The Tuatha De Cycle: The Stone of Destiny

[Aiden Finnegan]

The Second Year of the Sixth Age
Mid-summer
Nuada’s Keep under the Hill of Tara

---

Lugh Samildánach
Lugh Samildánach wiki page

---

“The Good Queen Britannia of Albion shares your troubles, High King Lugh – I cannot stress that enough, your Radiance,” the young diplomat went on again, bowing and scrapping for Lugh. The meeting had been going on for two hours and the only thing that it had accomplished was convincing Lugh that the ‘Good Queen’ did not, in fact, share his troubles.

The Fomorian menace had grown in force ever since Lugh had captured and slain their benefactor, High Prince Uscias of Findias; that had been over a year prior. The High Council had learned enough from the man, using less than savory methods. They had compelled him into telling all he knew of the Fomorians, what their goals had been, how he had assisted them, and so forth. The Court had been crestfallen to learn that a larger plot had been in place and Uscias had only played a small part. He knew nothing of import in the end, and so Lugh and the High Council had turned their attentions toward the foreign force and any potential threats of treachery within the Court’s ranks.

“Yes, you have said as much several times today. However, I cannot feel like you are deflecting. Give me a yes or no answer: will the Queen of Albion join us in a treaty of war to wipe out the Fomorians?” Lugh asked the man, his irritation thinly veiled behind a clenched jaw. High Druidess Tlachtga – whom Lugh had wrested into his service from his cousin, High Prince Lecan – coughed quietly into her closed fist. That had been their private signal, Lugh was pushing the limits of courtly manners. He closed his eyes and took a breath in as he awaited the diplomat’s response. He made a mental note to reign in his temper.

“No, your Radiance. The Good Queen Britannia cannot commit to such measures as of yet,” the diplomat finally gave a straight answer. It was the one Lugh had been waiting for.

The Court’s network of informants and spies had all reported similar accounts: the Fomorians had claimed territory in the northern forests of Albion, the island nation that lay across the Eastern Sea. Britannia had not squashed the barbarians, as Lugh had hoped, instead the Queen had found herself in a scandal with another foreign power – the Olympians.
Britannia had apparently long been pressured by the Olympians to arrange a union between the two nations; in this instance, a marriage had been asked of the Queen. Standard fair amongst the various world powers, Nuada had done the same in his day – although once the daughter in question had left the isles, little was heard from her or the Egyptian Gods of the Lower Kingdom. But then, the same reports had said that a Civil War had recently broken out amongst the various powers of the Lower Kingdom. Lugh had not expected further words from those foreign Gods since the missive had been delivered to him.

Lugh’s stomach turned in upon itself at the thought of the Fomorians. They posed the single largest threat to his rule, and by extension, the Tuatha de. It seemed as if war had begun to break out across the globe. The Lower Kingdom had devolved into countless fiefdoms ruled over by various Gods and Goddesses. And to the north of the Lower Kingdoms, the Olympians had recently found themselves in a war with the Titans – the founders and rulers of Hellas, the very kingdom that had birthed them. Vague reports from the Eastern Kingdoms had also whispered of war between the Brahman. It would only take a few lost battles to collapse the Four Great Cities of the Isles and Lugh knew it. The Fomorians had to be dealt with.

“Then perhaps your Good Queen would be open to another treaty,” Lugh went on, “As you have heard, my second wife, High Queen Nas, has sadly crossed over to the Otherworld. My Council has urged me to seek a new partner to temper my rule. I have heard tales of the Good Queen’s youngest daughter, Deichtine.”

Buach, Lugh’s first wife, had passed in the throes of childbirth – as did Lugh’s son. Theirs had been an arranged marriage, thanks to the High Council and its obsession with ‘ancient customs.’ Buach had not been of noble blood, indeed, she was the utter opposite. She could trace her line back to the founding of the Isles and her family had lived within its bounds since its inception. They were a humble, farming family that had produced their fair share of Dagda – although none strong enough to gain a place of privilege under the Hill. It had been enough for the High Council, who pronounced her family ‘of the land.’

The High King or Queen had to wed the land to secure their seat of power – and to the High Council, that meant bringing in commoners that knew nothing more than the Isles and her toils. Buach’s own mother had been the first in her family to gain any notoriety. Teach Mor, Buach’s mother, had gained the title of ‘The Veiled Hag of Beara’ due to her skills in contacting the Otherworld, Tír na nÓg.

Upon her death, she had been buried within an earthen mound southwest of the Hill. A temple had quickly been erected over the tomb, a cult having all but sprung up around her in the final years of her life. The locals called the place ‘The Hag’s Seat,’ and its sacrificial fires could be seen from the Hill on a clear night.

Nas had been offered up to Lugh as a bride while Buach’s corpse was still warm. He had agreed to the union while wallowing about in the inevitable grief that had taken him. He had actually grown to love Buach, but that had only ever come about after their daughter, Ebliu, had been born. Nas had proved a to be a good woman, she and Ebliu had gotten along fabulously. Lugh did not love her from the start, much like Buach, but he could see things growing in that direction.

Lugh had gotten Nas with child after three months. In a cruel twist of fate, Nas had also died in childbirth – as had their son. The loss of another wife and son had served as the catalyst to Lugh’s numbing. He had been touchy as of late – as his inner circle would be quick to tell you. Most had stayed away from him since the numbness had taken hold, as had a particularly negative outlook on life. Lugh had started to think himself cursed.

“That is a most unexpected offer, your Grace,” the diplomat blanched before bowing deeply in turn, “I am sure the Good Queen Britannia will take her time in deliberating it in earnest.”

Lugh nodded, “Yes, I am sure. The High Council of the Hill of Tara will contact you with our proposed terms.”

The diplomat bowed again, the trident and shield insignia on his chest gleaming in the light of the glowbulbs. He bowed again, deeper and intoning, “If my High King allows it, I shall retreat to mine Good Queen and deliver your missive.”

Lugh inclined his head and held up his dominant hand – his thumb and his middle and index finger held up while the other two pointed down – responding to the diplomat in the ancient forms, “And so shall ye will go forth. Return to me naught till your Good Queen can say yay or nay to mine query.”

The diplomat turned on his heel and marched out of the Great Hall. Semias and Morfessa had stepped down from their respective dais’ and came to meet Lugh at the high seat. He dropped the mask for those two – they had earned it. These two High Princes, of Murias and Failias respectively, had stood beside him from the start. Each Dagda had a good head upon their shoulders to boot.

“Well played, your Radiance,” Morfessa bobbed a curtsy in her filmy gown of salmon pink sateen and turquoise silks, “A unification of the Isles – both East and West – will surely cause the Olympians and Titans to think twice.”

“I think they are looking in upon themselves,” Lugh answered, “But nonetheless, I agree. I’ve seen other powers absorb weaker nations and conscript their Dagda and mundane warriors.”

“It would take less than a year to render us unfit should the Fomorians land in force upon our shores,” Morfessa nodded along, her ideas not without merit.

“Where is my cousin?” Lugh asked – changing the subject entirely.

“Last I spoke with Lecan, he informed me that he would be dealing with the next Fomorian incursion personally,” Morfessa announced at once.

“Your Radiance, with all due respect, I think it pertinent to backtrack. I think it unwise to marry so soon,” Semias spoke up as she smoothed her silken skirts of bronze.

“If I don’t move first, the High Council will, Semias,” Lugh admitted quietly, “I’d rather form treaties before they have had their arguments heard.”

“Isn’t that the point of the representatives?” Semias asked quickly.

“And you see the squabbling they engage in. It would be another two years’ time before they agreed on the motion. The High King’s marriage – after the first – is and will always be a political affair. Let me try to make my own decisions while I can,” Lugh exhaled as he extracted a pipe from his pocket. Blue smoke rings were quickly being thrown up from his mouth – thanks to Abcan’s endless tutelage.

“A masterful stroke if I ever saw one,” Morfessa kept on with the honeyed words, “The Council will have no choice but to bow to the whims of the High Rulers.”

Lugh fought a sneer.

[Rowan Finnegan]

Brigid Aigit
Brigid Aigit wiki page

---

“Give her a few months’ time and she will come around to your proposal,” Brigid announced as she strode into the Great Hall. Lugh turned his hard stare upon her as she paused, remembering herself. She gave the High King a respectable curtsy worthy of his station before adding, “Your Radiance.”

“Been eavesdropping again, Brigid?” Lugh asked, his voice sounding weary and worn, “I’ve asked you not to do that. If this continues, I shall be forced to reprimand you.”

High Prince Morfessa nodded along to Lugh’s every word and the other High Prince, Semias, suddenly found a particularly interesting piece of her skirt – doing her best to look anywhere but at Brigid. She had thought the elevation of these two had been done in haste, indeed, she thought much the same of Uscias; but at least he had held a proper title under Nuada and had time to learn the art of Governance. The two women in front of her were strong in the Light, true, but that was never a good enough reason to give one authority. They were very much in need of some seasoning. If Lugh would only give his blessing, she’d spirit the two women off for a year and a day to ensure they became worthy of the titles they now bore.

“The Cauldron shows me what I ask of it, just as it sees fit to show me things I did not ask for,” Brigid replied calmly as she straightened, “This past hour, it decided to do just that: Deichtine will come to your side before Samhain and she will bear you a healthy, living son.”

Lugh’s eyes hardened a fraction at the announcement, but his face quickly softened as the words hit home. The pipe in his hand was quickly extinguished and disappeared into one of his pockets. He replied in an equally calm tone, “You saw us signing the treaty, then?”

“Treaty? No, your Radiance. I saw the Albion diplomat leaving the room and made my own assumptions. What have you asked of Britannia besides her youngest daughter’s hand?” Brigid asked with sincere curiosity.

“Never you mind, Brigid,” Lugh said as he spun on his heel, marched back up to his throne and seated himself with a sigh, “Morfessa, you may depart. Have one of your men Doorway in to Lecan’s position for a status report. He is not to take any unnecessary risks. We don’t know how many of those collars they have, and I would not have him risk his own neck. I expect an update by first light. Semias, arrange a meeting with the High Council and inform them of today’s developments. You may depart once they have had all of their questions answered.”

Morfessa dipped an outrageously low curtsey before intoning her ascent and leaving the chamber. Semias’ curtsey was much more acceptable, only spoiled when she did not turn to go. Instead, the young woman looked to the High King and asked, “And you shall not be in attendance, your Radiance?”

“That is what I was implying, yes, High Prince Semias. Do you feel as if a High Prince cannot handle the High Council on their High King’s behalf?” Lugh asked with a flash of irritation. The Druidess Tlachtga coughed into her fist and Lugh’s expression softened once more. An odd thing, that. She filed the thought away for later.

Brigid would have to do something about all the ‘High’ titles being used about the Isles. Had the Tuatha de no originality or flair? High King was just fine, but the princes, and the councils, and all of the others would do well with a change. There was no weight behind the thing if everyone was ‘High this’ or ‘High that.’ What was next? High Chef? High Bard? The later was much more likely, with Abcan whispering into Lugh’s ear.

“Of course not, your Radiance. I just thought that –,“ Semias went on.

A loud crack thundered through the Great Hall as Lugh’s open palm came down upon the arm of his throne. Semias all but jumped. Tlachtga was silent, starring at the High King from her spot three paces behind him.

“Depart under the Light, High Prince Semias,” Lugh finally said after a long silence.

Semias said nothing. She curtsied again and left the room as quickly as she could without being seen to run. The double doors of the Great Hall swung shut behind her with a loud groan.

“How did he put up with all of this?” Lugh asked as he leaned forward and buried his face into his open palms.

“My father never spoke of Nuada’s temper, nor of him yelling at his subjects. That might be a good place to start, your Radiance,” Tlachtga said in a familiar tone as she moved up to stand beside the High King and rested a hand on his slumped shoulder. Brigid studied the woman for a moment and then everything clicked into place. Tlachtga grew up alongside Lugh during his fosterage. It was a wonder Brigid hadn’t realized it sooner.

Lugh had installed a childhood friend as his advisor. That could be a great thing or a terrible thing – Brigid would have to do some digging. He would likely listen to the Druid, even if her advice ran contrary to the Council or the other Dagda of the Hill. Finer men were brought down for less. The keys to the kingdom had been turned over to the children; they would need a firm hand to ensure the Isles survived into the next Age. Thankfully, Brigid had returned to them.

“His temper was as fierce as a summer storm on the Eastern Sea, High Druid,” Brigid announced in a kindly tone, “He simply knew when to bear it.”

Lugh made no motion to look up at Brigid, although Tlachtga was now staring daggers at her. Brigid shrugged it off as she moved closer to the dais. Lugh had known and served under Nuada, of course, but only after he had reclaimed the Crown of Maeve from the bastard Bres. Lugh had never known the younger Nuada. Both men had been incredibly different, in personality and style of rulership.

“How did he bear it, Brigid? He always seemed so steady… in control,” Lugh finally said as he brought his hands down to rest on the arms of his throne; his eyes looked red.

“He left,” Brigid said simply.

“He left to learn new ways of working with the Light,” Lugh corrected her quickly.

“And so Abcan and the bards sing,” Brigid answered just as quickly, “Do not let my youthful face fool you, my King, I was there when the Stone of Destiny first proclaimed Nuada and I was there when he fell to Balor. He left because he could not bear the pressure. The bards never sing it true.”

“Then why did he come back?” Lugh asked with an air of disbelief.

“I honestly don’t know,” Brigid shrugged. Lugh eyed her but said nothing. She went on, “I have my own speculations, but I never did get a straight answer out of him after his return.”

“And what would those be?” Lugh asked. Even Tlachtga had become wrapped up in the morsels that Brigid had decided to divulge.

“He came to understand how much we needed a good man to guide us. Bres’ atrocities were often spoken of amongst the common folk. I have little doubt that word had reached Nuada – wherever he was. I think it all got to him. Every Dagda under the Hill suffered under Bres,” Brigid said. Some of us more than others, she added inside of her own head.

“But why would he come back because of that? Why, when he left because of the strains of the crown?” Lugh asked more seriously, leaning forward from his throne. Brigid looked down, affecting the air of one that felt sorrow over Nuada’s life. She had felt sorrow because of those years, but it was not for what the High King had endured.

“He had learned. Whatever it was, I do not know. It was not all about the Light; the man that came back to us – as I have said – was a different man. It was the man we needed. It was the Good King of the Land come once more, as the stories of old often speak of,” Brigid said as she looked up, her voice full of conviction.

“I cannot afford to follow in his footsteps, Brigid. To do so would be to invite the Fomorians in once more. The Dagda of the Hill could handle the armies thrown at them, but after Uscias’ little stunt, I have little reason to trust that those amongst the Court are not planning their own revolutions,” Lugh spoke on, his voice sounded as tired as Brigid had felt before returning to the Hill. She looked at Lugh – really looked at him – and found that he had aged since she had first returned. Losing two wives and two sons would do that to any man. Brigid felt her heart tighten at the thought.

“I know,” Brigid replied simply. The man certainly needed help and she would gladly give it. But would he accept her council? With Tlachtga standing there staring at her, she found herself doubtful. The man on the throne would chafe at any guidance she offered – for now. Why, the entire court knew that he had sent representatives to meetings with the High Council; Brigid had just seen him order it of one of the High Princes. Why should he listen to her above Tlachtga or Abcan or even Lecan when he could not even bear to hear the opinions and arguments of his official Council?

The High King would have to be handled delicately and Brigid knew just how to do so.

With a respectable curtsy, Brigid said, “If it pleases the High King, I will now depart. I have a few other meetings to attend to this afternoon.”

Lugh nodded wearily and waved a hand, signaling his ascent. Brigid bobbed another curtsy and even inclined her head towards Tlachtga. She left the chamber at a stately pace and with a mind full of plots. The High King would be molded into the man they needed, and he would never have to leave Court to do so. All the tools were at hand. She simply had to wield them and make them do what needed doing.

First and foremost, Brigid had a bard to find.