#incorrect gaelic heroes

[arsonist-child-klee]

Genshin impact mondstat incorrect quotes:

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Mona: I would do anything for money.

*later*

Mona, covered in blood: THE STATEMENT STILL STANDS!

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Jean: What do you want for breakfast, Klee?

Klee: Gay Cheerios.

Jean: I TOLD YOU TO STOP CALLING FRUIT LOOPS THAT!!

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Klee: Look, I know we don’t always see eye to eye but—

Amber: Thats because your too short to do so.

Klee: ...Listen here you fucking—

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Noelle: They... well, I wouldn't call it inheritance per se. What do you call it when you kill someone and get their stuff?

Mona: Um, murder???

Razor: Adventuring!

Kaeya: Tuesday.

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Venti, about Diluc: I could fix them, but honestly whatever the hell is wrong with them is way funnier.

Diona : That's what any god probably thinks about me.

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Sucrose: You... you saved me. You're not a beast at all. YOU'RE A HERO, AN UGLY UGLY UGLY HERO!

Venti: Call me ugly again, and maybe I will eat you.

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*Mika gets a phone call*

Mika: Hello?

Lisa: Hi, is Barbara there? I need to talk to them.

Mika: No, Barbara is dead.

Barbara, very much alive next to Mika: MIKA WHAT THE FUCK-

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Mika: Klee, is that legal?

Klee: When there's no cops around, anything's legal!

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Kaeya: What happened to Diona ?

Albedo: They died.

Kaeya: They what?

Albedo: They died, but they’re okay.

Kaeya: …Can you please clarify?

Diona : Clarification is for the weak.

———————————————————————-

Jean: And here we see Venti and Kaeya in their natural habitat. Texting eachother variations of the word "garlic bread" to try to make eachother laugh.

Venti: Gaelic bread.

Kaeya: Grueling brad.

Venti: Ha ha, glamorous beans.

———————————————————————-

Rosaria : *running into the room* Venti just said they don’t love me anymore!

Diluc: What?!

Venti: *following them in* I did not say that. I just said that we are not driving all the way across the country just so you can punch Kaeya in the face.

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[godsofhumanity]

Cú Chulainn: Don’t kill me, I have a wife.

Fand: You think I care about that?

Cú Chulainn: No, this isn’t a plea for mercy. It’s a warning.

Fand: Wha-

Emer: [kicking down the door] ARE YOU READY TO DIE?!

[incorrect-dragonquest-quotes]

Erik: leig leinn feise

11: Later Erik.

Jade: Wait you speak Scottish Gaelic?

Erik: No. I just know the phrase "Let's fuck" in almost every language.

[thedruidpath]

The Real Fionn Mac Cumhaill

Art by Jim FitzPatrick

Anyone who knows anything about Irish mythology is familiar the name Fionn Mac Cumhaill, or at least with its Anglicized version, Finn MacCool. Many doubtlessly know a few folktales about Fionn— such as his rather comical confrontation with the Scottish giant Benandonner— or have read some of the various version of the Fenian Cycle appearing in books.  Significantly fewer, however, may be aware that this is likely only a part of Fionn’s story, and that some of what we “know” about the hero may be completely incorrect.

I am referring in particular to Fionn’s origin.  Most versions of the Fenian cycle, from the twelfth-century Lebar na nUidre (the Book of the Dun Cow) onward provide the hero with noble-born parents, although the exact circumstances of his conception and birth sometimes vary a little.  But here’s the thing: all of them are likely wrong.  Why?  It comes down to one word, or, more specifically, one name.

Before we begin, however, it’s vital to understand that Celtic myths such as the Fenian Cycle (or the Ossian Cycle, as it was reputedly first created by Fionn’s son Oisin,) were oral traditions for centuries, possibly more than a millennia, before they were ever written down. This, along with the fact that some of the earliest writings have been lost, means that there can often be missing information and mistakes.  Add to that the tendency of the Medieval Catholic Church to rewrite old myths into Christianized morality tales, and it’s easy to see how parts of Fionn’s original story might be forgotten or changed.

With that being said, let’s continue to the aforementioned question of Fionn’s surname.  Cumhaill, also spelled Cumaill, is actually based on an old Gaelic word: cumhal, meaning bondwoman.  Thus Mac Cumhaill literally means “Son of the Servant Girl.”  As you can imagine, the only reason why a person would be known by such a name is if their father was either unknown or chose not to acknowledge them. Young Fionn was quite literally a Nobody.  

So why, then, was a chieftain named Cumhaill invented to be Fionn’s father?  The answer is simple.  It appears that the hero was given a noble lineage that was felt to be more appropriate.  This may, in part, be due to the time period during which these tales were transcribed.  Earlier texts concerning Fionn, from the eighth through tenth centuries, deal solely with his adult life.  (These include works such as Bruiden Âtha Í, Reicne Fothaid Canainne, and The Quarrel between Finn and Oisin.)  It’s only beginning in the twelfth century that we find references to Fionn’s birth and supposed noble parentage, with the most important reference to the hero’s early life coming from “Bodleian Laud Misc. MS 610,” an insert in the Book of the White Earl.  This is significant because, by the latter Middle Ages, the idea that God purposefully chose political leaders had become widely accepted—an idea that would eventually grow into the concept of the Divine Right of Kings in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.  The problem, of course, is that if a ruler is going to announce that he is king because God wants him to be king, he can’t very well have stories floating around about how the bastard son of s servant pulled himself up by the proverbial bootstraps to become a great leader.

It’s interesting to note that this does not appear to be the only character from Celtic myth who was given an invented noble lineage in later texts.  For example, Scathach, the warrior queen of An t-Eilean Sgitheanach, the modern day Isle of Skye, is called the Daughter of Ard-Greimne.  While a king by the name Ard-Greimne was later created, the word actually means “the High Place.”  As you can probably guess, only someone of common birth would have been named for the location of their village rather than for a renown ancestor, making it likely that her family were aithech, or independent farmers.

Indeed, Lebor na hUidre, or the Book of the Dun Cow, contains another tantalizing clue to Fionn’s common birth in Compert Mongáin ocus Serc Duibe-Lácha do Mongán, which suggests that Mongán and Fionn Mac Cumhaill are the same person.  This is important because, as is seen in hero myths from around the world, Mongán is fathered by a God, in this case Manannán Mac Lir, on a mortal woman.  Some argue that this may have been a common practice when storytellers either did not know the origins of a hero, or wanted to invent a more illustrious birth for them.  Thus it again hints and the possibility of an unknown father. (It’s also interesting to note here that all tales agree on the fact that Fionn was, indeed, part-Tuatha de Danann, although the stories vary on which Lord of the Sidhe the hero is related to, and just how close that blood tie is. If nothing else, the divine ancestry certainly explains a lot.)

But, if Fionn was really a Nobody, then how did he become the leader of his own warrior band?  Shouldn’t that have been impossible?  Far from it.  According to both The Celtic Realms by Myles Dillon and Nora Chadwick as well as Cattle-Lords and Clansmen by Nerys Thomas Patterson, the pre-Christain Celts had a sort of fluid cast system. A person could rise or fall through the social ranks by honor, reputation, and achievements.  Essentially, who your parents were and where you came from mattered less than what you could do.  We even see that kings were chosen not based solely on lineage but by a ceremony called The Tarbfheis, in which a Druid would be offered a feast, with a cooked bull as a centerpiece, and would then use dreams and omens to determine who the next ruler would be.  Thus, it is actually not at all unusual, from an ancient Celtic perspective, for a person of common birth to rise to a higher rank, provided, of course, that he or she had a great enough reputation and of list of deeds.

So, could Fionn Mac Cumhaill have really been one of ancient Ireland’s greatest original rags-to-riches stories?  There is certainly evidence to suggest it.  In my opinion, that would make the hero’s tale even more interesting and impressive.  Unfortunately, with no records of the earliest oral versions of the cycles, it is impossible to be certain.  However, it is an undeniable, and very intriguing, possibility.

[themori-witch]

Hi Rowan. I hope you're doing well. Is there any chance I can bother you for some links/blogs? I'm looking into Gods and Goddesses and I feel like I connect well with the Celtic pantheon but I can only find very limited information about them. If there is any help you can give, I would really appreciate it. (Also I'm on mobile so I'm sorry if I'm missing a page tag where it's in huge flashing letters or something! 😂)

I am happy to be bothered by my creepy, spooky darlings.

Okay, so I would start off by recommending @nicstoirm. Alec identifies as an Irish Gaelic Polytheist and their posts are incredibly informative and knowledgeable. I’d also recommend @themodernsouthernpolytheist and @guidetogaelicpolytheism!

 Books on Celtic mythology:

Celtic Myths and Legends by Peter Berresford Ellis

Early Irish Myths and Sagas by Jeffery Gantz

Celtic Myths & Legends by Thomas Rolleston

Celtic Gods and Heroes by Marie-Louise Sjoestedt

Complete Irish Mythology (3 Book Set) by Lady Gregory

Celtic Myths and Legends by  T. W. Rolleston 

Some clarification about the nature of the Tuatha De.

Facts about Celtic Polytheism by @mathan-at-sea:

Commonly referred to as Druidism or Druidry, both terms are incorrect.

A Druid is a political title within the Celtic Polytheistic religions equivalent to that of a priest/priestess.

A practitioner of Celtic Polytheism is not called a Druid. Not unless that practitioner is a priest or counselor to other Celtic Polytheists.

Despite common belief, Wicca, and Neo-Druidism are technically not Celtic religions; but rather Celtic inspired or influenced religions.

Celtic Polytheism is not witchcraft. A practitioner of Celtic Polytheism is never called a witch or a wizard.

Celtic Polytheism is actually a family of religions rather than a singular religion itself.

The religion branches are Gaelic Polytheism, Brythonic Polytheism, Gallaecian Polytheism & Celtiberian Polytheism, Gaulish Polytheism, and Pictish Polytheism.

Each of these religions have regional differences. For example, the gods and stories of Ireland, the Scottish Highlands, and the Isle of Man are mostly the same or similar with minor differences.

All of the Celtic Polytheistic religions are technically extinct, however many stories from Ireland, and Wales have survived in particular.

Modern Celtic religions are referred to as Celtic Reconstructionist Polytheism, or simply Celtic Reconstructionism.

There is not a common pantheon of gods, as there were many different gods in each religion. While some gods appear in multiple religions with different names, majority of Celtic gods are unique to their branches.

[henrietteoaks]

Of Gods and Heroes

Summary - All Áine wants to do is help people. After a millennia on Earth she finally catches the eye of S.H.I.E.L.D and makes a deal with Fury that she will help him as long as her identity is kept a secret but what happens when a certain God of Mischief arrives and her assistance is required, secret be damned. 

A/N - So this is my first Marvel fanfiction and as a marvel fan as well as a Norse and Celtic mythology buff this has been crying out to be written and I have been batting it around my scattered brain for a while. A big thank you to @tilltheendwilliwrite and @this-kitty-has-claws for not only gracing us with amazing writing but also giving me the inspiration and courage to finally post something of my own. We may never have spoken but I credit you all the same. 

Pairing - Loki x OC 

Warnings - None at present but language will be a given in later chapters as I swear like a sailor XD 

*The language used in this chapter is Irish Gaelic and is to the best of my ability correct. I have used mainly what I learned in school but with a bit of google added in. I have put the English beside it If I am incorrect in anything please feel free to let me know. 

Prologue - In the beginning.

Dark clouds rolled across the emerald greenery all the way to the mountains. From these dark clouds a grey mist lay thick and fast covering the land and shrouding it in darkness.

This darkness was so thick that it hid the sun for three days and three nights and nothing could penetrate it. The world was dark and grey and the scent of magic weaved its way across the emerald isle permeating every loch and glen, every hill and mountain all the way to the sea.

When the darkness finally began to lift and the mist began to scatter to the wind there stood three figures. Radiating power and magic and never having been seen before they stood resolute and strong, like the very trees that surrounded them or the mountain that lay beneath them.

In the front a man tall and powerful holding a spear and cauldron. Garbed in a long hooded cloak with fur adorning the collar he looked out over the land he had now claimed as his own. Running his hand through his long russet hair before scrubbing his palm over a thick bushy beard he turned to his two companions.

To his left stood his son, reaching the prime of his years he was tall and muscular, not as wide as his father but thick ropes of muscle covered him and his short rust coloured hair sat atop a stone chiseled face, a cloak lay around his broad shoulders and a sword etched with Celtic symbols strapped to his back. He stared around at the new vista before him and his face remained stoic and uninterested.

To his right his daughter stood, whilst her brother remained stoic she looked around excitedly, eyes of forest green sparkled with curiosity at this new land before them. Svelte and lithe with feathers and beads braided into her long flame red hair, she was beautiful and her father could not help but smile upon his two children. The hand carved bow upon her shoulder and the quiver of ash wood and raven feather arrows against her cloak rustled in the sea breeze flowing around them.

“Fennen!” The man barked at his son, whose eyes snapped forward to meet the call. “Cuir glaoch ar na daoine eile.” (Call forth the others.) he spoke resolutely. “tá athair”(yes father) Fennen responded before striding back towards the mountain peak.

“Athair” (father) his daughter spoke, stepping forward to stand beside him. He looked down to her, grey eyes of an impending storm meeting green eyes of the wild fields. “Cuir galaoch ar an Fhómhar chun tú féin agus leagtar amach ar fhiach” (Call Fhómhair to you and set out on a hunt). He ordered of her, the gentleness in his tone not detracting from the order presented to her. She nodded her head and stepped forward letting out a long low pitched whistle imbued with her magic. Thundering through the mists came a red gypsy mare which stood before her.

As she settled her self upon the back of her trusted steed she turned to her father once more. “Coinnigh do chide céadfaí géar Áine” (Keep your senses sharp Áine) he implored her before she disappeared down the mountain and into the forest.

As he stood looking out over the land once more he heard the approaching footsteps behind him. As he turned to his people they all bowed their heads. “Dagda” they all said in reverence to him.

He looked to the emerald isle once more before saying in a voice which travelled across the land. “Tá muid abhaile!” (We are home!)

[audreynickel]

Another Tattoo Fail: Big Sister’s Big Mess

“Big sister” got it very wrong

A chairde: I’m just recovering from three weeks on the road, culminating in the annual week-long Irish immersion course in Butte, Montana (an event I highly recommend, by the way!), and I’m a bit fried (Irish: Tá mé spíonta -- I’m spent).

I plan to write about the Butte course next week, when I’m a bit recovered (and when the roofers are done making loud noises on my soon-not-to-be-leaky roof). There’s a lot to write about!

I can’t let a bad tattoo go by, however, and since this one fell into my lap last week, I give you...

Big Sister’s Big Mess: Four Mistakes in Two Words

It’s hard to believe that a person could get so much wrong in a simple two-word phrase. Two words: four mistakes. That may just be something of a record.

This person was clearly going for “Big Sister,” but unfortunately what she ended up with is nonsense.

Let’s Start With the Accents

The first thing that any Irish speaker or learner would notice here is the accent marks. In Irish, the accent marks ALWAYS slant to the right (Like the one over the “u” above. That’s called an “acute” or “long” accent...in Irish síneadh fada). Left-slanting (grave) accents simply don’t happen.

Scottish Gaelic is a little different in that respect. In the form of Scottish Gaelic currently spoken in Scotland, the accents slant to the left...just the opposite of Irish There’s also a form of Scottish Gaelic spoken in Nova Scotia, Canada, that has both left- and right-slanting accents. This raises the question: Was our hero going for Scottish Gaelic, Canadian-style?

Unlikely, I’m afraid. As it happens, The Scottish Gaelic word for “sister” is very different from the Irish word...so different that there’s no mistaking them. The Scottish Gaelic word for sister is piuthar. The Irish is deirfiúr. So she either got the accents wrong or she got the word for “sister” wrong. I’m banking on the former.

Accents matter, folks. They’re not just there to look pretty. If you have the wrong type of accent, or an accent where one shouldn’t be (or none where one is needed), the word is misspelled, and may even take on a different meaning.

And I can’t emphasize this enough: While Scottish Gaelic and Irish are very closely related, and similar in many respects, they are different languages, and you can’t just swap words or features between them.

A Problem with Placement

An incorrect accent mark might be easily corrected, but unfortunately that’s not the only problem with this tattoo. In Irish, the adjective follows the noun it modifies. “Mór” (”big”) is the adjective here, and must come AFTER “deirfiúr.”

People with little or no language-learning experience tend to assume that word order in one language is the same as word order in another. Sorry folks...It just doesn’t work that way.  Languages aren’t codes for one another (if they were, all we’d have to do to learn new languages is memorize vocabulary lists!). 

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: You can’t simply plug Irish words into English syntax and hope to have something that makes sense. In English it may be “big sister,” but Irish needs a “sister big.”

And Then There’s Gender

As with most European languages, all Irish nouns have a grammatical “gender,” which affects what happens to the words around them.

“Deirfiúr” is grammatically feminine and, in most cases, when feminine nouns are followed by an adjective beginning with a consonant, that consonant must be “softened” or “lenited,” which changes its pronunciation. 

In contemporary Irish, lenition is indicated by putting an “h” after the consonant (in the older form of Irish writing known as “seanchló” it was represented by placing a dot over the consonant).

So what this person needed was “Deirfiúr Mhór.” Oops! Good thing it’s not perman...er...oh. 

But Wait! There’s More!

There’s one more error in this tattoo, even after all the grammatical errors are addressed. Did you spot it? Look closely.

To add spelling insult to grammatical injury, our unfortunate tattoo-ee has left out a letter. Instead of “deirfiúr,” she’s got “deifiúr” -- the first “r” is missing.

The Big Question: Why?

Tattoos can be a beautiful form of self-expression. They’re also, however, a pricey, painful, and permanent form of self-expression. If you’re going to get one, isn’t it worth the time and research necessary to make sure it’s perfect?

I never have understood why anyone would get a tattoo in a language he or she didn’t personally speak...at least without doing A LOT of research. Sadly, many of the Irish tattoos out there are clearly the result of little or no research. Certainly that’s the case with “Big Sister” here.

Just don’t do it, folks. And don’t let your friends do it. Friends don’t let friends get bad tats. Put in the time before you lay down your money. Is that too much to ask?

GG

P.S. Some have questioned whether “mór” (”great/big”) is the correct adjective here. I admit that I was concerned about that myself (I would have said “deirfiúr is sine” -- “eldest sister”), so I consulted with native speaker friends of mine, who assured me that “deirfiúr mhór” is just fine for “big (in the sense of “elder/eldest”) sister.

Coming next week: “Rocky Mountain Haigh: Irish in Montana”

[irescot]

Galway to Killarney

This was a relatively easy day, since the trip to Killarney wasn't going to take too long and we had nothing planned beyond arriving at The Malton Hotel.  We got lost a couple of times, as usual, but no big deal.

The hotel looked fine from the outside, but was old and fuddy-duddy (like this expression). It was in desperate need of renovation.  The rooms were adequate, but that's the best that can be said. The door to the room didn't fit very well, and to show that, I took a picture at night that shows all the light coming in from all sides of the door.

We met four employees of the hotel that day. Three of them lied to me.  The first one was the receptionist that told me that our rooms were adjacent, when they were not. He also did a song and dance about valet parking so bad that his coworker stepped in to correct it. The second was the concierge who told me incorrect things about the Ring of Kerry because they were convenient for her; I did a lot of research and knew what I was talking about.  The third was the woman who served us high tea; we told her we wanted two high teas and that we were going to share.  She said it was fine, and then she brought us, and charged us, for three.  The fourth guy was great and he was a big help during our entire stay.  

It rained on and off during the entire day and at times it looked so foggy that we despaired about going to the Ring of Kerry the next day, which includes many beautiful views of the ocean and seashore.  

We were so full from the high tea that we skipped dinner and went to bed early.  Since there is not much to say about today's activities, I will tell you about the two totally Irish sports that are very popular, hurling and Gaelic football.  Carol got to see hurling the day she arrived in Dublin because the semifinals were going on.  

Here's an extract from an article I found on the internet:

"But, then, Gaelic sports are THE national pasttime. The GAA - colloquially 'gah' - is Ireland's nationwide, voluntary sports organisation. There's not a parish in the Emerald Isle without it's own GAA field, its roster of local coaches, its training programmes reaching into every elementary and secondary school in the land.

The two Gaelic games are Hurling and Gaelic Football. In both, the object is to get the ball through the opponent's goal for 3 points or over the goalposts for 1 point. Hurlers use a specially shaped stick of Ash wood to accomplish the task, Footballer's use their feet and hands.

We're talking ancient! Cúchulainn, iron age warrior and hero of the pre-Christian saga Táin Bó Cúailnge - The Cattle Raid of Cooley - was a fierce hurler. It was on the playing fields of ancient Ulster that he first made his name. Back then, those Ash sticks were used for more than pucking the sliotar downfield.

Throughout Ireland teams compete to win their local leagues, then their county finals. The best players in each county are selected for the honour of serving on the county team. And when the counties compete against their worst enemies - each other - Croke Park fills with tens of thousands of chanting parochial supporters. These crowds are family oriented with women and kids along with the lads to root for the home team."

It should be noted that this is strictly an amateur sport; no one gets paid (although they do get time off to practice and play).  However, because it is a very physical sport, their sport-related injuries are covered, and these can be serious.  Apparently broken limbs are not uncommon.  

And that's it for today.

[godsofhumanity]

Aífe: See you in hell.

Cú Chulainn: Are you asking me on a date? I accept.

[henrietteoaks]

Of Gods and Heroes. Chapter One

Summary - All Áine wants to do is help people. After millennia on Earth, she finally catches the eye of S.H.I.E.L.D and makes a deal with Fury that she will help him as long as her identity is kept a secret but what happens when a certain God of Mischief arrives and her assistance is required, secret be damned.

Pairing - Loki x OC 

Warnings - None at present but language will be a given in later chapters as I swear like a sailor XD 

*The language used in this chapter is Irish Gaelic and is to the best of my ability correct. I have used mainly what I learned in school but with a bit of Google added in. I have put the English beside it If I am incorrect in anything please feel free to let me know.

You never get a second chance to make a first impression.

Hidden behind a towering oak tree Clint tapped the hearing aid against his ear frantically, hearing nothing but static before sighing when the realization that it had completely shorted settled on him heavily. Across from him, Natasha spoke quietly into her comm trying desperately to get his attention, receiving nothing from him by a form of acknowledgement she picked up a small, smooth rock before swiftly throwing it at his back, thrown with just enough force to get his attention without drawing notice of the guards advancing on their position or doing him any harm. 

As he turned slowly to face her, he noticed the exasperation and very quick showing of fear in her eyes, which she immediately shuttered. “My hearing aid is toast” he signed warily knowing what was coming next, “let me guess” her fingers flying through the actions showed her frustration, “you didn’t think it wise to pack a replacement?” The movements of her hands becoming sloppy with her anger rising. He shook his head whilst looking towards the ground, trying for contrite and ashamed, knowing that she was going to kick his ass seven ways to Sunday once they were back at HQ. 

Natasha tapped her comm twice to be linked through to the control room, critically eyeing the advancing forces and knowing that as more of them poured out of the base and retreat with air support was what they needed right now. “Clint’s hearing is down and the high levels of soldiers here are more than we are able to handle, requiring immediate…” she was cut off as a shot slammed into the tree bark above her head. Clint shouted out to her, the need for stealth obsolete now they had been made. Both agents looked around them, there were too many soldiers to take on between the two of them but they were running out of the forest to hide amongst, the trees behind them opening out on to a large meadow. If they could make it across that without being shot or captured they could delve into the forest beyond and call for back up and extraction. 

Áine was setting her sights on a large buck grazing on the fresh wildflowers amongst the copse when the shot rang out, she cursed as the buck spooked and loped off into the forest beyond. Fhómhair swung her head round to the direction the shot had come from whinnying softly as Áine looked in her direction. “Hunters and their infernal guns, honestly I wish the old ways still stood” she grumbled quietly whilst sliding the arrow back into her quiver and shouldering her bow. She walked over to her companion and patted the red mare on the shoulder as another shot rang out, 

Fhómhair brayed loudly, stomping her feet with agitation, the second shot was immediately followed by two quick blasts that certainly didn’t come from a rifle. Áine stiffened and was astride her mount quicker than a breath, already turning towards the sound of gunfire as the next round of bullets were exchanged. One set definitely coming from several high powered rifles, the other sounded more like a handgun. The distinct whistle of an arrow being let loose had her pausing before an explosion sounded ahead of her. 

Kicking her mare into action she summoned her armour knowing this was no ordinary skirmish with poachers encroaching on her land and that she was riding into battle. “Cuil i gcath an Fhómhair, mar a leanann gaoth an athar linn.” (Fly into battle Fhómhair, like the winds of father follow us.) She spoke swiftly, her native language seeping in without thought. The steed beneath let loose a loud whinny before settling into a faster pace, hooves thundering on the ground with each step she takes. 

Natasha throws a new hearing aid at Clint from where she keeps them in her utility belt, well aware of how useless he is at remembering to pack spares. As he clicks it into place and turns it on he pauses with a confused look on his face. Natasha slides a new magazine into her gun, head lifting to listen to the strange noise she’s picked up in the distance. “Please tell me I’m not the only one hearing what sounds like a horse?” He asks itching another arrow on his bow before letting it fly at the coming force. Natasha’s comm flares to life, “did Agent Barton just say he could hear a horse?” Fury’s voice sound in her ear, the deep tone rumbling with clipped efficiency. “Yes sir, I can also hear it although I highly doubt HYDRA are riding horses now, in fact...” Natasha stops short at the sight before her. 

Clint and herself both look on in astonishment at the large horse barreling towards their location from the forest on the other side of the meadow.  Atop the large mount sits a woman in leather amour with a fur cloak around her shoulders, flame red hair flying behind her, adorned with beads, three arrows notched on her bow aiming straight for them. Just as she is about to let loose the arrows, a bullet pings off the metal bracers adorning her arms. She removes her aim from Natasha and Clint’s position and fires the arrows against the oncoming HYDRA soldiers. 

“Agents, status report now!” Fury barks into both of their ears, snapping them out of there shocked pause. “Well sir, there seems to be a female warrior on a horse now firing arrows at our enemies” Clint replies flippantly, still not sure what to make of the fire-haired woman taking down the HYDRA forces on a horse like she was swatting flies, the soldiers falling by the dozen. 

The opposing force, realising that their bullets were ineffective against the new foe in front of them and losing numbers quicker than they could regroup started to retreat, only to be picked off in twos and threes until all were gone. Clint stood, mouth open wide staring unashamedly at the stranger who had just wiped out a battalion of at least 30 armed combatants without so much as breaking a sweat. 

Natasha, whilst still shocked, raised her gun and pointed it at the stranger, not trusting they weren’t also an enemy. Áine turned her self and Fhómhair toward the two remaining people, raising an eyebrow at the gun pointed at her. “Ye can say thank you, ye know” the musical Irish lilt thick in her amusement laced voice. Natasha kept her gun raised with her stern mask in place. Clint went to say something but just as the words began to leave his mouth the rumble of a quintet engine sounded in front of him. Both him and Natasha stood straighter as the quintet landed in the meadow before them, turning their attention back to the mystery woman in front of them when she dismounted from the giant mount. 

The animal not too happy now her owner had climbed down let loose a string of aggressive snorts and wickers whilst stomping the ground, ears pressed flat to her head and tail swishing in an irritated fashion. “Bí i gcónaí san Fhómhar, leanaimid a fheiceáil cad a thagann ina dhiaidh sin” (Be still Fhómhair, let us see what comes next) Áine whispered, her accent thick and lyrical as she soothed the annoyed mare, knowing full well that her girl was not impressed at facing potential enemies apart. Áine lent against the saddle in a relaxed fashion for someone who had a gun pointed at her front and a possible attack arriving behind her. 

The quintet ramp lowered slowly and Nick Fury stepped off, eyepatch glaring and leather trench quote swirling around his ankles. He walked forward with confident strides until he reached his agents and the mystery woman, taking in her appearance and relaxed stance. He signalled to Natasha to lower her weapon, the woman at present showing no threat. 

“I am Nick Fury, director of S.H.I.E.L.D, who are you and what are you doing here?” He barked at the woman trying to be intimidating however slightly shocked when she didn’t even flinch. “Right you are boyo, I would say it was grand ta meet ya but seein’ as you’re on my land and I’ve just been shot at I cannae agree to it, now instead of takin’ the piss and gawkin’ you wanna tell me what this holy show was?” Áine responded, still retaining her cool, unaffected persona, Fhómhair snickering over her shoulder. 

“Miss, perhaps you should come with us so we can explain more?” Clint stepped in to defuse the tension radiating off of Fury and Nat. “That sound like a mighty fine idea Archer, Fhómhair send word to Fennen and Father as to where I am” She patted the mare on her shoulder before stepping towards Clint, she extended her hand for him to shake. “Áine Ó Cuinn is the name boyo, now let’s go here what you have to say” 

A/N Thank you for reading chapter one. I’m looking forward to writing the next chapter and introducing more characters, Loki won’t be in this just yet as I want to set up Áine’s character more.

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