After a nerve-wracking return to the human world, Ephis returned with Harry's baby blanket a bottle and a couple of sets of clothes. Hidden at the bottom of an old badger set she left a fetch fashioned into a simulacrum of the child that followed her. With a frost already starting to spread across the ground she was certain that the false life that fae magic had imbued it with would soon falter, and it would be a dead child come the morning. Or sooner if it got much colder. Travelling back to the Mórrígan had been an uncomfortable experience, only made bearable by the fact the baby blanket was made from wool, and so could be used to wrap the clothes and bottle for easy transportation. She counted herself lucky that she was able to make it back to the other side before the last light of the day left the fairy ringfort. If it hadn't, she'd have been stuck there overnight.
As she approaches the roundhouse that the Lady calls home, she has to dodge an idle swipe from the Red Cap on guard as it tried to make her into a mid-watch snack. She shudders as she notices that the other guard has already bitten the head off of one of her autumn court kin and is currently in the process of tearing the wings off the body. Zipping through the hangings that demark the doorway, she lets out a shuddering cry at just how fragile her life could be here.
"Sylph, what ails you this night?"
With a start she looks up at the concerned visage of The Mórrígan, who is cradling the child, "I had to dodge one of your guards, and then I saw that they'd already caught a pixie."
"Well, yes. All creatures must eat. Why does this trouble you so?"
"That could have been me."
"Of course it could if you were stupid enough to come within reach of their grasp."
"But how else am I supposed to enter this abode?"
"Are you still a welp, or have you enough power and age to progress already?"
Ephis puffs up, "I'll have you know, I have seen 200 summers."
"Then why did you not use the porthole to the sky?"
"What porthole to the sky?"
Wordlessly Mórrígan gestures to the smoke hole high in the ceiling.
"But that's a smoke hole. Oh, I see."
"Yes, you can choose to get a little smoky, or run the risk of being eaten."
"But, I, door, manners."
"Are manners worth your life? It's funny, when my people still lived living was more important than manners. Of course, that was before the heathen arrived with his honeyed words and sharp whip. Proclaiming that there is only one god indeed. But I kept my people safe, and I never let them take my name. Unlike my sister, she made a deal and became one of their saints. I still miss her you know, she's been gone near 1500 years now and I still miss her. It didn't save her people either, it just prolonged their death."
"Lady, I'm sorry for your loss."
Mórrígan shakes her head, "Nae young one, it was a long time ago and she chose her own destiny. Come, let us go and see my husband, and resolve the riddle of this ones fate. Were you able to get his stuff as I asked?"
Ephis nods, "Aye, he has a blue baby blanket with Harry written on it as well as a plastic bottle and some clothes. I'm glad he has the blanket otherwise I'd have been in real trouble trying to get the other stuff back."
═══════ ೋღ ღೋ ═══════
Ehpis follows The Mórrígan as she traverses the other skilfully to An Dagda's domain. There they find his home on a motte with a bailey around it. The home itself is made from the bones of the world brought to the surface and shaped into a defensive building. Just being near it makes her shudder. Standing at the head of the path is An Dagda himself.
"Wife."
"Husband. I present to you my son, Yvor."
"Have you been unfaithful to me woman?"
"Nay, I am ever faithful to our vows, not that the same can be said of you. Yvor was a human foundling that made his way through the way under his own power."
"I see, present him and I will read his fate."
Mórrígan walks forward with her head held high and holds Harry out for inspection.
"A Changeling, you used the old ways?"
"He survived a full feeding, he is my son in truth now."
"He is not. Yet he is too. The human world still has its grasp on him" – He touches the scar with a calloused finger – "and he will need to return. If he survives his fate, he will choose, life as a mortal or life as a Danann. Which, not even I can see.
"Now begone unless you wish to warm my bed tonight."
Mórrígan turns and walks away, "You will not see me in your bed until you have your honour back. Either with a second wife, or…"
Behind her back he grimaces, as Boann hasn't visited his bed in the past millennia, since her demise in the rushing waters of the Well of Segias. He also can't reclaim his honour as her body was washed out to sea. He also knows that to take another woman to bed would see him dead at the end of his wife's blade.
As his wife passes into the mists he turns and enters his lonely home, truly the most miserable place in the world.
═══════ ೋღ ღೋ ═══════
Once the family returns to Mórrígan's home, she walks to the edge of her domain and raises her arms, Harry floating before her. Her eyes turn black as she commands the other to form a path to an ideal place to raise her son Yvon. As she walks the path, Ephis following closely behind, it leads her to the land of the Picts. They appear on a hill overlooking a town, smoke rising from the occasional chimney. Forming a murder of crows, she sends them forth to identify where their feet have led them.
The land is now populated by the Scots, and the town is called Dunblane. Ephis watches in wonder as a Danann flexes their will in the mortal world for the first time since Brigid became mortal. A large home appears on the hill behind them, a home that looks like has always been there. The world warps and stretches to make that true, in an internal courtyard a circle made from crushed bones forms, and out of the circle grows a gateway made from broken weapons. A silvery mist filling the space inside the arch, the sounds of battle, nature, and agriculture can be heard faintly by those who venture close enough.