Eoin's head hurt. The deep-down sort of hurt that tells of a headache that will probably be sticking around for a few days. It took him a few moments laying in the wet grass for him to get his bearings back. The sounds of screaming and breaking glass jarred him out of the stupor the force of the hit had put him in. He could hear Eamon shouting incantations to fight the monsters, but he could tell it was a losing battle. He got to his feet and ran back into the house, beginning to fight as well, calling incantations as quickly as he could. There were so many of the beasts. How the hell was just the two of them going to fight them all off?
A terrified scream rang out. Ashling, he thought. It had come from the back of the house, a section he had not yet been in. Fear froze the blood in his veins as he started to rush to her, to try and help before it was too late. As he tried to battle his way back, a light suddenly rushed through the house, one brighter than he had ever seen. He had no choice but to close his eyes against the burn of it, though against his skin he felt nothing but warmth. Horrifying shrieking sounded around him, fading one by one until only the ringing in his ears was left.
The light only lasted a few moments before it dissipated, and he could once again open his eyes without fear of going blind. The creatures were gone, only wisps of smoke remaining where they had all once been. What the hell just happened? Then what had happened before the light sprang back into his mind and he started sprinting to the back of the house once more.
He found her in the kitchen, kneeling next to the fallen figure of Cian, clutching at his shirt sleeve. Eoin could see blood on Cian's chest. It looked bad.
"Eamon! Cian is hurt!" he cried, moving forward. He heard Eamon's hurried footsteps moving towards the kitchen behind him. Kneeling next to Ashling, he could tell something wasn't right. Her face was pale, her skin shone with a cold sweat, she was shivering slightly, and her eyes were unfocused and half-lidded from exhaustion.
"Ash? Can you hear me?" She looked at him, eyes passing over his face briefly before she seemed to just give out and collapsed forward. He caught her before she hit the ground and pulled her close to his chest. He could feel the heat radiating off her. He realized then what had happened.
Her magic, which had been building up from years of not being used, had instinctually come to their aid, exploding out of her body. It had saved them all, but it had left Ashling magically exhausted and her body reeling without knowledge of how to process the outburst of energy. She would be fine, but she needed serious rest.
With Eamon tending to Cian, Eoin lifted Ashling from the ground and moved towards the staircase that he had seen by the front door, running into Declan along the way. He had some serious bruising starting along the one side of his face but seemed unharmed besides what was sure to be soreness tomorrow.
"Is she ok?" Declan asked when he saw the state of his sister. "What happened?"
"She will be fine," Eoin reassured him, "but she needs to rest and recover. Where is her room?" Without saying anything, Declan turned and ascended the staircase, leaving Eoin to catch up. They walked to the door on the very end of the hallway, Declan opening it and allowing Eoin to pass. He heard another door in the hallway opening before Declan's gruff voice sounded.
"Where the hell did you end up?" Looking behind him as he gently lay the girl in his arms onto her bed, Seamus' head of curls popped into view. Seamus must have made his way up here to hide during the chaos of the attack, leaving his family downstairs. Eoin decided then that Seamus was a small bit of a coward, but then if he didn't know anything about magic and was then attacked by shadows with claws, he would probably have run to hide as well.
He tuned out the rest of the conversation between the two brothers, turning his attention once again back to Ashling. He brought her desk chair closer to the bedside, sliding one of his hands into hers. The normal spark that happened when their skin touched was still there, but this time it was his magic reaching out to her rather than the other way around, showing just how depleted her magic truly was.
He reached his other hand to her forehead, sweeping hair away from her face before laying his palm flat to feel her skin. Her fever was getting worse. They would have to keep a close eye on it. It should resolve itself, but with so many unknowns about her magic, he worried that she might worsen before she gets better, and he would be damned if she was left to suffer through this alone.
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Downstairs, Eamon was working quickly to try and stop Cian's bleeding. He had gotten his shirt off and the scratches underneath were as bad as he thought. They were long, spanning his chest from his left collarbone down to the bottom of his right ribs. They weren't too deep, but he would be left with scars, even with the healing magic Eamon was currently pumping into the unconscious man's body.
Suddenly, he stirred, eyes snapping open and breath coming in short, panic gasps. He tried to lurch forward on instinct, pulling away from the hands laying on his chest, stopping with a pained wince when his wounds made themselves known.
"Easy, Cian, easy," Eamon said, speaking in a calm and quiet voice to try and avoid spooking the man any farther, holding his hands up in a non-threatening gesture. "You're alright."
Cian's eyes flitted around the room before settling on Eamon's face, his expression still fearful. "What happened?" he asked, voice hoarse. "The monsters-"
"Are gone." Eamon's hands lowered to push Cian back down from where he had sat up. "Everyone is alive and ok. You have some scratches that I need to look at." His eyes met Cian's, fearful green meeting steady blue. He could see when his words fully took hold in the man's mind, the fear leaving only to be replaced by bone-deep exhaustion. Cian allowed himself to be guided back to fully lay down, eyes still focused on the blonde Irishman.
"Are they bad?" he asked quietly.
"They aren't too deep, but they will scar," Eamon answered, his hands moving to gently lay over the wounds, a soft green light spreading over Cian's skin as the healing magic began to work once more.
Cian cleared his throat, eyes finally moving from Eamon to stare at some far-off point behind him. "That's good then, I suppose."
Eamon answered with only a humming noise, still observing the red-headed man before him. He could see the faint beginnings of a deep blush along his cheeks, causing a small smile to form on Eamon's face. He had been right then.
The last time he had encountered the McCoubrie family, he had felt his magic shift slightly, settling solidly closer to the surface of his skin. Closer to the surface than he had ever felt before, but not as if he was about to lose control of it. More like it was now easier to access as if he didn't have to work as hard as before to get his magic to bend to his will. Not only that, but it felt stronger somehow, like a sudden spike in its power. It had unsettled him a bit, unsure of what had caused the change.
During the entirety of Eoin's fantastically awful first attempt at explaining to the family about their heritage, he had sat back, letting his senses open to try and figure out what was happening to him. He couldn't feel anything off, but he had found his eyes constantly falling back on Cian, a pulling feeling settling into his chest.
It all sort of made sense now, everything falling into place being this close to him. His magic's sudden power boost, his being drawn to the calmer and quieter of the McCoubrie brothers, and his fear when he heard Eoin yell that he was injured. He was Cian's anamchara, his fated one, chosen by the gods to stay by his side, to protect him, and to love him.
It was rare for laochra to be fated to one person anymore. Warrior druids, as laochra were, had magic more geared towards fighting and defense than any other kind (such as healing or seeing, for example). They were trained to protect the whole garrán, not just a single person. It had been more common in ancient times before the persecutions began and druids went into hiding for someone to find their anamchara. Their ancestors would travel across Celtic land to find their fated ones, but now the practice had all but died out. He couldn't remember the last time he had heard of a laochra finding their fated one.
Eoin had learned early in life that he was fated to the woman in the prophecy, as it had spoken of his family line as well. He had been trained as to what to look for, what to feel, what to recognize in preparation for his travels to find her. Eamon had not. He had been sent mostly to make sure Eoin didn't do anything stupid and get himself killed. But here he was. Not only had they found Ashling, but he was now staring at his anamchara as well. The gods had a twisted sense of humor. And it seemed that Cian McCoubrie had more to offer the world than even he, himself, might have realized.