deep breath, deep breath
1.
Aidan was old.
He didn't feel old - his heart and mind were as young as it was when his parents' boat sank near Iona when he was a boy. But he and his body didn't quite agree.
First, it was hard to see the patterns he was creating. He held his mentor's crystal as close to his eye as possible, but the colors and lines kept blurring, except when he was concentrating hard enough to develop a headache.
Second and worse…he would always remember the first time his hand shook while he sketched out a line. Just a product of exhaustion, he thought at first. But then it happened again. And again. And again, no matter how much he rested or tried. It was only the thinner, smaller ones originally, but it only got worse.
It was unpleasant, but he knew what was happening. He was no fool. Time had already taken Columcille—and time was going to take him too.
It didn't take long for him to accept it, and his newest apprentice would carry his legacy well. But sometimes he found himself losing his smile as he watched Brendan's quill fly across the parchment. Not because Brendan possessed even more talent than what he once had, no; because Brendan would age one day, too.
And Aidan didn't want the boy to experience what it was like to lose the largest, most beautiful part of his life.
2.
Saying that faeries didn't age wasn't true, but they did age incredibly slowly. Take Aisling, for instance.
Brendan didn't believe her when she told him that she remembered a time before Kells. After all, it had been there since before the Abbot. "No-one as small as you could be older than him!"
She thought about arguing with him for a bit, then dismissed it as boring and went off to grow more of her snowdrops. And that was the end of her thoughts of time.
At least until Crom Cruach tore so much energy out of her that she couldn't crawl away or even shift forms until Brendan destroyed him. She could only flee afterwards (after destroying the stature that pinned her down, helpless.
Aisling knew, deep in her gut, that much of her life had been lost with Crom.
After that, though, she kept her mind off it. She had to get used to traveling on all fours and not darting up trees. One day, she would be strong enough to shift back into her proper form, but until then, running would have to make do.
And then the Vikings attacked, and Brendan…Brendan was gone.
A decade hadn't been long at all when she had her family. When they were lost, she learned that it could be, when alone. With Brendan gone, she had to learn it over again.
And then he was back, and he wasn't a child any more. Something was lost in between the day the Vikings attacked and his return, something she knew she would miss. He was still her friend…
…but seeing how much he had changed…that was when she realized, even with her life span halved by Crom, she would live many, many years after he was gone.
And Aisling didn't know how she would bear it.
3.
Cellach thought he felt old when he was working on the Wall. Trying to keep Brendan safe. Trying to get everything finished before the Northmen attacked.
He sighed and rolled over in the bed as he felt bones creak. He hadn't truly felt old until he woke up with an arrow in his chest, a wound in his gut, surrounded by the wreckage of his life (literally).
He remembered watching Brendan, filled with youthful energy, running errands. Then, he had felt a pang of regret for not letting him have a normal childhood of playing and making friends. But it is necessary, he thought.
These many years later, he felt soul crushing guilt. Then again, everything that remotely reminded him of Brendan made him soul crushingly guilty.
His large form folded into a fetal position, tucking his hands into his long beard. Now his body matched his mind; his skin, hair, and eyes were faded like ink on old parchment.
Old.
Tired, always.
(Useless. Weak. I couldn't protect him—)
He kept forgetting things. Which ear Brendan had pierced twice. The exact way he spoke.
Cellach felt a stab of fear as he looked at Brendan's paper, clutched in his thin, bony fingers. What if…what if he forgot everything? The thought was horrifying.
All he could do was hold tight and pray.
(Brendan, don't leave me please)
4.
Brendan wasn't old, no, but he had learned patience and how to slow down from the book; after all, if he rushed he got sloppy, and if he was sloppy he would incorporate errors into the pages and then he'd have to start over. A waste of time, supplies, and talent.
He wasn't using such lessons right then.
He had chased his faerie guide through a massive forest and he could finally see Kells, broken and dull as it looked. More than half of his life was spent sheltered behind its walls. It was home.
Brendan felt as if he was twelve again, returning to the abbey after spending time in the forest; giddy, but afraid that the Abbot would find out.
He lost some of it when he thought of his uncle. Over a decade later, he still felt pangs of loss and regret for not returning to help. Slowing, he crept through the space where the gate used to be.
The place felt barren; there weren't many huts. Of the few there were, some of them seemed abandoned. He didn't expect that…
It hit him, how long he'd been gone. He didn't know anything about Kells now. Not who lived there, not who rebuilt it…not even who the Abbot was.
But even if one Brother was welcoming, it was home. No matter how much time had changed it.
Brendan took a deep breath and walked to the past-turned-future and hoped.