The Realm of the Sun

Death in the Glen

               "I cannot decide whether it is hotter inside or out," said Lady Caoimhe, lifting her fiery hair off her shoulders as she walked alongside Eirainna through the stone corridors. Furbaide trailed dreamily behind them, lost, doubtless, in a fantasy of fencing and revelry.

          "It seems inescapable," Eirainna sighed, speaking for both herself and the child she had to entertain all morning despite wanting to lie down and compensate for the sleep she had been missing since the conference began. Furbaide now hung on Eirainna's arm, growing bored with just his own imagination for a companion.

         "At least no one has to argue any major concerns of the realm today, we can be grateful for that," said Lady Caoimhe, her vibrant green eyes meeting Eirainna's as they walked into the entrance hall of the castle, "some days are simply too hot to make decisions."

          "I quite agree with you, Caoimhe, it was generous of Maeve to give everyone..." Eirainna's words escaped her as her eye caught Sir Connor mac Nessa at the end of the hall, a large empty wooden barrel tucked under his arm. Caoimhe's eyes followed Eirainna's line of sight across the hall.

          "Is that the Ulsterman everyone's been speaking of?" Caoimhe whispered discreetly, curious to match the stories she had been hearing to the man. Ladies of the court outside of the royal family were not required to be in attendance for the conferences and Eirainna had rather envied them for it. A hard exclusion was better in her eyes than indifference.

          "Yes," Eirainna replied, understanding how Caoimhe might have known it was he solely because of his overwhelming presence.

          "I've heard he has quite a reputation," she muttered under her breath, though it was clear to Eirainna that Caoimhe was latching onto the ladies' gossip for much-needed entertainment. The summer at Tara had been long and dull—not to mention the hottest one by far in several years; any new blood that arrived so impressively on the scene always sparked wildfires of speculative conversation. And though Eirainna always strived not to let others weigh in on her first impression of a person before she herself could give them a fair chance, she too was secretly intrigued by what exciting tales she had overheard about him in the common rooms.

          "He looks rather lost, doesn't he?" Caoimhe added, wondering what he could be doing with a large bushel and why the sleeves of his taut ivory shirt were rolled up as though he were harvesting crops in the fields of a rural village instead of staying at the home of Queen Maeve as an esteemed guest while most of his comrades stayed in the cleared battery behind the castle.

          "Good morning, Sir," Eirainna said as they approached him and each curtseyed. Although Lady Caoimhe clearly found his rugged displacement puzzling, Eirainna was comforted by his disregard for formal attire and convention on his day off. She wished she could choose to avoid the heavier layers of her skirts on such days herself.

          "Good morning, your highness," he said, smiling upon seeing her. Eirainna could hear Caoimhe's thoughts as loudly as her own, replaying in her mind the stories she had heard of his so-called radical past. There was an awkward pause as they stood there, all unsure of what to say next, even Furbaide who stood with his mouth agape at the hero who had knighted him days before.

          "C-can I be of assistance with anything?" Eirainna asked, gesturing lightly to the barrel, which, despite its size, rested securely in his brawny arm.

          "I was just about to search the grounds for fresh water, but I suppose it would be infinitely more helpful if I simply asked you where I might find some, your highness."

          "Well, the servants usually collect it from the well by the stables..."

          "No, no I don't want to trouble anybody..."