#Ulaid

[stairnaheireann]

The War Hollow

Viking influence in the Celtic lands goes back to the very beginning of the Viking Age, when men from Scandinavia decided to make the perilous journey across the seas to take what treasures they could. One of these Viking raiders was Magnus Olaffson (Magnús Óláfsson), better known as Magnus Barelegs or Barefoot, the king of Norway from 1093 until his death in 1103. His aggressive military…

[roehenstart]

List of Monarchs: Legendary kings of Scotland. By Jacob Jacobsz de Wet II.

41. Eugenius II.

42. Dongardus (Domangart Réti, King of Dál Riata; 501-507).

44. Congallus I (Comgall mac Domangairt, King of Dál Riata).

45. Goranus (Gabrán mac Domangairt or Gabrán the Traitor, King of Dál Riata and Ulaid -Ireland-).

46. Eugenius III (Owain mab Urien was the son of Urien, king of Rheged. The historical figure of Owain became incorporated into the Arthurian cycle of legends where he is also known as Ywain. In his legendary guise he is the main character in Chrétien de Troyes's Yvain, the Knight of the Lion and the Welsh Romance Owain, or the Lady of the Fountain, which corresponds to Chrétien's poem.)

47. Congallus II (Conall mac Comgaill, King of Dál Riata from about 558 until 574).

48. Kinnatellus.

49. Aidanus (Áedán mac Gabráin, King of Dál Riata from c. 574 until c. 609 AD. The kingdom of Dál Riata was situated in modern Argyll and Bute, Scotland, and parts of County Antrim, Ireland).

50. Kennethus I  (Kenneth I Keir; Connad Cerr or Connad the Left-handed, King of Dál Riata).

[allgoodmusic]

My son’s tape!

[incorrect-ulster-cycle]

is your child texting about the ulster cycle? know the signs!

brb = bitches require bulls lol = láeg owns, losers smh = smashing my hurley tbh = táin bó hcúailnge stfu = support the feeble ulaid tfw = tochmarc ferbe wins rofl = revenge (y)our father, lugaid idc = idh da charioteer btw = behead the warriors

[ladyinred2248]

King of the North, Part 8

Warnings: Mature. Minors DNI. Sexual themes. Violence. Angst. Mentions of SA. Mentions of self-harm.

Three months later.

The Prince of Ulaid stood on the endlessly tall battlements of the palace, his hands in front of him gracing the stone wall as his deep brown eyes looked out to the horizon. Nervously he fidgeted with his rings and chewed on his lower lip. His intuition had been wrenching him for some time now, a twisting feeling in his stomach he couldn’t ignore.

Ronan was tall, with dark brown hair and eyes that complimented his fair skin, akin to his true father’s handsome features. The young Prince was kind to people of all walks of life and steadfast with loyalty, remaining untainted by the royal family and yet burdened by his own duty, just as Finan had been so many years ago. He had been loved dearly by his mother, who had seen his father in him more every day as he grew, and it had planted seeds of regret in her heart regarding her first husband’s fate. Ronan was raised to know Conall as his “father”, but in all his years had not spent any time of measure in his presence.

“My Prince,” Amelie, a servant girl, beckoned from behind him. “You are troubled that your father has not returned?”

Ronan shook his head softly to her. He had been left in charge of the palace in Ulaid for what was supposed to be a month or so, but now so much more time had passed. Yes, his nerves were getting the better of him. But it was more than that. It was a feeling of unease, a rumbling in his mind that mirrored the storm clouds in the distance.

“I am quite alright, my Lady. Don’t fret,” he winked at her, ever charming her as she felt a faint blush rise to her cheeks. He always called her Lady, even though she couldn’t be further from a woman of nobility.

“Can I assist you with anything, Your Grace?” Amelie spoke quietly again.

Ronan shook his head, reaching over to take her hand in his and placing a kiss to her knuckles. “You may retire for the night. Thank ya for checkin’ in.”

Amelie bowed to him with a girlish giggle, then looked out to the horizon that seemed to eternally hold Ronan’s gaze.

“Take care, Your Grace. The lightning is near.”

He gave her one last soft smile, then looked out to the distant horizon once again and hummed. “A storm is coming.”

The normally calm and collected teenager continued to pace the grounds long after his servant had left, wondering when his adoptive father, Conall, would return. He attempted not to show his worried emotions too easily, as his younger brother, Cinaed, was still reeling from the death of their mother. Ronan was seventeen summers old, and Cinaed was only three summers younger, and yet he lacked emotional maturity and held a more tumultuous temperament.

Cinaed was often free to roam the palace grounds at his leisure, while Ronan had been bound to duty from the very beginning being the first born child and heir. The young prince had been praying that Conall wouldn’t return, the brute that he was. The Kingdom itself was in turmoil, as Conall had been a tyrant of sorts, denying assistance to the poor and collecting hefty taxes regardless of the poverty stricken lands. Danish raids had been striking the coasts relentlessly, further threatening the people of Ulaid and seemingly breaking any spirit they had left. Ronan accepted that it would one day be his duty to overturn the strife that had been continually bestowed upon the people since he was a child. He took in a deep breath, feeling the winds pick up and brushing across his face as storm clouds rolled in closer. He could see the coast just barely in the distance, and his intuition made him take yet another speculative look, but there was nothing to be seen.

Ronan, unlike his younger brother Cinaed, knew the truth of his upbringing. His mother, Dealla, told him the story when he was old enough to truly understand. Dealla strangely had sympathy for his true father’s fate, though she would never admit it in front of Conall for fear of his wrath. Finan and Dealla’s marriage had been arranged for alliances between Kingdoms, and although she had never fallen in love with Finan, she had deep respect for him. She had actually understood to some extent why he had forsaken the Crown. She was plagued with the same noble duties, the same golden cage. They had become at the very least good friends, holding an understanding of one another. Finan treated her kindly, and they assumed their duties, up until Finan had escaped Ulaid.

What followed was painful to live and to watch for his former wife, and Dealla held a tinge of jealousy to know he had fallen in love with another woman. Regardless of their circumstances, she thought Finan would be a capable father to her children, and she felt betrayed. The woman Finan had fallen in love with, Conall’s wife no less, was killed brutally. So the price had inevitably been paid. But Dealla would have simply banished them both if not for Conall’s insistence. She winced in pain whenever she thought back to the day he was caught and beaten, his lover raped and killed. Conall was a monster, and Dealla knew it before that day. She took Conall as her new husband, pressured once again by honorable duty and sealed to a miserable fate. And so began years of strife and political conflict. Ronan had never taken a particular liking to Conall, but Cinaed was younger, more malleable and easier to influence. The younger child and Conall held a bond with one another, while Conall secretly resented Ronan for his likeness to his former brother.

When Ronan came of age to begin the duties necessary to assume the throne, Dealla felt it was her own duty to tell him the story of his most noble father. She told him of the arranged marriage and of the moment the two of them met, how their fathers bargained an alliance with their lives. Furthermore, she spoke of Finan with the utmost respect. The warrior who surpassed everyone in sword craft. The kindest man in all of Ulaid. The man whose smile and laughter would light up the entirety of the King’s Hall. Her greatest friend. She told her son everything. Even the fated tale of Finan being stripped of everything.

Dealla fell ill in the early Spring that year, and her health took no measure of recovery. She was resolved to the fact that she would not live to see her son wear the Crown, however Ronan’s strength and resilience, along with the attributes she loved most about her late husband, were evident in his every movement and actions. She cursed herself for allowing Finan to be sold to the slavers on the coast on that fateful day. He surely hadn’t survived. This was the one lasting regret she had when she closed her eyes one summer evening and never opened them again.

Constantin, Domnal, and the Scottish forces had traveled to the North with you in tow and taken you to your birthplace, back to your homeland once again. The palace where you grew up no longer had the warmth and grace it held before. It was your own personal dungeon, a cage of sorts that held no meaning nor semblance to the peaceful home you had created in Coccham with your lover… your husband, you were painfully reminded every time you thought of him. No, it was only a shell of a predetermined life, one that you had willingly let go of the moment you had met the love of your life.

No longer did you hold the light in your eyes that made Finan beam with longing and lust. Your hopelessness gave way for a seething rage, a deep bitterness that had settled into your body once you knew that there was no resolve to be made. You had been separated from the other half of your soul, forevermore, the worst part being that Finan had resolved to let you go. You understood why he had allowed it, but it shattered your heart just the same.

You had decided to spend your days training in sword craft, either to give you something to look forward to or something to pass the time, you weren’t sure. Regardless, you were through with being a helpless woman of nobility. You would garner strength, and you would someday be capable of defending the child who grew in your belly. You accepted that his or her father might never be there again to protect the both of you. As time went on, it was difficult to hide the growing child in your belly as five months had passed since your last blood. But your father had not yet found you a hand in marriage, and thankfully knew nothing of the bastard child, as he would refer to it. Soon, your father would find out and his plans would be disposed, as no noble man would take you as his wife knowing you had been “ruined”. You scoffed at the thought. At least that was one silver lining to this miserable debacle.

Every time you held the sword in your hands you imagined Finan’s large, calloused hand curling around yours, as if wielding it for you until you had the strength to hold up the heavy blade in any position. Your body now held the resilience to strike quickly and the agility to hold off other offensive blows, your opponents often coming to their knees to defend themselves.

A woman like you needs to be brave.

The words that came from Finan early in your relationship rang in your head over and over with each devastating strike. You were no longer the young woman who was sought out by old men in pretentious castles. You were a force to be reckoned with, so brutally scorned, you simply had nothing left to lose and nothing to gain. Your fury engulfed you so intensely now that you simply had no fear. All of it had melted from you. It had dissipated from your bones the moment you were pulled from his arms, and it was replaced with an unyielding and ungodly fury.

You found as time went on that your preferred weapon was a bow. It was easier to wield given your current state, and you had quite the knack for it as you practiced and managed the craft. You could hit a target from a far distance away, and it helped to imagine your cousin, Domnal, at the end of the target. The liar and betrayer he was. No more loyal to Finan than he was to you. These men only sought out their own ambition, or to cowardly save their own hides. Finan’s fate was sealed the moment he met the Scots, Domnal whispering in his ear and influencing him from the very beginning.

Your heart ached at this thought. You had cried yourself to sleep for months, and the sting in your chest had lessened over time, but time did nothing to ease the pain when you simply brought your mind to your lover and the joyous past. The fleeting moments you held, the joy of getting to know one another. The memories of his laughter and his cheeky grin as he spoke of something that triggered your own laughter. The way his body melted into yours so effortlessly and the way he worshipped you. You took a deep, shuddering breath at the thoughts. His hand intertwined with yours, or searching your body in a passionate frenzy. Nothing had ever felt so natural as when he took your body fervently and passionately. The very act of which gave you the most precious gift, the only thing you had left of him, now slowly growing inside you. You set down your bow as you choked out a sob, falling to your knees and hugging yourself with your arms to brace yourself for the wretching pain.

You loved him more than life itself. You would have put an end to your own life by now if not for the blessing he had bestowed upon you. Your child… your only saving grace. You stood from your knees. You would find Finan again. You would return to him, or you would die trying.

Unbeknownst to you, Uhtred and Finan along with Sihtric and Osferth had devised a crew of men that would accompany them in their travels to Ulaid. The journey thus far had been brutal, but after several months they had finally made headway. They had to cross the sea momentarily and find horses to journey to the palace, but they had made it. It was a grueling journey for Finan, one of hope and of despair. He was without the woman who made him whole, the other half of his soul. The woman who gave him hope to survive, the drive to carry on. He had traveled months to reach his objective, and now that he was faced with it, his fears were plenty. He would meet his own sons. The ones he left behind with such cowardice and foolishness. Would they turn him away? Would they spit in his face? Would they arrest him on sight? Perhaps he didn’t care anymore.

Finan trusted Uhtred more than anyone in the world, and he knew that his Lord would help him see this through. As he had during the siege of Wessex, Finan sought out his own rage to endure the journey, to stay steadfast in his quest. He prayed for your safety and resilience. This whole journey, his whole life’s purpose ever since he had laid eyes upon you had been for you. He would give you his sword, he would lay his life at your feet without a second thought. His love for you was endless and unwavering, and so he endured the torture of coming to the lands of his birth once more.

Ronan was startled as the shouting of an Ulaid guardsman’s voice rang through the hall.

“Your Grace, riders approaching the gates!”

Ronan stood, feeling his own heartbeat in his throat. He would need to address this, as a King would, just as he would need to address everything until Conall’s return. The responsibility gave him a shudder, but he calmed himself with a slow, deep breath.

“Archers to the ramparts.” Ronan commanded loudly. “Do we know who they are?”

“They look like Danes, Your Grace.”

Ronan’s breath hitched once again as he tried to remain calm. The fortress will hold, there is nothing to worry over. Perhaps they are traders. Yes. Perhaps.

Ronan took himself to the stoned battlement, finally allowing himself a gaze of the foreigners who approached the gates now with horses and a band of men that did indeed look like Danes. One of them in particular had his hair shaved on the sides, weaved with braids, and he held himself as if he was their leader as he rode slightly ahead of the rest of the men. Ronan and the Danish leader locked eyes from a far distance, and the Dane shouted up to him.

“Your Grace, we come peacefully. We only wish to speak. I am Uhtred of Bebbanburg, oathman to King Alfred of Wessex.”

The Dane Slayer? Ronan thought. He had heard of him by tales of reputation. He was Alfred’s sword and shield. Conall had traveled South to Mercia with a promise of betrothal by the Scot’s, so perhaps this was a related matter? He looked over the band of men behind the Danish leader, a strange mixture of Dane and Saxon men, one in particular close to Uhtred, a Saxon no doubt, cloaked and hooded mysteriously with a thick beard. No sign of Conall with them, which piqued Ronan’s curiosity. Perhaps they had word of his travels. Regardless, he could not let his guard down. These men had traveled far for a reason of importance, surely.

Ronan cautiously gestured for the guards to lower the drawbridge before shouting down to Uhtred once more. “Welcome to the palace of Ulaid, Uhtred Ragnarsson.”

Finan shuddered at his son’s voice. The current events were now all too real. He had waited for this moment impatiently but loathed it just the same. Uhtred turned his head to look at him, giving Finan a nod, a sympathetic look in his eyes. Not only was Finan likely traumatized to see his homeland and the place he grew up, but to see his firstborn full grown and commanding his guardsmen…it had to be quite the riveting experience.

Uhtred led his men inside the gates, cautiously looking around and observing the stoned fortress, marveling at the craftsmanship and differences between this fortress and the ones he knew well in Wessex and Mercia. The Irish definitely held some advantage when it came to their preparations. Several guardsmen looked in their direction suspiciously, their weapons already drawn.

Uhtred, Finan, and the others dismounted their horses, and a few Ulaid guardsmen quickly came to lead their horses to the stables, much to Uhtred’s surprise. He continued to gaze at the scenery, for it was impressively fortified, a tantalizing sight. Before he knew it, a young man with dark hair and eyes, dressed in noble clothing and surrounded by several guards was coming towards him. Anyone could see plainly with one glance that the young man was a child of Finan’s. It was a sight to behold.

“Lord Uhtred,” Ronan gave him a soft smile, “Welcome. How can I be of assistance to ya?”

Uhtred’s eyes grew soft as he pinched his lips together to hold back any emotions. Inevitably, it was astonishing to see the young man standing before him. Unbelievable even. He could only imagine how Finan felt at that moment.

Uhtred paused to speak. Ronan looked at him suspiciously, then turned his head to look at his guards, then back again at Uhtred. “Uh…Lord?”

Uhtred grinned. “My apologies. This is quite an honorable experience… you have my brother’s eyes.”

Ronan could feel his heart beating strongly in his chest. What was this man talking about? Was this some kind of trick to catch him off guard? He felt his cheeks turn hot with rage, or rather, fear.

The bearded man next to Uhtred suddenly threw the hood of his cloak back, his dark eyes glistening. The guardsmen surrounding Ronan all let out soft gasps, sounds of weapons clashing lightly in preparation and anticipation. Ronan knew then who was standing before him, whether by his eyes or by his heart, he wasn’t sure.

Finan stepped closer to him now, passing Uhtred, and Ronan’s hands trembled as they stood before each other. He had never seen anyone, besides Dealla and in some ways Conall, who bore such resemblance to himself.

Ronan let out a choked whisper.

“You’re alive?”

Finan cocked his head to the side.

“…You know who I am?”

“…I do.”

Finan softly smiled at him. His son was so tall and dashing in his armor. Such a brave young man to be standing here in front of foreign invaders. His nobility shined through him like he was born to lead, and he was.

The silence between them was deafening as Ronan walked even closer, giving Finan a firm nod.

“I am glad you are alive.”

Finan’s glistening eyes finally let a tear escape, rolling across his cheek. He couldn’t help himself any longer. He trudged forward, grabbing his son up into a strong embrace, which made Ronan’s tears escape as well.

“I am so sorry about yer mother, Lad. I am sorry for everything. I am here now… if ya will have me.”

Ronan felt more vulnerable than he had ever felt in his entire lifetime as he wrapped his arms tightly around Finan. He sobbed into him relentlessly now as Finan returned the tight embrace. They had never met, and yet here they were, so naturally bonded.

Sniffles were made between Uhtred’s men at the sight. Most of the guardsmen recognized Finan, and it was a sight to behold seeing him back again, his own son in his arms.

Ronan pulled away slightly, wiping tears from his face on the back of his hand. “Come. I feel there is much to discuss.”

Finan smiled, patting his son on the back as he looked over his shoulder at Uhtred, who gave him a smile in return.

>>>Part 9

Note: I used the same name for Finan’s first wife as some other Fics have, to keep some continuity established by the Fandom. :) hopefully that’s alright with everyone. If not, feel free to reach out 💖

Taglist: @gemini-mama @persephones-journey @alexagirlie @justanother-sihtricgirlie @whitedarkmoonflower @bcon24 @ficnation

[trans-cuchulainn]

tell me about him.

the story i remember: an orphan boy is raised to be very good at sports. he accidentally kills the local king’s favorite dog, and takes the dogs place as a guard??

not an orphan! he has many dads. really a disproportionate number of dads. and also a mum. she's called dechtire or dechtine and doesn't come up very often, but she's the sister of conchobar, king of the ulaid, so cú chulainn is the king's nephew

he gets his name by killing (deliberately) the watch dog of a man named culann, bc he was late to a feast and the dog had already been let out to guard the place so it tried to kill him but he got there first. culann wasn't thrilled about this, so young sétanta (or sédana but it's sétanta in all the versions of the boyhood deeds that i know) is like "i will get you another dog and in the meantime i will guard your land for you" and everyone is like, cool, that seems a reasonable thing for a six year old to say, let's give him a new name while we're about it

anyway then he grows up to do a shitton of murder, most notably in táin bó cúailnge, which is the story of one 17-year-old boy (cú chulainn) versus the armies of ireland, and he's winning. also he kills his best friend/foster brother in a deeply homoerotic duel, as ya do.

bunch more murders, bunch more adventures, then eventually it catches up with him ~16 years later and the kids of loads of people he killed are like "hey so fuck that guy in particular, right?" and team up to murder him bc truly he was great at making enemies. bye bye cú chulainn. he dead.

cú chulainn's best friend, best weapon, and probably the sole reason he didn't die at 15 instead of 33 is his charioteer láeg mac riangabra. láeg my best beloved. bit of a weirdo, bit obscure, no one's totally sure where he comes from and also he is entirely down to do murder for cú chulainn when necessary. probably a similar age to cú chulainn which frankly explains a lot. they play fidchell together which is a strategy board game a bit like chess so basically they are the chess club nerds who will beat YOU up

i love them, your honour

[margridarnauds]

Sleepover ask time! I give you permission to rant about shit on main

That's an ungodly amount of power to give me, let's go.

This is going to be unpopular with some people, and I totally get why, but...every once in a while on this site, there's a lot of furor raised over "You CAN'T call the Aeneid/The Divine Comedy/Arthuriana fanfic, you don't UNDERSTAND, they're MEDITATIONS on fate/divine will/mortality, they're DEEP." Many outraged posts made, blood spilled, lives lost on Tumblr as the most unlikeable people that you know on both sides write bad faith thinkpieces that wildly miss the point. And...I get it. I do. I emphasize that I get it. These texts are, overwhelmingly, being manufactured in a time before copyright protections, as we know them, existed. (Though Cervantes, in the 17th century, provided an early example of an author...very firmly asserting his own exclusive ownership of the characters.) These works, rather than being fanfiction in and of themselves, are part of a cultural tradition of transformative borrowing and exchange that fanfiction is ALSO a part of.

...but that being said. Lads. Lighten up.

People who actually work with stuff day in, day out don't care as much as randos on Tumblr, or self proclaimed English Majors™ who couldn't hack grad school and have decided that, in retribution, they're going to subject us to complaining about YA, fanfic, pick your poison here (mandatory "Education =/= intelligence or critical thinking skills, especially given the RIDICULOUS cost of a degree in the States, but if you're going to promote yourself as an English Major™, and play into that hierarchical system, I reserve the right to call you on it and pull rank.) I've sat at tables filled with medievalists who will gleefully call Arthuriana fanfic (we also had a lovely discussion on MPreg, Omegaverse, and protecting curious senior scholars from the former two when they go on their regular sojourns across the internet.) I've read articles from respected medievalists that will adopt a transformative approach towards reading texts, arguing that they are, essentially, fanfiction. (Matthieu Boyd's paper on Mesca Ulaid, for the interested.) I've talked to tenured Ivy League professors who will compare respected medieval literary traditions to fanfic. (Three, actually.) As a soon to be published Arthurian scholar myself, *I* don't care, and I'd like to think that, at this point, I've earned my laurels enough to have an opinion.

Like, I just think we have to consider what our goal is here -- is it to educate people on the way that pre-modern literary cultures worked, or is it to make ourselves feel superior? Is it because we want to clarify that our own situation re: copyright is the exception rather than the norm historically, or is it because we feel somehow threatened by the comparison between something that we hold to be significant to something that we hold insignificant, especially since the latter is something that is something that can be written by anyone as opposed to a specific literary elite that overwhelmingly consisted of men? When we're here, in our capacity as ambassadors for our fields, are we doing more harm than good by trying to puff ourselves up? Are we actually ENCOURAGING people to engage with this stuff, or are we making them think that we're all Like That?

When I was younger, 17-18, I was terrified of interacting with people who did this sort of thing specifically because there was one person on here, back in the day, who was SUCH a prickly asshole that I was scared. And if I hadn't, I wouldn't have entered grad school for this, I never would've gotten my MA, I wouldn't have gotten into my PhD program. God knows how many other people might have had similar experiences. That matters more to me than whether Arthuriana technically counts as fic.

...also this is the funny meme website. The reason why a lot of people aren't giving the most nuanced takes on medieval literary networks is specifically because, besides being laypeople...this is the funny meme website. None of us are making any of this into a conference paper, it isn't going on our CVs, so I'm not going to focus on getting all the nuances down right because. This is the funny meme website. I go here. To make funny memes. And to escape my program. And if you have enough time and energy to get angry, wonderful, fight the good fight, but, ala the Cervantes example above, you might find yourself tilting at windmills that you've mainly created.

[anragaire]

Do you think Constantin heard the Tea about an Ulaid king's son running off with his brother's wife only to end up in England serving Uhtred of Bebbanburg

Constantin looking across the battlefield like: 👀👀👀 *gasps* omg that's that guy

[ussjellyfish]

url songs

Rules: Pick a song for every letter of your url and tag that many people.

Thank you, @winternightjewels for tagging me.

U: Ulaid by ES Posthumous

S: Santiana by The Longest Johns

S: Shatterdome (from Pacific Rim) by Ramin Djawadi

J: Jason by Perfume Genius

E: The Expanse by Clinton Shorter

L: Lava by Kauna Torres Kahele

L: Let Them Upby Junkie XL

Y: Yearning for the peace by Tan Dun

F: Fireflies by Jeff Russo

I: I Giorni by Ludovico Einauldi

S: Seven Devils by Florence and the Machine

H: Here with me by Susie Suh and Robot Koch

tagging @persante, @purlturtle, @aleksandrachaev,@alexkingstons, @mylittleredgirl, @nomi--sunrider, @that-one-curly-haired-chick, @whimsicalli, @holdouttrout @viharistenno, @xxgothchatonxx

if you like. tagging you means I'm thinking about you, no pressure.

[stairnaheireann]

The War Hollow

Viking influence in the Celtic lands goes back to the very beginning of the Viking Age, when men from Scandinavia decided to make the perilous journey across the seas to take what treasures they could. One of these Viking raiders was Magnus Olaffson (Magnús Óláfsson), better known as Magnus Barelegs or Barefoot, the king of Norway from 1093 until his death in 1103. His aggressive military…

[finnlongman]

Working theories about the processes at work in the Babyfication of Cú Chulainn in the 17th-19th century Ulster Cycle tales:

All of these late stories position themselves as taking place before Táin Bó Cúailnge. This is obvious from the fact that Fer Diad is present in lots of them, but is also just narratively convenient for them, I think.

Cú Chulainn is 17 in TBC, so our starting point is that he must be younger than that.

Generally these stories position themselves as occurring after Tochmarc Emire/Foglaim Con Culainn. Again, this is partly evident from the presence of Fer Diad. Some of them overlap slightly with it.

Cú Chulainn's age in TE isn't stated outright, but following the Boyhood Deeds, he might be as young as about 6.

He must therefore be aged between 6 and 17 when all these stories take place.

Tóruigheacht Gruaidhe Griansholus, the oldest of these stories (1679), states that he is 15 -- presumably with the primary intent of firmly locating the story before TBC. The Ulaid are concerned about the idea of him going off an international road trip alone because of his age, and express this concern, but he does it anyway. His youth is occasionally referenced, but on the whole he is much as he appears in earlier texts: a skilled and precocious warrior.

Eachtra na gCuradh and Coimheasgar na gCuradh come next (early 18th cent). They notice this detail in TGG and decide to elaborate on it further: Cú Chulainn is younger than 15, and is going on adventures only in the company of other warriors; it is occurring pre-TGG, making that his first solo adventure.

Because he is too young to go on adventures by himself, and because those responsible for him are frequently concerned for him, this gives the impression that Conall et al are babysitting him.

Eachtra na gCuradh appears to take place before Coimheasgar na gCuradh. CnC introduces Láeg and by the end of the story, he and Cú Chulainn have teamed up, ready for TGG. Conall appears slightly less protective of Cú Chulainn, so we can conclude he is slightly older than he was in EnC, when he is very baby (and when Láeg wasn't yet on the scene).

His age is not stated outright in any of these, but I would guess he's aged between 10 and 14. This is based purely on relative chronology and may not hold up to close scrutiny.

Sgéalta Rómánsuíochta are the latest stories (maybe 18th century but preserved in 19th century version). They're not super interested in Cú Chulainn, preferring to foreground other characters. His babyfication makes this easier, since he can appear as a child sidekick (to Ailill Fionn, in the first story), or in a similar capacity to EnC and CnC -- the youngest/most junior member of a group of warriors. Across the four stories, he could be anything from about 7 to about 14 again.

Theories about intertextuality:

Tóruigheacht Gruaidhe Griansholus and Coimheasgar na gCuradh both provably draw on the Stowe version of Táin Bó Cúailnge. There are details that can't have come from any other version of TBC (or any other text that survives). They are not the same details in both texts, so it's not that CnC drew on TGG: both drew on Stowe.

Since EnC is probably by the same author as CnC, we can assume he also had Stowe.

EnC's inclusion of Manannán mac Lir might suggest knowledge of Serglige Con Culainn.

CnC alone of the very late tales (i.e. EnC onwards) includes Láeg, with characterisation details that obviously come from Stowe TBC. Again, it doesn't seem to derive directly from TGG (there's a detail I'd expect to see there if it did); both go back to Stowe and so have similarities but have developed them differently.

All of them are probably drawing on Foglaim Con Culainn; in some places it seems like there might be some reliance on Oidheadh Con Culainn as well. There might be some evidence of drawing on Oidheadh Chonlaioch, particularly the attribution of teaching to Aífe rather than Scáthach, although I know there are also late verse versions of this that might be a source rather than the prose.

SR may be more distant from its source material with heavier reliance on these intervening texts -- there are lots of phrasal similarities between EnC/CnC and SR, but Ó hUiginn disputes the earlier proposal that they were all by the same author and thinks SR are definitely later.

That's what I've got so far. I doubt anyone has suggestions because I don't think anyone has cared about these texts for a couple of centuries, but if you do, hit me.

I am partly writing this post so I can keep track of these thoughts for later, although my PhD corpus ends with TGG, so I won't be talking at length about the others there. (They may come up in passing, though.)

[bible-hunger-games]

Tribute 11: Saint Patrick

A fifth century missionary and bishop in Ireland, also known as the Apostle of Ireland and the primary patron saint of Ireland

Captured by a group of Irish pirates at age 16 and was enslaved for six years, during which he strengthened his relationship with God

The banishment of all snakes from Ireland has been credited to him, although there have never been any snakes in Ireland

After his death, his corpse was fought over by three groups of people known as the Uí Néill, the Airgíalla, and the Ulaid

Saint Patrick

[gae-laeg]

Place for putting little comics about the Ulster Cycle and the Ulaid

[ladyinred2248]

King of the North, Finan x Reader, Part 7

Warnings: Mature. Minors DNI. Sexual themes. Angst.

You are so fragile and thin

Standing trial for your sins

Holding onto yourself the best you can

You are the smell before rain,

You are the blood in my veins

-Brand New

A light knock came to your door at the Inn just around midnight, and it stirred Finan awake immediately, his keen sense of awareness never allowing him a deep sleep. With messy hair and a bare torso he jumped from the bed, taking care to slowly release his grip from you before motioning for his sword belt instinctively, quietly and swiftly coming towards the door. He stepped to the window, squinting his dark eyes and gazing out just slightly. Only the moon’s light and a few torches revealed Domnal standing on the other side of the door. Finan put down his sword and opened the door quietly so as to not wake you and slipped out, nodding to Domnal as they met each other’s gaze.

“What is it?” Finan asked him, taking a moment to gaze at the surroundings outside, another one of his instinctive gestures.

“Lord King,” Domnal whispered, “I fear my Uncle will no longer approve of your betrothal. Your Kingship was imperative. We must return to Scotland and…secure an ally, with the Princesses’ hand.”

Finan’s stomach dropped at Domnal’s words. He paused, looking away and blinking a few times as he bit his lip. A deep rage began to engulf him once more. He could barely manage words, but offered a few in hopes it would change the circumstances.

“They would have killed me,” Finan spoke lowly in his Irish brogue, “…and I would no longer be able to protect her…What choice did I have?”

Domnal grabbed Finan’s arm, giving him a reassuring nod, “I understand, Your Grace. But you must not submit to Wessex. Our alliance stands, and we must make a move to secure the North.”

Finan looked at him with intensity now, his stern voice raising slightly. “Domnal, I swore an oath to the King. I have served Wessex for years.”

“Alfred will not be able to challenge you, I swear it. But if we do not secure our reign, we will have no other choice. She must do her duty,” Domnal looked at him with sympathetic eyes, “I am ever loyal to you, Your Grace. Please… choose wisely.”

Finan nodded, his hand coming to Domnal’s shoulder and a weak semblance of a smile coming across his face. Domnal had been an eternal beacon of support, standing steadfast by his side through the most fearsome of circumstances in recent months.

Domnal gave him a firm nod, and with that gesture he strode out into the night, leaving Finan standing in the darkness with the brisk night air against his skin. I should have known, Finan thought. He felt inexplicably lost, for the only true ambition Finan had was to have your hand in marriage, to live a simple life without political influences. His mind wandered to the course of events that led the two of you to this, and he truly believed that no matter what he had done, the outcome would have been no different. His passion for you was one that could bring about ferocity, as it had when he made the rash decision to siege Wessex. He would die for you at any moment without hesitation if needed, but he still selfishly wanted the family he never had with the woman he so desperately loved. When Alfred offered the reprieve of relinquishing the royal title and becoming his oathman, he felt it was the wisest choice to preserve his own destiny. He had never cared to be King of Ulaid, and he still had no desire to rule; he only cared to live a life that entailed living alongside you and raising the pups he would inevitably bestow upon you. Domnal’s words shook him to the very core, so the next morning, he sought out the one person he trusted most in the world.

“Are you mad?” Uhtred asked sternly with wide eyes, “Has this experience taught you nothing?”

Finan snickered, his air of seriousness dissipating slightly, “Lord… what would ya suggest then?”

Uhtred and the others had been packing up their belongings and readying the horses that morning, preparing to return to Coccham. Uhtred thought that matters had been settled for now, letting his mind be at ease with the simple notion that Constantin and Domnal would return to Scotland and that Finan was now in the same position he himself had been in for years - serving the King of Wessex.

“I would suggest that you have Beocca marry you to the beautiful woman and consummate the marriage as quickly as possible,” Uhtred replied with a smirk.

Finan couldn’t help but smirk back at him, then took a deep, slow breath and let out a sigh.

“Finan, we will stay in Winchester for a short time, and we will resolve this.”

Finan smiled at his Lord again, Uhtred’s hand coming to rest on Finan’s shoulder, “Yes. Thank you, Lord.”

Uhtred gave him a stern nod before raising his eyebrows at Finan. “Do not make any rash decisions. The last thing we need is another war with Wessex.”

Finan nodded, a small smile spreading across his face as he felt a wash of relief overcome him at Uhtred’s support.

“You still wish to marry the Lady, yes?”

Finan rolled his eyes with a smirk. Of course he did. He would have already if not for the bastard King preventing any step towards a future with you.

“Yes, Lord.”

Uhtred smirked. “Then I will arrange for it tonight. She will make an honest man of you, my friend.”

Finan smiled, the kind of one that held creases at the corners of his eyes.

Uhtred kept up his positive demeanor until Finan left to return to you, and afterwards sought out Gisela as his worries began to stir again.

When Finan returned to your room at the Inn you were still asleep under the furs, the morning sun gleaming in through the windows. Finan smiled as he sat on the bed next to you, stroking your hair and admiring your graceful slumber until you opened your eyes to see your lover gazing down at you. You returned his smile with yours, bringing your hand up to rub your eyes.

“I must have overslept,” you muttered sleepily, your awareness coming back to you slowly. “…are we to journey to Coccham today?”

Finan hummed softly, and you noticed his expression fade into one of contemplation as he paused to answer.

“Not yet,” Finan answered as he looked down on you, bringing his hand up to your cheek and stroking it with his thumb. “We have some things to take care of first.”

You nodded, and the sudden thought came to mind of whether or not your Father would summon you for deliberations. Given the change in circumstances and Finan swearing loyalty to Wessex, you were certain that your father was not pleased with Finan’s decision, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was the man sitting before you, alive and well.

Finan’s eyes searched yours again, the deep brown irises gleaming golden in the morning sun with a soft, loving gaze. “I will make you my wife on this day. I can’t wait any longer… Uhtred has given us his blessing.”

A wide grin spread across your face as you threw back the furs, jumping out of bed and embracing Finan with a happy squeal. He wrapped his strong arms around your body and held you tight, chuckling deeply with his lips pressed to your neck. He motioned away from you just enough to look into your eyes once more.

Finan’s palms came up to hold your face, searching your eyes for a semblance of security that your own eyes returned with a loving gaze. You turned your head slightly to kiss his palm, which made Finan take a slow, deep breath as you awakened his senses with a mere soft kiss. He was undoubtedly head over heels, and madly aroused at your slight touch.

“My dearest love,” Finan whispered, “You are the blood in my veins... The other half of my soul. The love of my life… before God, and all creation… the reason I live, the reason I have survived. My greatest gift. The mother of my children… blood of my blood.”

His hand gently graced your stomach, and you wondered then if he already knew what you had been hiding from him for several months. Its not that you wanted to hide it from him; you were nervously anticipating the conversation, and worried that he would believe it to be a bad omen as the two of you were not yet bound in wedlock. You knew deep in your heart that Finan was not this man. He would be elated, happier than ever before. Therefore, you simply hadn’t found an opportunity to tell him that you believed you were indeed with child… his child. His pup. You could barely believe it yourself. The mere thought of it set all of your nerves on fire, not to mention the sweet words of devotion he had just bestowed upon you. Your heart was swelling immensely just by looking into his deep, dark eyes in this moment. You were speechless, the love you had for him consuming your very being.

Finan interrupted your thoughts before you could speak.

“I love you, my princess,” Finan whispered again, ghosting his lips over yours as his face neared yours and his hands came across your body, claiming you. “I will love you forever.”

You captured Finan’s lips with yours with deep need, his own returning your own affections with desperation as his tongue claimed your mouth as he deepened the kiss. He was desperate to consume you, to own you, to claim you as his own… as often as he could. He tossed his tunic to the floor and jumped into the furs with you, moving his strong body on top of yours and gracing your bare skin with his own. Before you knew it, your lover had you in the most compromised position.

Your kiss danced back and forth, a war of sorts for claim and possession, while his hands sought your body with harsh grip as if he couldn’t possibly get you close enough to him. Your heart raced as you felt his first ministrations to your core with his fingers, driving you mad with need as you arched your head back and whimpered in response to the strong sensations. The ones that made you the neediest woman. Finan’s mouth came to your neck, sucking and biting at the tender skin as you uncontrollably whimpered for him. As he sunk himself into you, your breath hitched. He filled you so completely that you no longer knew where his body started and yours began. Your lover rocked his hips gently into yours, and your soul left your body as he made love to you, slow and sweet yet overwhelming and possessive.

Finan knew that it would be defiant to marry you in secret, away from your father’s prying eyes. He decided once again to take matters into his own hands. He wouldn’t allow you to be controlled any longer; not by Christian Kings or old men who sought to control you, nor by sworn duty or obedient oaths to serve a Kingdom you were born into. Kingdom of Scotland be damned, he would not let duty or dishonor control your fate any longer. Finan would ultimately secure your freedom and guard you with his life.

Constantin and Domnal had spent the prior evening and that morning planning their departure, or rather, discussing their options. They sat in the great hall of the palace at Winchester, and Constantin seemed obviously perturbed. He cared for Finan and sought to protect him as his lifelong friend, Finan’s father, would have wanted. But it made no difference to him when it came down to ambition and power. If Finan’s death was needed to promote his cause, then in Constantin’s mind, he would be dying with honor. Furthermore, he would marry you to anyone who could further their ambitions and secure their control of the North. But, perhaps the situation at hand could be of use to them. Finan could now be used as the ultimate pawn in their game.

“What did he say?” Constantin asked Domnal, his presence looming over him.

Domnal chuckled somewhat darkly. “Well, my Lord…I think he needs some convincing.”

“Hm,” Constantin hummed, “You hold his trust, do you not?”

Domnal nodded with a smirk, “I believe I do, Uncle. But the Dane Slayer holds a strong influence on him, and he is most loyal to Alfred. I’m certain that he will make this task difficult.”

Constantin chuckled. “Then it’s simple. We will have to end him if he stands in our way. Send for the rest of our men, they are standing by in Mercia.”

Domnal smiled. “Yes, Lord King.”

Uhtred and Gisela sat together at the table in their room at the Inn, watching their small children play with toys on the floor, their fingers intertwined.

“She is with child, Uhtred. I know it,” Gisela spoke, “…and now they are at risk for yet another separation?”

Uhtred shook his head, a solemn look in his eyes.

“Finan never thought this through. I knew it would turn out like this in the end.”

Gisela tutted, rubbing Uhtred’s arm lightly with her hand, “We do not always choose who we fall in love with, Lord.”

Uhtred’s eyes suddenly changed from a look of sympathy to one of spite.

“Alfred has had control over us for far too long. Finan was a fool to give him his oath and renounce himself in the first place.”

Gisela shook her head, her brows furrowing at Uhtred’s remarks. “What other choice did he have, Uhtred? He would have been put to death. And the princess and her unborn child would be all alone in this world. The Scots are not innocent in this matter, either.”

Uhtred sighed and nodded to his beloved wife.

“The Scots have not forgotten their ambition. They will seek to manipulate him in any way they can. It is his birthright to hold those lands, Gisela… and it should be his children’s.”

Gisela shrugged softly, looking deep into Uhtred’s eyes as they sat across from each other.

“He told me long ago that he was married once before, and that she had given life to two boys.”

Uhtred brought his gaze up to meet Gisela’s again with wide eyes. He was shocked, as Finan had never offered this information to him before. He had confided in Uhtred years ago that he had betrayed the crown as rightful heir, but never shared the details with him regarding how it happened or the details of his life before the slave ship.

“Two boys?” Uhtred asked softly, revelation coming across him. “Gisela…he has an heir.”

Gisela nodded, a slight smile tugging at her lips. “Yes. Conall took his wife and sons for his own after he banished Finan. The wife has since died, which is why Conall sought to marry the Princess. But where are the children?”

They sat in silent contemplation for several moments. Uhtred was still taken aback that Finan had children, and had not only had his rightful title stolen from him but an entire life that had been lost before they met. Uhtred’s mind was reeling now to develop a plan, and he would return Finan’s unyielding loyalty to him in the years since the slave ship. No … he would not let Finan live a miserable fate once again.

Gisela smiled, witnessing Uhtred fall deeply into his thoughts. “If one of Finan’s sons holds the Crown, perhaps the Scots will still have their ally, and they will relinquish their control over her. They will be able to live in happiness… away from the control of the Crown.”

Uhtred smirked and gave her a wink. “It is a reasonable plan. But for tonight…there shall be a wedding.”

Gisela made haste to prepare you for the betrothal, while Finan sought Father Beocca and Uhtred prepared to stave off any Scots that lingered. The ceremony would be kept a secret, at least until it was finished. Sihtric was sent to scout the area on horseback, serving as the personal guard as the celebrations were prepared. This would not be the wedding you or Finan deserved, Uhtred thought, but it would have to be enough to be bonded in marriage in front of Uhtred’s men and your God. And the marriage would be consummated quickly, Uhtred knew. He smirked at that. He knew how dearly Finan loved you. A woman that could bring a man to his knees to worship at your feet, a true Scottish beauty in every sense of the word. Uhtred was certain it was not only your overwhelming beauty, but your strength, and the devotion you held for the Irishman. One which was strong and everlasting enough to burn down villages and bestow the wrath of the gods.

As the sun began to set in the horizon, everyone gathered in the church at Winchester. As you stood from a distance with Gisela, you could see that everyone had joyful, soft smiles, but the men were on high alert. And then, you saw him. Your Irishman standing in his best armor, talking to Uhtred and giving him an embrace. It was like time itself had stopped in that moment. Finan looked across the room, catching your eyes, and you were sure you had never seen such deep devotion in them. You gave him a soft smile and prepared to near him. Finan, your heart and soul, the man of your every dream.

Your pleasant thoughts were shaken when you heard a muffled shout in the distance.

“Uhtred!” Beocca shouted urgently from across the room, and Gisela moved to grab your arms as you both looked around in startled shock.

The men had jumped to action quickly, but it wasn’t enough as Father Beocca was now held by one of the Scot’s guardsmen, a knife to his throat.

It all happened so quickly that you had no idea where to turn… or run.

Constantin’s men surrounded Finan now, one of the larger ones putting him in a subdued position and holding a dagger to his neck as Constantin chuckled.

“My dear boy,” Constantin spoke mockingly as Finan struggled in the guardsman’s grasp, “How dare you take what isn’t yours. We had an agreement, yes? You will be sure to honor it.”

“Father!” You shouted as you ran to them, scowling at Constantin, and Domnal came closer to grasp your arms bruisingly from behind. “Let him go. He is loyal to us, I swear it. Alfred would have had him killed,” you pleaded, looking into your father’s eyes. “Please.”

“Oh he will surely be loyal to us, Princess. If not, I have plenty of fine suitors for you, much less complicated than this,” Constantin spoke softly as him and Domnal shared eye contact.

You scowled at your father once more, the rage evident in your words. “I will throw myself from these walls. I will pierce a sword straight into my heart and my blood will be on your hands, Father.”

Domnal suddenly unsheathed his dagger, bringing you into a bruising grip and holding the cold blade across your neck. You could see Finan’s chest bellowing, his eyes wide with fear for you.

“No, my dear,” Constantin chuckled, nodding to Finan. “Your blood will be on his hands. We leave for the North now.”

Uhtred and his men surrounded the turmoil now, drawing their swords and seaxs, ready to strike.

Uhtred glared at Constantin with a forbidding look in the blue depths of his eyes.

“You will not take him from us, Lord. You and your men will stand down.”

Constantin let out a strangled laugh that reverberated through the deafening silence before Domnal spoke.

“Dane Slayer, you will not challenge us if you want to live.”

Uhtred smirked at Constantin, his voice sounding calm and uninterested, a tactic that Uhtred utilized well. “You will not kill your own daughter. Nor will you kill the rightful King of the North,” Uhtred stepped closer cautiously, “You may take her. Make your alliances before your Kingdom falls before you.”

Finan looked at Uhtred like he had killed his own kin in front of his eyes.

Constantin had been holding Uhtred’s gaze intensely, a smirk coming across his face. “As you wish.”

The next events were a blur. Finan felt lightheaded as the two of you shared one last longing glance, and then… you were gone. The Scots had left the church, and you were gone along with them.

Finan was beyond devastated that you were taken from his arms once again by your Father, without a single thing he could do to stop it, officially bound to your duties now it seemed. He would have been taken with you, as seemed to be the Scots plan, until Uhtred had stepped in. His own Lord had let them take you, and for that, Finan was seeing red.

“I have a plan,” Uhtred whispered as the men all sat around the church solemnly in shock. “We will travel to the North. You will have your woman again, I swear it. But this will take time and it will take men. You must make your stand in the North. I am with you.”

Finan’s words came out on a choked whisper.

“And how do ya suppose we manage that?”

Uhtred firmly put his hand on Finan’s shoulder.

“We find the next King of Ulaid... Your son.”

Finan snapped his head up at Uhtred, his eyes only a glimpse of hopeful and in a state of shock at Uhtred’s words. How had Uhtred known?

“He will take the Crown and we can negotiate an alliance with the Scots. It’s what they want, is it not? Then, the Princess will no longer be of use to them. And you shall have the family you deserve.”

Finan paused, shaking his head. “I left my first family behind, like a coward. My children… th-they surely despise me.”

Uhtred spoke strongly. “It doesn’t matter. Your first born is the rightful heir now that you have relinquished your title once more. So let us bestow it upon him.”

Finan nodded hesitantly, feeling his hands begin to tremble. He held such guilt and shame for leaving his two boys to Conall, for years. He bit his lip in contemplation, knowing that his first born would be of age now. He would be ready. At least, as prepared as Finan had been at that age to assume the Crown, which wasn’t substantial, but he knew that Conall and the royal family had seen to it to prepare them, just as Finan and his brother had been so many years ago.

“I know this is deeply traumatic for you,” Uhtred spoke, “But it is our only choice.”

Finan sought deep within himself to find the strength. The strength to nod back to Uhtred, to stand and fight. To agree to Uhtred’s plan, and to be the man he had desired to be for many years. To amend years worth of shame and anguish, for hopes that he could have you in his arms again and that his two boys in the North could perhaps find a way to live peacefully, despite their broken family, despite everything.

>>> Part 8

Taglist: @gemini-mama @persephones-journey @alexagirlie @whitedarkmoonflower @justanother-sihtricgirlie @bcon24 @ficnation

[covenawhite66]

1. Brigid

2. Cerunnos

3. Danu

4. Dian Cecth

5. Epona

6. Eru

7. Lugh

8. Rhiannon

Irish mythology

Mythological Cycle: The oldest cycle is a collection of stories that describe the adventures of pre-christian pagan gods and goddesses.

Ulster Cycle: This medieval collection focuses on the semi-historical tales of King Conchobar mac Nessa, ruler of the Ulaid, an ancient kingdom in Northern Ireland. The most important story of the bunch is the Cattle Raid of Cooley.

Fennian (or Fianna) Cycle: Finn mac Cumhaill and his famous warrior band, the Fianna, are the main characters in this collection of early Irish literature.

Kings Cycle: This final Celtic myth collection describes real people from ancient history, but their lives are exaggerated. Niall Noígíallach, Conn Cétchathach, and other previous kings of Ireland become legendary figures that toe the line between man and myth.