The yew tree opened up at the edge of the forest, outside of Dun-Dealgan, unfurling its sides to reveal a bright, sun-lit morning. The swamps that had begun to claim the land had receded into almost nothing, and Emery and Cullen were able to step onto solid ground. The forest itself, behind them, had returned to its previous slightly-spooky-but-overall-magical atmosphere, beams of sparkling light falling within its leafy depths; the odor that had emanated from it was absent, only an earthy scent in its place. An early springtime chill hovered in the air, but Emery wasn't cold.
Looking down at herself, she realized she no longer wore the terrible, bloodied white rag but was adorned in a rich, emerald green dress, sewn from a fabric she couldn't recognize. It was belted at the waist with a coppery sash, matching the inlay of her cloak, the outside of which was a thick speckled fur. At her wrists and hovering about her collarbone were glistening bronze torques, twisted into the heads of stags at their open ends. Her boots were warm with fur inside and out, and she pulled up the hood of her cloak to find it, too, was furred, though she had no trouble fitting it over the bronze circlet that hung down upon her forehead. Her hair alone was left untouched, clouding about her fair, rosy cheeks and graceful neck. She still had Great Fury at her back and Little Fury at her side, and the Spear of Lugh was aflame in her hand, though it no longer dripped acid. What was more, she felt at her waist to find the pouch Cathbad had given her, complete with walnut inside.
"Cullen!" she cried, turning to find him dressed as regally as she, in similar colors and fabrics though with his battle gear, polished to perfection. Even Gáe Bulg had been remade and returned to his back. "Oh my. We coordinate."
He looked at her, and she'd never thought he was more handsome. "My Lady, you are as fair as a Goddess." His eyes were radiant.
Emery shrugged. "I'm just me under all this," she said.
Mischief in his smile, Cullen returned, "Perhaps I can assure myself of it, later."
In spite of herself, knowing him well enough by now, Emery blushed anyway. Then she remembered what she'd wanted to say. "The walnut! I have it." She opened the pouch with one hand and pulled out the nut.
"But you've Lugh's Spear already."
"You know Cat," Emery noted, dropping the walnut to the ground and placing her heel on it, "his magic is . . . erratic." She crushed it, said Cathbad's and Tess's names, and within an instant, the two were standing before them. Emery cried out in glee, threw an arm around each, and apologized profusely for sending them off. They, for their part, had no recollection of what had happened after the moments in the psychic's shop, having been fully well kept in the Dark.
"My walnut!" Cathbad cried in dismay. "I must've linked the summoning to myself, again. The job was too hasty."
"It was the best thing you've ever done!" Emery laughed. Their reunion was joyous and called for much explanation, but before any real discussion could take place, Cullen drew their attention to the hillfort itself.
"We've been too distracted," he muttered. "Something heavy is at work." For all along the hillsides leading to Dun-Dealgan were encamped soldiers. Cathbad pointed out the pennant flags of Connacht, Munster, and Leinster, revealing all three of the other four provinces were there. From the top of the hillfort watchtowers flew the colors of Ulster, indicating King Conchobar had arrived from Emain Macha.
"What can it mean?" Cathbad queried, the four of them suddenly falling serious.
"I do not know," Cullen replied, "but it cannot be good."
Emery turned her husband to look away from the armies and toward her. "We are Tuatha Dé. We can do this." And even as she spoke, Cathbad cried out, pointing over their shoulders. When they turned, Cullen and Emery saw their horses, Dub Saingleand and Liath Macha, walking patiently toward them along the edge of the forest. They didn't question their fortune. Cullen tied The Dagda's cauldron to his beautiful black steed, then helped Emery up before mounting behind her. Tess managed to get up onto Liath Macha more gracefully than the druid, whose attempts, while as haphazard as he, were eventually successful, and the four of them set off at a trot to Dun-Dealgan.
The encamped armies allowed them passage without question, all of them recognizing Cuchulain, and all of them mesmerized by the supernal glow around both he and Emer, the sheer resplendence of the pair. They were let into the gates immediately, and within the fort, those who saw and knew them rushed to greet them, to express their joy at their Lord's return. The word of their arrival spread quickly, and while the hostler took the horses to stable, Cullen and Emery, Cathbad and Tess marched to the feasting hall, where they were sure they'd find King Conchobar, and upon entering, they saw that indeed, there the man was. Seated presumptuously on the high chair atop the platform, the black-bearded, small-eyed man sat looking proud as anything, until he saw his nephew. The moment Conchobar spotted Cullen, he rose, and a brief terror flitted across his features. But he stood before two other men and a woman robed in the regalia of their provinces, clearly the monarchs of Leinster, Connacht, and Munster.
Passion rose in Emery; the last time she'd seen Conchobar, he'd been threatening her sister--the King's lechery had led to Deirdre's death, the death of the brothers. She couldn't look at him without becoming enraged.
"Nephew!" Conchobar called as the warriors and nobles watched the Lord and Lady of Dun-Dealgan walk alongside the firepit right up to the platform, ignoring any whispers along the way. "The wayward chieftain graces us with his presence."
"Where's Cearnach?" Cullen asked, ignoring his uncle's efforts to save face before the other royals. "Why are you here?"
"And do you speak to me this way? Your King? I came to have you re-swear your oath to me. After that debacle with your cousins--"
Cullen was up on the platform, hand around Conchobar's throat, before anyone could stop him. Those in the hall, kings and queen included, seemed suspended, half-risen from their seats, unsure what to make of the scene or do about it. "Did Keltar deliver my message? Did Cearnach?"
Conchobar scrabbled his fingers against Cullen's grip, struggling for the breath to reply.
"Then let me remind you. I promised I'd have your head, at last. You've caused more trouble with your wantonness than befits any man." He dropped the King to the platform and drew his sword, surely ready to do as he'd sworn, but then a strange thing happened: Tess, of all people, stepped forth.
"Lord Cuchulain!" she cried, holding out a hand, Cathbad coming to stand at her side. "I beg you to spare his life. Remove him from his throne, but spare him."
Cullen's foot was on his uncle's back; the men throughout the hall stayed back in fright of this God-like apparition. He gazed at Tess in utter confusion. "Why do you ask this of me, Lady?"
"Because I . . ." Tess, her long blonde hair in a soft, messy braid, her deep blue eyes tormented, found it too difficult to speak.
"Because she is his mother," Cathbad inserted, holding Tess so the girl wouldn't faint, "and I am his father."
The entire hall, having shifted and muttered about Cullen, now rumbled with shock and disbelief. Conchobar himself looked as if he'd forgotten his nephew was standing over him, about to take his head off. He gaped at Tess and Cathbad.
Regaining her confidence, Tess stated, "Conchobar mac Nessa, I am Nessa, your mother, as difficult as it might be for you to understand."
Cullen removed his foot from the King's back, allowed Conchobar to rise, to step off the platform, and to go to Tess. His face was a mask of astonishment, but as he neared his supposed parents, he looked at Tess so sincerely, really scrutinized her features for the first time, and shuddered. "I recall your face," he said, trembling. "But--but how?"
"Ah," Cathbad said quietly, sheepishly. "That would be my fault. I played a little too freely with time enchantments and, well, the magic is unpredictable."
"Fickle, would you say?" Emery asked, as bewildered as the rest and yet recalling a conversation she'd had with Tess some time ago that tempered her disbelief.
"Yes, Lady Emery. You could say so. We--the Lady Nessa and I--were wed many years ago. You, Conchobar, were our son, but before you were very old, I foresaw trouble for this Lady, Emer. I did not know who she was. I saw in my divinations only that she was important to us all, and that she was lost and alone. So my wife, always of a kind heart, offered to go to her aid, so that we could secure a future for our son and for our land, and so that we could help this Lady Emer. But I was--have never been--the most reliable druid. And I succeeded instead in pushing both of us to different destinations in the future, myself to a time when you, my son, were already king and my brave Nessa to the Lady Emer at the moment she herself was being wrapped in a curse, sending both ladies to another world entirely. I lost understanding of what had happened until I was later reunited with my Tess, though it has taken much perseverance and dedication to solve our mystery."
The entire hall was agog, staring at what was happening at the front of the room, but they were more astounded at what happened next. "You've been a very, very bad son," Tess accused, wagging a finger at Conchobar, who stood at least a head taller than she. "And I am so sorry I wasn't there to raise you properly. We're going to try again, all right? To make you a better human." She turned to Cathbad. "Go on, then."
And the druid retrieved his staff, waved his free hand over the top of it, and sent spirals of static through the air. The very fabric of the atmosphere dimmed and seemed to swell, and then in one massive crack of sound, the hall returned to its pleasant coziness, but Conchobar was gone, and in his place stood a young boy, no older than six or seven, staring in bewilderment at all the people who looked right back at him.
Frightened, the dark-haired boy threw his arms about Tess's legs, buried his face in it, and whined, "Mama! Who are all these people? I want to go!"
Emery drew near Tess, placed a hand on her shoulder. "My friend," she said, much meaning in the simple words. "We have so much to talk about. I had no idea!"
"You had enough going on," Tess smiled, stroking the back of the weeping boy at her knees, and Emery wondered when exactly Tess had been folded so flawlessly back into this place.
"What is all of this chaos?" called a woman's voice, and Emery saw the queen stand. She was an older woman, though she was still a beauty, with long blonde hair wrapping around shoulders cloaked in royal blue trimmed in green and gold, a shining circlet with wings on either side of it adorning her head. "I, Méabh, Queen of Connacht, demand an answer. We come here, Lord Cuchulain, of our own will, each desirous of ending the in-fighting amongst the provinces, of selecting a High Monarch to bring us together, but Lia Fáil has been absent for three seasons, stolen, surely! Without it, how can we know which of us is worthy to be High King or Queen? And now, your own King is a child!"
A tall, handsome, youthful man next to her rose as well. "And I am Cathal, new monarch of Munster. It was you, Lord Cuchulain, who killed Cú Roí and his son, Lugaid, leaving unrest amongst our lands. We've only just regained stability, but was it not due to the Stone of Destiny that Munster quarreled with Ulster? Have you hidden it for yourself?"
At that moment, the curtain of the feasting hall was pulled aside, and members of the Red Branch entered, Conall Cearnach in front of them. "My Lord Cuchulain!" he shouted, ignoring any irritated glances from those present. "Word of your arrival reached our ears," Cearnach rambled as he approached Cullen. "We did well in your absence, though that Conchobar showed up uninvited, and--" he paused, his different-colored eyes scanning the platform. "And where is he?"
Emery stifled a laugh and pointed to the little boy still sniveling, though Cathbad had produced a small ball of light in his own hand, which had somewhat distracted the child.
The barrel-chested old King of Leinster got to his feet suddenly, no doubt thinking he should add his words to the mix, but Cuchulain put a stop to all of it. "Enough!" he spoke, silencing everyone, causing little Conchobar to return to his mother's skirts. Stepping down from the platform (still taller than almost anyone else on the floor), he reached into his cloak and retrieved a small pouch at his belt. Undoing its drawstring, he tipped its contents onto his palm, and out tumbled a small oval stone, which didn't appear to be anything special. Everyone leaned in to see what he held, but before anyone could get a decent look (Emery included), Cullen stepped back and placed the stone on the floor, where it immediately expanded into the Stone of Destiny itself.
The gasps and perplexed grousing and conversation that permeated the hall were broken only when the Queen of Connacht spoke. "What is the meaning of this? How come you by the Stone?"
With an authority that spoke for itself, Cullen replied, "The God Lir mac Mananan, by order of The Dagda, vouchsafed Lia Fáil to the Lady Emer and myself. The Tuatha Dé tasked us with safeguarding their treasures. It was by no selfish desire that we did so, and I shall return the Stone to its proper home, in Tara. This I vow."
The King of Leinster, happy for the ensuing silence as he managed to get a word in, said, "But it is here, now! Let us make use of it!" He hastened forward and placed a foot on the stone, much to the displeasure of everyone watching, even as his act resulted in nothing notable.
But then King Cathal of Munster stepped up to Lia Fáil, shrugged, and did the same, his gesture producing the same result; then even Queen Méabh placed a dainty shoe against the stone to no avail.
Silence reigned in the hall, a distinct discomfort near tangible, no one wanting to suggest the child Conchobar put his foot upon Lia Fáil, until Cearnach at last suggested what many thought but were unwilling to say-- "Lord, you try."
Cullen looked at his Knights, who murmured their agreement, but he was clearly abashed at the idea. "I am no king," he claimed.
"You certainly look the part, Lord," Cathbad chimed in. "And your honor and justice know no equal."
And the agreement of all in the hall rose to a feverish pitch, every man and woman present clamoring for Cullen to step upon the stone, and at last even the other monarchs expressed their desire to see him do so. But the man himself was doubtful and flustered by the prospect. At last he assented, saying, "I will step with my Lady Emery, for I will claim nothing without her by my side." No one protested, for who would do so? And as Emery drew beside her husband, and the two each raised a foot and placed it against the Stone of Destiny, a resounding roar rumbled and burst from the maker of monarchs, shivering the spines of even the most battle-hardened warriors present, frightening little Conchobar so that he burst into tears, and sending all present and all those that heard the news as it spread fast beyond the walls of the hall into thundering celebration: the High King and Queen had been chosen.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Late, late into the night, many hours after Cullen and Emery had feasted and talked and arranged and celebrated with everyone from Tess and Cathbad to the other monarchs of the four provinces (Cearnach being selected as the King of Ulster in Conchobar's sudden displacement), the pair wound through the familiar pathways of Dun-Dealgan. Well-wishers and revelers greeted them along the way, but all recognized their desire to be alone and respected it.
"Where will we live?" Emery asked. "Will we have to move to Emain Macha?"
"I think it best Cearnach take the throne there. I see no reason we cannot go on as we've been, here."
"I'd like to actually live an ordinary life with you, act like ordinary people. Do you think we can manage that?"
They were approaching their roundhouse. The lights within had been lit and were welcoming, a warm golden sanctuary against the chilly white of the stars above. At the footbridge, Cullen stopped, turned to Emery. His features were more relaxed than she'd ever seen them, his forehead high and smooth and free of concern, his mouth in a gentle smile. He touched a lock of her hair, said, "Lady, surely nothing could be ordinary with you."
Emery felt her heart swell, her cheeks to her shoulders flush. She stood on her toes and reached her arms around his neck, brought her lips to his, felt a stirring inside of her that this man had always seemed to bring out.
Cullen pressed her close to him in an embrace borne of the struggles they'd overcome, of the relief they'd at last earned, and he whispered only, "My Emer," in absolute devotion and affection.
They parted and began the brief walk up the bridge, but just before they reached the doorway of their dwelling, Emery noticed something in the shadows below, on the ground to the left of the bridge, beneath one of the few windows. She had to lean a little, narrow her eyes, to see it in the shadows, to see its thorny, tangled branches, its strangely incongruous white flowers.
When she asked Cullen what it was, he replied in some wonder, "It's a blackthorn tree."
"It's from Charlie," Emery said aloud with certainty, never again wanting secrets between them. "It's a gift. I can explain, when you wish me to."
Cullen took her hand and kissed it. "There will be much time for words, later." Then he drew her through the curtain and into their chamber.
THE END