The Iron shod chariot wheels jounced along the Causeway. Rumbling and rattling along, racing along the Corduroy roadway.
the Sea driven winds, raced, dancing amongst the heather, skittering over the peat moors.
Llew relished the sharp tang, the taste, on the seas winds, like fresh blood and rare meat.
The thrill of being momentarily out of control each time the jouncing, turned to full bounces and the Chariot would become airborne.
Only to be snatched back onto the Causeway by the weighted efforts of the Black and The Gray Mares that drew it all along at breakneck speed.
Crows cackled and called from the distance. Gulls flew hither and thither searching for morsels to feast upon.
The world was near perfectly balanced.
Llew relished the peace,
Even tho a part of him knew beyond a doubt,
That peace is the anomaly, order, and joy, are temporary illusions at best.
Even so,
there is no reason not to enjoy the fullness of lifes simple joys. Pure, untainted, unrestrained.
there will always be people that come along and disrupt the flow.
unfortunately , people had to happen.
No, not the cattle simulacrums, the Aos Sidhe had created and bred to feast upon.
People, The Fair folk. The Aos Sidhe.
Seriously, Who cares what dinner or breakfast thinks?
Llews mind flew back and forth, three perspectives seeking dominance.
Their only agreement between them
Thirst, hunger, longing.
One over arching question blazed brightly within, igniting fear, fanning the flames into near panic and madness.
Just exactly what had the Morrigna wrought this time?
Last go round had taken two thousand years to settle.
What now?
†*********************†
Nemain paced.
Badbh giggled,
Macha scowled.
The Morrigna considered the child.
Clear evidence.
The mark of Llew shone about and upon the bright beautiful baby boy.
A vengeful fire raged behind the six emerald flames, gazing down at the hated proof of betrayal...
The mother, cowered, terrified, weeping, gasping for air, trying to beg and plead. Pathetic and annoying really.
How could he have betrayed her with....
This mewling snot dripping mess before her? This display made it all the more insulting and humiliating.
The King, sat frozen, watching silent, helpless to be anything other than witness to the divine storm breaking in his hall.
The Morrigna moved , spiraling about the child swaddled in wolf skins, a child smiling and waving clenched fists, happy, uncaring , welcoming the surrounding storm. The pretty flames that twirled, flowed, swirled around him.
Morgan made Eye contact with the babe.
Gazes locked the child farted loudly and laughed. The damn burst.
All of the anger, fear, pain burst into laughter.
The sun bright smile of innocence and mischief pierced like Spear thrusts through the Morrignas hearts.
Burning, writhing with rage and humiliation,
Pierced by beauty and pure innocence.
The Morrigna screamed in frustration, storming out of the hall. "Llew" echoed forth, their battle cry. .
Connor, the king, sighed, relieved that the Goddess had not slaughtered his nephew, hurriedly signaled members of his Fianna,
" Take my sister, and my nephew and heir, hide them guard them! "
Fergus nodded assent, swept up the cooing child. Conan, gently lifted the still trembling Dechtire from the floor. The two captains of the Fianna called to their men.
†********************†
Sualtim would shelter mother and child.
He could no no other in honor even tho it had been his wedding, to Dechtire that Llew had disrupted with violence, kidnapping, and rape...
Dechtire had definitely not gone willingly.
The babe, bore no responsibility for the evil of the Gods.
Sualtim, of the Fianna, Kings champion, warrior of the Ulliad, had only one obvious choice of action when Conan and Fergus showed up out of the mist and darkness.
There was no hesitation. Sualtim did not bother to even consider his own feelings on the matter. Honor and duty were clear. "Death, is lighter than a feather. Duty, is heavier than a mountain: my soul unto the mountain."
it is a way of life,
a purpose in existence, not merely some slogan.
The way of the Warrior.
time passed,
the child grew, learned, became...
a legend. A living myth, manifest,
always from a secure distance, Llew watched, in pleasure, and no small pride as his son grew, became,
dashing hither and yon, leading the Morrigna on a merry chase,
distracting them, directing their fury away from the child,
llew maneuvered, plotted, planned,
sowed chaos, feeding the furies of the Morrigna,
Distracting, redirecting,
constantly moving forward,
until that day,
the moment the Morrigna remembered that there was, a child.
the child, a living testimony of betrayal, of shame,
furious,
They began a search, focusing, with a singular intent, find that child.
llew grew desperate in his schemes to distract her, to no avail.
the Morrigna ignored his machinations and distractions
†***************†
The chariot had no traction upon the Corduroy entrance road.
slamming and bouncing out of control, ricocheting off of the Kerb stones and walls at the entrance,
Llew rather noisily if ungraciously slid through the open gateway.
The Morrigna, the storm, had long departed. Searching for, Llew.
The mother and babe were gone, hidden away.
Connor posted guards and refused to come out of his round house. Ignoring Llews threats and supplications.
Eventually, Llew tired of his own antics and departed. Rattling away in his chariot. Plotting, planning, conceiving of how he would deal with this mess.
At least the Morrigna had not done more than terrify the mother and glare at the child. She had not harmed them happily. However...
The Morrigna now stalked Llew,
Enraged, betrayed, angry, jealous, broken hearted storms seeking his light.
How had she found out?
Llew had been on his way to secure and hide away the child himself.
The Morrigna need never have known.
Well, at least for a few centuries more at least.
Now,
Rage and fury and heart break are racing across the land.
Survival may well not be guaranteed.
Death and destruction are the only certainty.
Chaos, agony, rage, fury,
Vengeance, all the hell spawned nightmares now stalked Llew, complicating things considerably.
First, secure the babe while avoiding the Morrigna. Then, hide the child well away.
No telling what any of the Morrigna may decide to do.
Llew had his hands full worrying about surviving The Morrignas calamity. There’s no way he could function, guard ,plot, plan and take care of or worry about a newborn simultaneously. A God he may style himself,
omnipotence was something he lacked however.
Better if the Morrigna sought Llew, not the child.
The Race was on.
Llew laughed at the madness of it all.
This was turning out to be more fun than Llew could have ever imagined.
Everything on the line everything at risk, destruction imminent,
with only Llews wit, skill, and luck to see him through the quest.
This actually made life interesting.
Llew wondered why he had waited so long, what he had worried about? This had set his heart racing, his mind burning.
This was certainly much more fun than Llew had anticipated.
A Lover of the Darkness:
To the Madness wed....
One must pay the piper before one may call the tune....
The thing is,
The tune,
the tune, the song
decides the dance,
the dance,
Defines the tune.
twisting and turning, laughing and burning,
It is all just a dance of the damned.
the chase was on, the game afoot,
Llew set about organizing ,planning, multitudes of ways to distract and engage her.
keep the Morrigna focused upon him,
and she would not focus upon the child.
the child was everything.
in this,
Llew discovered,
his second failures.
he was clearly no ones savior...
Crows called, circling over head in murderous joy. Inspiring Llew to drive the horses faster, harder.
Winding up, around the Hillock, hoping against hope that he had not been too late. Which of course, he was.
Cresting the Small round hill Llew could see the murder cawing and circling overhead.
Setanta was still standing, leaning back against the standing stone as if resting, Maybe it was not too late then!
Llew called out to him. Only to be met with an inhuman silence and a scrabbling, scuffling sound. As if crowning the standing stone a bloodied, bedraggled Badbh, perched atop the stone.
The unholy trinity had captured and bound the champion to the stone.
Approaching slowly, Llew looked closely, as what he had first assumed had been ropes, proved out to be the organs, the intestines of Setanta, exposed to the elements binding him upright against the stone. Nemain and Macha scampered into view, cackling like angry crows.
" Aye, Ye mae sae ee had, a lot of guts to support him. " Nemain spit, snarling,
" Turned out to be more of a man than his father" Macha brandished her gory trophies.
Llew stood still, frozen in place momentarily, shocked by the nightmare vision before him.
Badbh cackled and contorted herself about, to kiss the still fresh corpse upon the lips.
Macha hurled the battered, severed heads of Sualtim and Dechtire to land, rolling before the snorting, huffing horses. " Seems your paramour was no more faithful than you are milord. "
Llew stood in silence. What was he going to possibly say beyond inarticulate screams of grief, fury, frustration, rage? Llew, drawing shuddering breaths once again began approaching the standing stone and the body of his only son, Setanta, CuChulainn, the Hound of Cullen, champion of the Ulliad.
There was not a spot on the body that did not proclaim witness to the violence that had claimed the life of Setanta save, for his face, now frozen, contorted in agony and fury, a screaming silent defiance of fate, death, life, eternity.
Llew felt a hole open within him, a vacuum that stole his breathe away. Knees trembling, his entire body in fact, trembling, Llew fought intense hellish battles within. Outwardly, only an occasional flicker of lightning danced in his eyes.
The Morrigna scampered, cackling, dancing, mocking Llew as they withdrew. Laughing, singing,
Celebrating their vengeance, The Morrigna twirled, whirled, cavorted and capered.
Llew made no move after them. Feeling his sons body still warm, still supple. Llew set about trying to gently disentangle Setanta from the Stone and from himself. Gently replacing organs and ropy, glistening Loops of intestines back into the body.
Maybe something could be salvaged of this mess after all.
Llew would not abandon the plan, regardless of the Morrignas, provocations.
Preparing the Body, Llew placed the corpse onto the woven leather flooring of the Chariot, climbing onboard to stand over what remained of his son. Llew turned his Chariot south. It would be a long journey back to the Brugh Na Mourne.
Time needed to rearrange his composure, to begin the Back up plan.
Setanta had earned the name, the Hound of Ulster soundly. Several Strawberry haired, sapphire eyed children attested to that fact. There remained viable genetic materials to work with. Thus, all was not lost. What had changed was the schedule, and the flavor of the plan. Some of life’s spices, brought bitterness and or sour tastes to vengeance.
Sighing deeply in weariness and frustration, Llew performed the Burial rites. The plan was disrupted, delayed is all.
Patience is often the only option available.
Time,
Time to turn the burning fragments of his shattered heart, into icy coals. Time, to plan for vengeance. Time to establish, Justice. Time, to grasp every possible aspect of righteous justice, merciless vengeance and total retribution.
Time, which Llew has plenty of.
Time, patience, perseverance. Time to nurse and grow the grievances. Time to relish and revel in the sweet joys of rage and pain. Time to fully indulge the sensuality of the experience.
That is an odd thing with being, effectively immortal. Lines blur, cross, entangle. Pleasures become unspeakable agony, pain becomes release, joy, rage, all merge into a maddening miasma of,
Nothing.
Numb,
the Only things one may actually feel, to experience, becomes, the extremes.
Immortal motivations and desires are complicated. Mortals are clueless as to exactly how complicated memory, emotion, need, desire, can be, never mind how complex twisted demented and perverse the basic reality of existing becomes.
It all swirls into a madness of experience in which the only purpose, the absolute meaning becomes ,
the experience itself.
A profound sensuality becomes point purpose and reason. The experience, the feeling, becomes all. The experience is the purpose, cause, reason, and,
Meaning.
This integrates into fascinating moral and ethical dilemmas.
What is ethical, moral and righteous, for the spider, is terror, chaos, horror, for the fly.
Strange how both views can be true.
Yet:
Look around yourself.
map it out.
seize just one moment and measure it.
Next:
Question your desires, your needs, your necessary necessity.
Then integrate it all. Embrace how they all flow together..
Experience, data, intensity
how the Various components exist and
Integrate.
reality , what a joke!
Everything is based upon the complex interactions, of the edges of various quantum singularities.
Imagine:
Each sentience, is in effect and affect,
a singular point . A point singularity.
Common/shared, Reality,
is in fact, the Various interactions of each point singularity, at the respective boundaries of each individual event horizon.
Lmao...
Soo.....
We, each and every, sentient existence is in fact a point singularity ( A Black Hole) the fabric, the quantum foam of reality, is the friction, of each event horizon interacting with the surrounding event horizons.
There are no paradoxes.
reality itself,
is the unlikely event.
perception also, is another unlikely event.
All of existence is:
An unlikely event.
Now,
mix wave mechanics, probability,
potential energy,
Released( directed/discharged) energy,
and VOILA!
the lovely madness of reality.
Mix possibilities,
Probabilities,
perception,
And...
social pressures, sine waves and algorithms set and focused culturally to reinforce concepts of identity and perception.
Michael stepped away from Llew.
shaking his head, thinking to himself, " so,
it really is fourth dimensional chess, while the opponent,
is playing checkers.."
Thus,
one may WIN the chess match
while losing the unplayed game of checkers And,
One may win a checkers match while losing the chess game.
the trick, apparently is.
Perspective?
which indicates needs/perception of needs, expression of needs, and
actions to meet those needs.
Perspective?
Perception?
the perception of perspective is the perspective of perception.
just another of the many mysteries of existence.
the old chicken or the egg question,
which demands an answer while ignoring the obvious.
what came first?
GOD of course.
That however is the answer in the question everyone is terrified to ask.
at what point does justice become vengeance?
how can a righteous desire breed such evil effects?
llew would spend centuries, eons, contemplating this.
Still, doggedly persistent in his plan.
regardless of how she provokes him,
how enraged, wounded, heart broken she renders him,
llew vowed, he would do her right.
not in vengeance,
nor a twisted sense of justice,
simply because,
llew loved her,
llew failed her,
the triune nightmare would not exist,
could not exist, had Llew not failed in his most crucial duty.
He,
llew had failed to either protect her, or, rescue her.
he had been the one to discover them, rampaging through the wastes,
he had been the one to take up the burden of the godslayers,
Llew had been the one,
to destroy Balor/Baal,
to bring genocidal fury in retribution.
that was all after the fact though, too late to save her, too late to save or protect any of them.
driven by a guilt and shame, haunted by an agony of failure,
Llew continued his plan.
he would see her whole again.
he would rescue her from the hell and madness of her fury.
he would, see her heart brought to life again.
even if he had to betray all of existence to make it so.
this time, he would not fail her.