Gentle at first, a light breeze from the frozen lands of the north that carried itself over the oceans, the hills and the fields, but gradually became stronger, a low howl of wind growing in volume as it gathered strength over icy oceans of the north. Boats and ships docked at harbours to escape the strong winds lest they be carried out to sea, yet people continued to bustle about the streets.
Even as they grew in strength the city went about its business unperturbed by the powerful winds. They were protected, after all, protected by the simple, yet sturdy houses that surrounded them on the streets. Protected by the magics that surrounded their ancient city.
They were protected from the ancient powers of the world.
Éire was perceived to be a utopic beacon in this troubling world by its people. Surrounded by oceans on all sides and laying upon an island, it was a natural, impenetrable fortress that was steeped in history and legend. Formed by Lugh, the first King of Mankind and inherited by his heroic and noble son and heir, Finna I. Éire was the first city and one that stood even to this day, one that withstood the Sceitheadh Balor.
Passing the blue oceans, over the fields of rich green pasture and yellow wheat. Around the towering grey mountains and through the pristine and beautiful cities of its countryside. The wind carried itself to the very centre of the island, and there stood the capital city itself, Réalta. Within it lay the greatest symbol of power, the Pálás an tSolias. A symbol that surpassed even the large, sturdy walls of pristine white stone. The royal coat of arms, a golden yellow harp laid emblazoned upon a green and azure blue flag, hung vertically along the walls that surrounded the royal city.
With the two statues of the first Kings, Lugh and Finna I standing guard at the entrance to the foot of the mountain, which the Pálás an tSolias was built into it. Strong and unbreakable like the mountain itself, the capital city of the kingdom of Éire had never been besieged, never fallen to an enemy. It was unconquerable and a source of great pride for the people of Éire. A symbol of the power and prestige that enabled the citizens to hold their heads high through even the most difficult of times.
'What a beautiful lie.' A pretty, dark-haired young woman thought to herself, her amethyst eyes that glowed like a jewel in the morning sun stared tiredly out over the city below. 'Mayhap's in the past, that would be true. But now...it is nothing more than a shadow of its former self.'
War was a curse, a disease, a plague that spread wildly, infecting all it came into contact with. No one was left unaffected by its cruel grasp; it embraced all those present and never released them. Even when the war ended, the scars left behind would remain, forever serving as a reminder of what cruelty the race of man was capable of. That was the nature of war and even a kingdom such as Éire could not escape such a curse.
She had once been a naïve young girl, believing in the goodness of people, but that had changed a long time ago. As she brushed her hands against the cold stone surface of the bannister lining the balcony upon which she stood, her gaze linger upon the burns lining them. Spreading up from her wrist to the palm of her hand and up the tips of her fingers. 'That day, I could no longer deny the truth as I once had.'
As her thoughts moved away from the burns and the memories that came with them, she glanced up to the dark clouds rolling in overhead, swallowing the last vestiges of light, the young woman released a tired sigh that matched her countenance. Just as she turned, leaving the balcony, the heavens opened and rain fell. Its rough striking against the smooth stone of the balcony was neither comforting nor soothing, only serving as a reminder of her future. One not of warmth by the hearth and good company, but one of cold, bleak loneliness.
'Perhaps this is a sign, a sign that even the Gods pity me. Or do they mock me?' But there were no answers to these questions, no answer that any mortal could ever truly confirm as the truth. After all, they were just that, mortal.
How could a mortal understand what the Gods were thinking? How could they understand the meaning behind a Gods actions? They were divine beings, they existed outside of their realm of understanding or perhaps, they never existed at all? But how could one understand the answer to that, without first understanding themselves?
Moving quietly across the floor, her light blue robes brushing against the ground, the young woman pursed her full lips, making her way to the door. After pausing only momentarily to take a deep breath and centre herself, she reached out for the handle.
With her face and lips smoothing, chin ever so slightly raised, she pulled open the door. As soon as she did, there was a light glow from the runes decorating the doors wooden surface and the enchantments upon it made by ancient Druids stopped, the noise and bustle of the palace reaching her ears once more. She didn't allow any of it affect her, just stepping out into the corridor and taking one moment to look back at her room.
The room was neatly organised, with many expensive gifts and objects laid out upon dressers in a particular order ranging from most sentimental to least. The one at the very end was neither expensive nor pretty, just a mirror within a gold casing, compared to the other gold and jewel-encrusted objects it was hardly anything special. But to her, it was the most precious gift she had ever received, which is exactly why she could not bring it with her, she could not afford to show any weakness, not in the pit of snakes she was going to enter.
Everything from the four-poster bed to the pieces of furniture around the room were all neatly placed in a way that gave ample room despite the large number of objects she possessed. And there, laying on the bed innocently was an old doll. It was worn in certain areas from overuse, but a flash of longing at the simpler times it represented forever filled her. Even as the door began to close, she kept her gaze upon the doll and when the door shut before her, the young woman couldn't look away. With a low sigh, she steeled herself and turned away.
Her handmaidens, each of whom had been slouched tiredly in a small group outside in the corridor, faces drawn as they gossiped between them. She caught snippets of it, talk centred around the upcoming marriage and peace treaty. Yet as soon as they saw her, the talk stopped and her handmaidens fussed themselves to order hurriedly, patting each other down and made their way as if to approach the Princess. She raised her hand quickly, palm faced forward to indicate she wanted no fuss. The change from nursemaids to handmaidens in recent years came with the power to control some semblance of her own life at least. They were lined up dutifully now and she slowly inspected them as was the custom.
They were acceptable.
Uttering the word, "come," with a gravitas that did not befit her age, she turned on her heels and headed off down the corridor, her handmaidens trying to keep up with the suddenness of her departure, they did not complain, but silently and dutifully followed her. All around them, servants and armoured soldiers moved about their business, the rhythmic pattering and stomping of footsteps echoing down the long corridors, more spartan and bear than her room. Even with more people around her, she felt more alone and isolated than ever. Yet despite the urgency with which the people of the Pálás an tSolias moved, everyone, parted for her as she moved by them. Nevertheless, she paid none of the bowing servants and Knights heed, she continuing down the winding corridors of the palace. Her eyes firmly locked upon the path laid out before her as they always had and always would.
As she reached the lower floors of the palace there was a slight shift, not in the surroundings but the people. There was a greater sense of urgency, more guards patrolling the area.
Then the young woman noticed a slight movement out of the corner of her eye. She did not turn her head to see what the cause of such a sight was, instead she rose her hand. The action caused the handmaidens to come to a sudden halt, each bowing lowly to show their acknowledgement of the silent order.
Then and only then did the young woman turn, a slight movement of her head, her eyes flickering to look towards where a young boy was hiding behind a marble pillar. He flashed her a smile and for the first time, the young woman's lips twitched upwards, a warm smile softening her face as her earlier thoughts disappeared from her mind.
"Diarmaid." She greeted gently. "Are you not too old to be playing such childish games?"
Diarmaid, a young boy of thirteen, three years younger than herself stepped out. His black hair short and messy, hardly befitting or matching the expensive attire he wore. Yet his stance was firm, shoulders set and a boyish grin on his face. "One is never too old," Diarmaid told her, rocking back on his heels with his hands clasped behind his back. "Besides, was it not you who would do this all the time to me, Medb?"
Medb's smile widened. "So this is revenge, dear brother? How unbefitting of a Prince." She tutted, but Diarmaid's smile did not lessen.
"Ah, but when did I ever say it was revenge, hmm? 'Twas you who said that not I, no?" Diarmaid returned as he moved forwards, both of them falling into step with one another as they continued their walk through the palace.
"Perhaps, but you have always been determined. I would be foolish to not suspect you of some attempt of revenge after all the times I made you scream with fright." A dusting of red crossed Diarmaid's cheeks, the light titter of the handmaidens only serving to fuel the young Prince's embarrassment.
"Yes well, the thought was that I would recover some of my dignity before you left. Though I see now that was a folly, you are as clever as always. Perhaps more so." Diarmaid's voice softened, a tint of sadness seeping in, but he shook it off, instead raising his head once more. "Be that as it may, I suppose I am glad for the fact I failed, with where you are going, being perceptive would put me at ease."
Medb smiled softly. "I see, then I thank you for this opportunity to test my skills, dear brother, you were quite a...challenge to find." The teasing tilt to her voice did not go unnoticed by Diarmaid who shook his head in defeat.
For a moment, the two walked in silence, brother and sister side by side, both just enjoying what little time they had left together in one another's company. As they continued their journey down the corridor, passing pillar after pillar, walls on either side decorated with monuments of ancient history, great victories, flags of sworn houses to the throne and large portraits of past Kings they neared the end of the corridor, flanked with the ceremonial armed guards, the great double doors became clearer, dwarfing the guards beneath. Their intricate inlaid bronze reliefs depicting the Great War and the final battle. The battle in which King Flann I conquered the Sceitheadh Balor and ushered in a new age of peace and prosperity, depicting the final moment in which the final blow was struck that killed the Árthach an Dorchadais. It was a history all in Éire were aware of, it was told as stories to young children, to aspiring scholars and soldiers.
The legend and deeds of King Flann I were awe-inspiring, he was truly a hero to their people. So great in fact, that many said he was no mortal man but a Demigod. That Lugh was a God, come to save their people and gave birth to Flann in order to guide them on a new path.
No one knew the truth; history was never so simple as to give certainties. Each side had its own story to tell, each side had its heroes and villains, that was where conflict would inevitably begin. History is written by the victors, victors become legends, and legends obscure the truth. So it always has and always will be. History would be lost to the annals of time and with it, the truth. In order to replace that which was lost, more stories would be forged. Medb never placed much stock in stories, nor in the history books for that very reason.
"I am worried for you, sister." Diarmaid eventually spoke once more.
"Oh, why is that?" Medb asked, noticing the narrow-eyed look that her brother gave her out of the corner of his eye. For a moment, there was silence between the pair of them before she released a sigh. "I see there is no use trying to hide the truth from you anymore."
"No, there is not." He replied firmly and despite herself, Medb felt her lips twitch upwards.
Dismissing her handmaidens and the guards with a wave of her hand, Medb turned to Diarmaid fully. "What do you wish for me to say? That I am worried about my future? If so the answer is yes, yes I am worried. There is no denying I am lucky to have gone so long without marrying, but this was always my duty, to marry for the sake of our kingdom and family. Whether I wish it or not, this is my duty, and I will not say no."
"Why not? For all accounts, the King of Cymru is a spineless coward and his hold on his kingdom is not secure. According to father, it's on the brink of collapse, when that happens the Cymry will be too busy going to war with one another over the last vestiges of power to bother with us. So why not stay here and let the kingdom collapse?"
They were valid points and arguments that Diarmaid raised, Medb could concede that much. However, this was all based on reports and rumours that came out of the Kingdom of Cymru, there was no factual evidence to prove it. As nice and as relieving such a thing would be, Medb knew that placing her future on the possibility of that happening was not at all a smart thing to do.
Even then, it also left several other problems if it was true. "That would only cause more problems. Have you forgotten Albion?" Diarmaid's eyes momentarily widened, before his head dropped in understanding, shoulders slumping. "They are the strongest kingdom in Avalon, and they will not let such an opportunity go, then we will be neighbours with them. Cymru has always acted as a buffer between us and them. We have no experience with fighting Albion and we would surely suffer heavily in a war against them."
"They have never tested their steel against ours!" Diarmaid pointed out, though the look on his face showed how little that piece of information meant in the grand scheme of things.
Medb turned away, gaze roaming over the doors, one hand reaching out to trail across the craftsmanship. "Either way, not only would marrying King Rhodri bring an end to the war between Éire and Cymru, but if it is true that Cymru is on the verge of a collapse, then I can work to ensure that it does not fall. Thus, making certain that Cymru remains a buffer between us and Albion."
"That is all well and good, but it is all based on whether this marriage goes ahead." Medb paused, head turning to look at Diarmaid, her gaze questioning. "Do not pretend to be oblivious, Medb. We have been at war with the Cymry for over six decades. In that time, how many attempts have been made to create peace between our two nations?"
She shook her head, a feeling of pride swelling within her. "You are right, Diarmaid. We have tried and failed to bring peace between our two nations many times before and each time it has failed. But this time we have something we did not have before. Me."
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Diarmaid could not help but let out a low chuckle at her words. "Modesty as always is not lost on you."
"You should not worry too much about the possibilities, brother. As nuncle Killian always tells us, oftentimes men look to the future too much and forget to live in the present." Reaching up, Medb ran one hand through Diarmaid's hair, moving a few loose strands from his eyes and crouched down slightly so that she could look at him directly. She picked up the slight look of annoyance at being treated like a child despite the small age gap between them. "I do not want you to become like father, so swear to me, you will not forget to live in the present."
"I swear." Those two words brought a large smile to Medb's face, rising to her full height and smoothing out her dress, she turned. The guards that had moved to the side to provide the Prince and Princess some privacy, moved forward, pushing open the door to the throne room.
Medb spared one last glance over her shoulder to Diarmaid who stood silently, a frown on his face. He did not notice her gaze and so, she turned and made her way inside. It was large, pillars stretching up to the ceilings nearly a hundred feet above her, majestic banners hanging from each. Candle-lit chandeliers hung from the ceiling filling the room with unnatural white light.
And there across from her on the far side of the room, a large flight of stairs stretched up to a small platform upon which sat a single, large marble throne. A throne upon which, a man sat, from this distance, she could not make out any discernible features, his face shrouded from sight by a veil of shadows, the only shadows in the room, a purposeful feature.
As the door slowly began closing behind her with a dull groan, Medb moved forwards slowly and steadily, her gaze locked upon the ground before and never upon the man on the throne. As Medb reached the bottom of the stairs, the doors were pulled shut by the armours guards outside with an echoing sound.
Yet as Medb stood at the foot of the stairs, she never took a step forwards or made any move to climb them. Instead, she dropped to her knees, head bowed low.
"Your Excellency, We greet you."