Goll mac Morna looked heroic bleeding at Fionn’s feet. He didn’t cry or grovel, or do anything to indicate he didn’t believe he deserved it. Fionn hoped that however many years ago, when Fionn’s father Cumhail was bleeding at Goll’s feet, that he looked just as heroic.

Of course it wouldn’t be right for such a brave man to die for such silly grudges. Fionn’s foster mothers raised him better than to let a good man die for no other reason than vengeance.

“I have defeated you. The Fianna is now mine to lead.” As it was once Cumhail’s to lead. “However, you fought bravely. I wish for you to return to the Fianna, to serve me as an advisor.”

Fionn put away his sword. He poured water he had saved into his hand. The three scars from when the magic of the otherworld branded him were still visible on his thumb.

He held his cupped hand to Goll’s gasping mouth. “Drink.” He ordered “and let the fighting between clan Bascna and clan Morna end.”

Goll drank from his hand. The power of the otherworld was there, with all the youth and health that that meant. Soon enough Goll’s bleeding stopped. His wounds stitched together and healed, leaving only faint scars in their place.

Goll stumbled back to his feet. “I would be honored to fight along your side.”

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Fionn had never been around so many people.

His mother was worried about Goll mac Morna, that he would go after Fionn or try to kill him or something. His foster mother Laith Luchra did a good job of protecting him, and making sure he could protect himself, and her Bodhmall was a good enough teacher, but neither of them made for particularly good conversationalists. As he got older he only looked more and more like his father, it was more and more important to keep him away from those who might spread rumors that could reach clan Morna.

Back then they called him Deimne. The name Fionn didn’t come around until much later. When, after however many years and trials, reclaiming his father’s weapons and name, earning the respect of the High King, and fighting otherworldly threats, the most notable thing about him was still apparently the hair turned white from the otherworldly wisdom burned into his hand. People started calling him Fionn meaning light haired.

Even during that time he rarely spoke more than was necessary. He would show up, do whatever deed was required of him, and move on. Always on the scent of Goll mac Morna, always preparing to reclaim what was his by right.

Restoring the Fianna to its former glory required near constant talking to people. He had to talk to members of the faction that left with Cumhail and convince them that leaving Goll alive was really actually just and merciful. He had to talk to the members of the faction that left with Goll to convince them to follow him, and he had to talk with Goll to get his help with that.

And beyond that anyone who had joined since Cumhail’s death did not know the ancient poems and stories of the land, they did not know how to run through the wild without breaking a single twig underfoot, they did not speak only when their actions could match their words. In short, many of them were not suited to defend the land. And of course it was Fionn’s job to teach them.

He knew with time he would make a force like no other, ready to listen for the great hunting horn of the Dord Fianna and answer its call when it sounded to signal the land needed its defenders.