~ Chapter XVIII ~
Breagha

And so Fíohra learned the art of riding, even as she had never so much as sat upon the back of a mortal horse. Thus her strange education progressed, with Maeleth as well as Maelail. As the dragonfire-days dawned and set within Drún, she bravely faced each new lesson that the maeleachlainn set before her, both in the armory and on the back of a carraiglas. It was hard, at first, for her accept the challenges they brought, but as the days passed into weeks, she discovered (with not a little satisfaction) that tasks which might have seemed impossible the first day were now performed with ease.

She found at the end of her third week within the mountain halls that her muscles had toughened considerably and she was far stronger than she had ever been at home in Baláirdh Drún. The calluses that had formed on her hands over the course of her first few lessons had spread and thickened, so that she could now notch and draw an arrow without the bowstring cutting into her fingers. She had grown swifter of foot as well, and it was no longer surprising for her to manage a dagger-hit against Maeleth while they dueled.

The longsword alone continue to give her trouble, but Maeleth was an understanding teacher. Once it saw that its student would never master the weapon, it concentrated its lessons on knife and bow, with only the occasional review of the sword. Fíohra appreciated this very much, and she did her best to demonstrate her appreciation. Maeleth never had a more attentive or dedicated student than it did after it announced the cessation of the longsword lessons.

With Maelail, too, Fíohra strove to excel. After their first ride in the Central Hall, Fíohra's fear of the falling from the carraiglas evaporated, leaving only enthusiasm. As they trotted in wide circles around the Túráthú, her tutor had informed her that it was a carraiglas' business to see that its rider stayed on its back; even at a great speed it would not allow her to fall, unless she chose to leap off in midair. Then, as Maelail added dryly, her hurts would be none of its concern. Fíohra laughed at that, but she also took comfort. Whatever energy she had planned to spend on keeping her seat could now be expended in a more productive manner; namely, directing and instructing the carraiglas.

And that was a task she found easier than anticipated. The beast she had chosen the first day soon became her preferred mount, partly for its easy-going temperament and partly for its small stature. Remembering Maelail's warning on the first day, Fíohra was careful to call the carraiglas "Breagha" only within the confines of her mind. She did not want Maelail to think she had somehow misused the power in the name. Yet despite her silence, she and Breagha shared every riding lesson, and within a month they were competent enough to draw praise from the maeleachlainn.

"Well done, young one!" it said at the conclusion of their first gallop around the perimeter of the Central Hall. Fíohra, breathless and glowing with the exhilaration of their run, slowed Breagha to a halt in front of her tutor. "This carraiglas has taken to you," it continued. "I will inform the master of your performance this afternoon. He will wish to see you both for himself."

Fíohra opened her mouth to answer gratefully, but she was interrupted by the familiar explosion of wings above her head, followed immediately by the thunderous voice of the edannathair.

"There will be no need for that, maeleachlainn," Mórdúil announced as he descended from his perch on the walls of the Túráthú. Maelail bowed and Fíohra grinned, wondering how he had escaped their notice but pleased that he had seen her at her best. The dragon gave her an amused look and continued. "I have witnessed it for myself." Mórdúil landed with his wings outstretched and nodded to his servant. "Rise, maeleachlainn. You have taught her well."

"Thank you, master," Maelail replied gravely.

Mórdúil turned to Fíohra. "And you, child—you have learned well. Indeed, this carraiglas has taken to you well. It acknowledges you as its rightful rider."

Fíohra dismounted and walked Breagha a little way forward. "Thank you, Mórdúil," she said. "I…" She paused.

"Speak on, Fíohra."

"I've thought of a name for it," she said quickly, hoping he did not discourage her. "Maelail said…"

The rest of her words were drowned out in the sound of Mórdúil's laughter. Her gaze fell to the floor and she studied her toes, embarrassed. But the great dragon was quick to assure her, once he sobered again. "I do not laugh at you, child." He turned once more to the maeleachlainn. "Is this your name, then? You are Maelail?"

"I am, master, if you will allow it," the servant answered.

Mórdúil nodded once. "I do. It is a good name, and all the better for being brought out by a mortal." He returned his attention to the girl before him. "Now what is it you wish to call the carraiglas?"

"Breagha," Fíohra answered, raising her eyes. "I…I thought it fit her…it." She punctuated her thought with a shrug, for she had never actually asked whether the stone creature had a gender. Fíohra had assumed it to be feminine, just as she assumed Maelé was feminine. But she didn't really know.

"Hmm." Mórdúil settled on his haunches and took on a thoughtful look. "Breagha," he repeated. "It is a name of the old tongue. Do you know what it means?" he asked, his expression intensifying.

Fíohra shook her head. "No. I just thought it sounded…pretty."

"Ah."

"What does it mean, Mórdúil?" Fíohra asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

Mórdúil smiled. "'Beauty.'"

"Oh." She was pleased with the knowledge, but the look in the dragon's eye puzzled her as well. "And…is it a good name for it?" she wondered aloud.

Mórdúil made a familiar humming noise in his throat, which Fíohra took to mean he was contemplating her question. It was certainly a long while until he answered.

"That would depend, as was once said, on the beholder. As for me, little Fíohra, I can see it put to better use on another."

Fíohra frowned and opened her mouth to defend her choice, but she clapped it shut as his cryptic answer deepened her puzzlement. The twinkle in his pearled eyes confused her as much as his words, and she wondered what he could mean. But before she could voice her bewilderment, the dragon spoke again.

"However, it is your choice, and I think it a good one." He lowered his great scaly head to the carraiglas' muzzle, and Fíohra was quite astonished at the beast's courage. While the carraiglas stood as docilely as ever, she had to step back a few feet to escape the edannathair's scalding breath. Mórdúil touched the stone forehead once with his chin and addressed the carraiglas. "Fíohra has named you Breagha, my good beast. So you shall be called, for she is now your mistress. May you carry her well."

To Fíohra's great surprise, the newly-christened Breagha extended one foreleg and lowered its head in what, for all she could tell, was the equine equivalent of a bow. It then rose and retreated to Fíohra's side, making a metallic noise like a whinny and thrusting its nose under her hand. Fíohra laughed in delight, forgetting her puzzlement over the dragon's earlier words. "Thank you, Mórdúil!" she said as soon as the laughter had passed. "Thank you very much."

"You are welcome," he replied, straightening. "And now I have a request for you, young one."

"Yes?"

With his snout he gestured towards the roof of the cavern. "If I order an early supper from the maeleachlainn, will you join me this evening in the Leabharlann?"

Fíohra's face brightened. She had not found time to return to the Uppermost Hall since her first memorable trip to the dragon's library, though she had often wished to visit. For a full month, her studies with Maeleth and Maelail had left her too exhausted to climb the three-hour staircase, and Mórdúil had not offered to carry her again. Nor had Fíohra asked; she remembered the mysterious duty he was bound to in the Túráthú and did not question his silence on the matter. But now that he had offered again…

She could feel the excitement rise in her chest at the prospect of seeing that magnificent hall once more. "Of course!" she replied. "I'd love to."

"Good," Mórdúil rumbled, getting to his feet and shaking out his wings. "Then I will meet you here as soon as you have had a chance to bathe. Until then," he said, saluting her with a wingtip. One of the great opalescent eyes winked at her, and Fíohra grinned. "And once again, well done."

~o~

After returning Breagha to the stables and parting with Maelail, Fíohra bathed and dressed as quickly as she could. When she had finished, she traced the now-familiar path to the Central Hall. Mórdúil was there waiting for her. He beckoned her to come and eat, which she hurried to do. As soon as the last crumbs were cleaned from her plate, Fíohra stood, doing her best to master the butterflies that threatened to upset her stomach. While she dearly wanted to see the Leabharlann again, the prospect of flying had not grown on her any more in the past month, and she looked forward to the ascent with equal parts dread and excitement. But she trusted Mórdúil, and once she was safely lodged between his shoulder spikes, a little bit of the dread began to ebb away.

That was, until he launched himself into the air.

Then it came back, thick and fast, drowning out even her excitement. Fíohra shut her eyes and clung to Mórdúil's back with all the strength she had. She did not let go until she was absolutely sure they were on the solid ground of the Uppermost Hall. Then, and only then, did she allow herself to ease her grip and look around.

At a word from Mórdúil, the dragonfire bowls leapt to life, bathing the magnificent carvings in the glow of an early evening sun.

"Ah! There we are," he said, surveying the walls with an experienced eye. Then, noticing that Fíohra was not standing next to him, he swung his head around to see her still sitting on his shoulders, her pale face just easing back into its normal shade as the fear dissipated. Mórdúil chuckled and offered his foreleg for her to climb down. "Not yet used to flying, hmm?"

Fíohra eased herself to the floor and took a deep breath. Exhaling forcefully, she shook her head and smiled. "Aye. It's just…not natural." She shook the tension out of her shoulders and looked up at the dragon beside her. "But I suppose I'll adjust."

Mórdúil stretched his wings. "That is good. I have a hope that you may one day enjoy it as I do. Though I suppose it may take you a while, being human." He grinned down at her. "But everything in time. And speaking of time," he added, settling down into a crouch and folding his wings neatly at his sides, "it's high time we begin."