Conchobar's thoughts drifted back to a distant afternoon...
Ever since his father had passed away, a smile never again graced Conchobar's face, for he had long been unfamiliar with the warmth of affection.
The young Conchobar had no idea of the great lengths his mother, Queen Nesa, had gone to for his sake and for his peaceful upbringing.
All he knew was that, after his father's death, his mother spent her days in the company of his uncle Fergus, paying little attention to him or his siblings.
It frustrated him and filled him with confusion about the future.
That day, Conchobar, who had not yet become the King of Alster, visited his father's grave once more to mourn—or perhaps to lament.
"Father, today mother told me that Uncle Fergus has agreed to let me inherit the throne, but I am not pleased,"
Conchobar said in a childlike voice, his words choked by sobs in front of the grave:
