(no subject)

[axeslade]

Not much today. Did some reserach for Shonuachar (didn't come up with too much that was useful yet, grr). Speaking of, I wrote the next part last night for anyone who might be interseted (first part can be found here). Yes, before someone notes, I still haven't figured out when the hell all of this is taking place. I'm slowly but surely narrowing it down.



Ireland-?

He was sixteen the first time I saw him. Ailean. No matter how much time passes, or how much the times change, I will always think of him as my Ailean. ‘Alan’ just looks far too plain for someone like him.

I was standing on a cliff looking out over the ocean, just watching and listening to the music all around me. The ‘normal’ music of the breeze, the birds, the ocean. But also a fainter, sweeter and all together more powerful music that no mere mortal could hear. The music my father and his kind infused into the rocks, trees, the very air of the Isle.

Then something broke through the pleasant humming. Laughter. Human laughter. A human boy’s laughter. I rarely gave such things more than a passing notice before turning my attention back to more important matters, but this time I turned my gaze to the source of the sound.

There were five boys, all shirtless with long hair spilling down their shoulders, racing horses and laughing along the shoreline. The chattering of four of the boys and the horses sounded like so much insects’ buzzing to my ears. But the fifth boy, the boy who was just now holding still as he wheezed, breathless with laughter…

Under harsh inspection, he was nothing remarkable. A slight young man, finely muscled to be sure but still small and lean with a mess of mousy brown hair covering his eyes until he shoved the errant strands away to reveal the shining orbs. At one moment they appeared blue, the next green, and then gray as the light hit them and he moved.

They’re like the sea; always changing, always moving. That’s the first thing I remember thinking of him. I watched, transfixed, as he dug his heels into the ebony hide of the horse and sped off again. I barely held back a gasp as I watched him, the muscles in his back and legs tensing as he moved, making the previously relaxed, pale skin tighten and flush, glistening with sweat and sunlight.

Suddenly he turned his head away from the path of his fellows, gazing up in my direction. I froze, even though I knew it was foolish to do so. He was a mortal! He couldn’t see me! Even with my mother’s human blood in the mix, I was still a Tuatha. For centuries, ever since the Mil’s-this young man’s ancestors-had invaded Eriu, we had been invisible to man.

Or most men, I thought with a shudder as he kept staring. This wasn’t the first time a human’s gaze had landed on me. They often sensed me, thought they saw something out of the corner of their eye. But they never saw anything, and they would always shrug and go on about their business. At least they had before.

The young man stopped his horse again and continued staring at me. I tried to make him go away, tried to conceal myself and convince him that he was seeing things. But the harder I tried to mask my presence, it seemed, the more entranced he was.

Eventually, though, whatever trance had come over him broke and he finally heard the calls of his companions. Shaking his head, he spurred the horse on again and galloped away.

I sank down onto the ground, staring after him for some time, as entranced by the mere movement of his hair and the movement of his hands as he had been of me. Finally his form grew too distant to make out and I forced myself to stand and go back to the sídh.