#bg3fiction

[springofstarlight]

Créachta Solas na Gealaí

[Wounds of Moonlight] A look into Fionntán's history and upbringing. Following the Selûnite tradition of sending a child into the forest to find their way home, Aodhán and Demetria stand watch while their only son makes his way home.

𝐵𝒢𝟥𝒲𝐼𝒫𝓈 - 𝒲𝒽𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝑅𝑜𝓈𝑒 Showing an act of loyalty to their God(dess), elder, or someone they look up to.

1.5k words

“Do you think he’s doing okay?” 

The question came as a sigh as copper eyes peered towards the break in the forest, the winter pines stretched tall to the inky sea above, their narrow leaves boldly holding onto blankets of white. The darkness above peppered with the break of stars, and the boasting of the full moon, radiant and guiding…. That was what the purpose of the night was, guiding. Aodhán couldn’t deny he had been a little shocked when his wife had told him about the custom of her religion, sending children into the forests of home to find their way home, but Demetria trusted her Goddess and he trusted her. 

And little Fionntán? He was ecstatic. 

When Gealán tried to strike fear into the heart of the family's baby and yet Fin only grinned and snarled his teeth back. Freckled cheeks bright and dimples clear, showing his younger uncle that the boy truly did not understand the meaning of fear; Fionntán was as bold as he was stubborn, a both powerful and dangerous combination. Fionntán knew the forest well, likely better than most in the family, but in the dark was a whole new question, and yet the young lad particularly marched towards the starting point… silver dagger in hand, just in case. Aodhán had offered his own, taken the boys hands and folded the sheathed blade into the palms that had once been so much smaller, his son was slowly becoming a man, and a great one at that, but it didn’t stop the ache whenever he looked at that bright and awfully cheeky smile before the boy ran off into the woodland, waving back to his parents as if he had merely been sent to spend a day in the library. 

Thoughts of earlier that night became quickly displaced as he felt the delicate skin of his wife's hand sliding against his own, toughened and callased from his previous life sweating over a forge. She shot him an amused look over her shoulder, causing him to snort in return at how silly the question was in all honesty. He watched her pale eyes drift to the sky, the colour of moonlit snow, the same that she had gifted their son. Fionntán held her eyes and fair complexion and yet his skin held the many freckles of his father; marks that Aodhán would always kiss and smoosh, calling little sun stars until the boy giggled and frailed… one day he would be too old for that, he would huff and say his parents were embarrassing him, but that was okay, that was part of pulling away from parents and stepping into adulthood. Fionntán wouldn’t have to make the same choices his father did, or go without a parent’s love like his mother had… the boy would be kept safe, yet allowed to spread his wings, possibly too wide and too early at times, but that was okay… they would be there to catch him if he needed them. Aodhán took a breath as he felt his wife’s eyes shift from the sky to the shadows of the forest, and how they seemingly jerked and twitched at her acknowledgement… no, it wasn’t a movement as rough as that, they danced. Lifting his own head, Aodhán scanned the treeline for what Demetria saw but he could not… but he heard the single pluck of a violin string cascading across the thicket. Ah, of course. His brother-in-law was a mysterious man, cloaked in the shadows that he weaved but there was no denying how much he loved his family, and if he was watching then even if something went awry Fionntán would be safe. 

He laced his fingers tighter against Demetria’s fitting so perfectly into his and rested against her side, leaning his temple against her own. Her silvery hair tumbling against her shoulders and the wisps of thin strands tickling his nose as the pair watched the break in the tree for movement. The evening was cold, but in the north that was a given… it was always cold, something the southern born man had to adapt to, his skin had lost its slight brush of sun but the chilled mornings and blankets of snow were nothing worth complaining about when he woke up next to his love each morning, soon followed by the weight of their son throwing himself upon the bed and demanding their attention. Aodhán would withstand all the snow within the north for those moments, even if he had the odd grumble here and there. Copper eyes looked to the sky, the night drawing close to the highpoint of the moon as a fogged sigh left his lungs; he had not been born into the light of the Goddess of Silver, it was not something he understood but seeing the moon in the sky, chaperoned by all the stars… he could understand the comfort it offered.

A comfort that was soon shattered by the shriek that cut through the leaves, both adults ridged up and parted from one another, muscles taut and tense ready to pounce as another scream bounced across the thicket of snow. 

“Máthair! Athair! “

Stubby steps ran across the snow, the squeak of compressed powder ringing out with each hot breath that burnt his lungs but as the figure of unbridled adrenaline broke through and came into view, there were no tears, no terror etched into starlit eyes but only the brilliant excitement of achievement and determination; the boy had made it through the forest with no trouble, no issue, and no fear…. Be that by reaching for the Moonmaiden’s guidance as the trail was said to test or just the boy's sheer mulish attitude was undetermined but either way, Fionntán had achieved what he had set out to do, as the boy always did.

The foreboding anxiety that held the pair’s muscles steel taut thawed in that moment as he drew closer, strands of dark hair that had been neatly braided by his mother’s hands that afternoon now spilling across his shoulders with a souvenir or two of a leaf that had decided it too wanted to break free from the forest. The same colour as his own, though allowed to grow much longer, the boy no doubt following the influence of his elder uncle who still remained hidden up within the trees, keeping a last guard to make sure the boy made it safely into his parent’s arms… Or well, as close as possible.

“I did i-!” The victory fanfare from the boy found itself cut short, muffled by the fluff of snow as he fell down with a sudden ‘pluth’ of body meeting the layers of snow below, the top giving away to softness from recently deposited clouds but the underlayers remaining built up of weeks old ice. 

“Fionntán!” Aodhán pushed himself forward, boots thumping themselves through the snow as best they could to meet the boy’s unfortunate landing spot between them and the forest. Almost toppling off the balls of his feet as he crouched down to inspect as Fionntán was pulling himself out the snow, the dampness sticking to his hair and causing the dark strands to cling to his cheeks but that could be easily remedied by the warm bath and blankets they had prepared back at the house… what caused the man to gasp was the droplets of crimson that dribbled down the pale skin, from his lip and rolling down his chin to the snow below so striking against the disturbed blanket that the shaken man was sure he could hear audible ‘plops’ with each new bead. “Fin…” Aodhán sighed softly as he brought his sleeve to the boy’s chin, attempting to wipe as much as he could but the blood showed no signs of slowing, the wound against his lower lip deep but the boy merely blinked and smiled, a little less bright, a little bit more quivering as he shook his head. 

“I’m alright Athair, promise.” He reassured as he peered up, smiling to his mother who stood at her husband’s side and offering him a kiss on the head as the cold and blooded child was brought up into his father’s arms, sleeve still pressed as best as it could against his lip despite Fin’s best efforts to pull away so he could carry on with his impressive ramblings about his adventure and how he had followed the guiding star and the moon kept his path lit, a path now stained with his blood. It sat in a puddle against the snow, seeping deeper until the flakes themselves soaked scarlet against the gleaming moonlight… but the family did not look back, even as the shadows rejoiced in the victory and the wind scattered through the narrow leaves. Only the faint chuckle from the woman who kept close to her husband and son, any tears that would have spilled at the sight of his injury pushed away by the boy’s attempt to chew on his father’s sleeve, to hold it to his wound, and then spit it out so he could start his chattering again, only to be silenced by his other pressing her finger to his nose and shuffling the fabric compress back into place.

“You can tell me more once Gealán has seen to your wound.” 

“Do you promise?”

“Promise.”