your quest if you choose, but do not expect to be rewarded should you succeed. After all, perhaps you merely intend to avoid the Land of Shadows altogether and prowl about Alba at your leisure."
Bristling, Cú grinned with clenched teeth. "What kind of a warrior would I be if I lied about my feats? Hell no! I'm a man of my word."
"So you say, boy," Emer drawled, "so you say."
Cú's eye twitched, the grin deflating. His bitter pout made her smirk a little. "Is your pride wounded already, Cú?" she asked sweetly. The ladies whispered behind them.
"Far from it," he growled. "You've just given me more motivation!"
"Then be on your way. Farewell, Cú Chulainn, should we not meet again."
"Farewell indeed, princess." As Cú gripped the reins, his ruby eyes glimmered with excitement—with promise. "But we will meet again, I swear it." He paused, looking at her intently. Emer arched an eyebrow. "I would hate to never see such fair plains again."
Emer looked down. Her gaze quickly snapped up. "And you shall never see these plains again if you fail."
"I'll keep that in mind." Cú lifted his head. "So long, ladies!" A loud snap of the reins goaded the dark steed on, and it and the rider whisked away.
Fial approached her, frowning. "You really do wish to reject all the men in Ulster," she lamented. "Oh! It pains my poor heart! My sister shall never know the warmth of a man! Only the cold, lonely, miserable, destitute—"
"Fial, please—"
"—wretched life of maidenhood!"
Emer waved dismissively. "I am content as can be."
"That's not romantic at all!" Fial cried.
Gently, she pushed Fial back to the group. "Back to your needlework now, while we still have good light."
"Hmph!" The fair woman crossed her arms with a pout.
When the chatter resumed, many conversations were about her interaction with Cú Chulainn. Most were sympathetic to the knight's plight. "The poor boy! Emer treated him so coldly…"
"Yet, that makes her all the more refined, doesn't it? To stand up against a man without fear!"
"What could he have meant of plains though?"
"The gardens are quite beautiful, I suppose."
Taking a seat on the grass, Emer reached out to pick up her own embroidery canvas. She sighed softly and carefully threaded a bone needle. She smiled faintly. How amusing it was to tease him.
"I would hate to never see such fair plains again."
Emer pursed her lips. A blush colored her cheeks, and she awkwardly gripped her smock and pulled it up. D-Do I really show that much cleavage?