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It was a dreary, misty day, grey pouring in from all sides. A day that would have many lamenting the state of the weather. Wasn't it summer, shouldn't the sky be blue and the sun blazing in the heavens? Most chose to keep inside, avoiding the cling of water to their cloaks or tunics.
Emer, however, chose to leave shelter and warmth behind her in favour of the peace outside. The grass beneath her feet was soft and damp, soaking her feet. She glanced over her shouder as she walked, back straight but a small frown on her face. She couldn't shake the feeling of being watched... it lingered in the back of her mind, made shadows dance in the corner of her eyes.
Emer had never considered herself cowardly. She couldn't understand why her body was betraying her her in such a way. She knew that the noise in the dead of night or the flicker at the edge of her vision were no causes for worry, yet her heart continued to race and her breath continued to quicken. Sleep shunned her at night, as she remained alert against enemies that would never attack.
Dreams haunted the rare snatches of rest she got, flashes of a woman sitting in her husbands chariot, wearing strange clothes and a soft smile. Fand. She knew this woman had once caused her great misery, but the sight of her no longer caused her any pain. Emer knew that she should be seething, she should be hunting this woman down and turning her husband from her bed, but these emotions had been banished from her by the druids of Emain Macha. It did not comfort her any that the peace she felt was a false one. But the Hound did not remember Fand, and they would never meet again, and Emer held no fear of Fand attacking her. And yet... She kept her knife close by her. During the day, she scanned around her for glimses of the golden-haired woman that visited her while she slept, to no avail. Her stomach twisted itself into knots, darkness gathered under her eyes and her head pounded, yet the invisible eyes kept following her, piercing like the sharp blue eyes on Fand.
Someone was speaking, were they? She didn't pay any mind to what they were saying. Her women looked at her, worry etched on their faces. She was rarely this distant, this prone to irritability. As she went walking, they flocked to her like anxious sheep, faces meek and mild. It made her angry, how they treated her as a fragile, hurt creature. She should never have to see pity in the faces of those who gazed at her, what cause did they have to look so mournfully upon her?
꩜
Fand observed her, looking over her pale shoulder, a frown twisting her flawless face. How could one person still look perfect, even haunted by paranoia? It struck Fand, when she saw Emer first, how beautiful even with her face twisted and red with rage and a knife in her white-knuckled grasp. Hair as black as a raven's wing, eyes grey and unforgiving as Cuchulainn's spear.
A stark contrast to how she looked now, like a spooked animal, startling at every little noise. She had been unusually silent as of late too. Fand missed hearing her lively conversation.
She had heard of Emer's wit from the Hound. Even before him she had heard stories of a girl famed for her clever words, who could match champions by her intelligence alone. She had never thought much on those whispers until that silver tongue had been turned against her. Then she understood every word of praise she had heard was more than deserved.
Fand watched from where she shrouded herself in mist as Emer walked, stately and aloof, out of the castle's doors, her maidens scurrying to keep up with her. They fussed and fretted around her like mother hens, however Emer remained forever inscrutable. Her grey eyes matching the castle walls behind her, grim and impenitrable.
Oh, her eyes.
They followed Fand wherever she went. She saw them in the sea when a storm whipped it into a frenzy, in the flash of a sword before it sunk into some poor fool's chest, in the stone of every dwelling she passed, the rocks under her feet and the clouds gathering above her head.
Fand should be focusing. It was no small task, keeping herself hidden this close to humans.
Cuchulainn's eyes had been so much, pupils and colours overcrowding his irises, you felt you could see into his soul and watch every emotion play out when he looked at you.
Emer was so different, with her silver eyes that gave away nothing. And yet, Fand had seen how much emotion they could hold, could remember the rage that flickered and danced like smoke and the grief that followed, wet like mist.
Her eyes were much softer now, grey like a dying wolf fleeing hounds and men, lashing out in a futile attempt to survive. It was almost enough to make Fand pity her, to make her return to the Otherworld and leave poor Emer to the Hound and his charioteer and her dun-
Grey eyes looked straight into her own, as threatening as a dagger leveled at Fand's breast. Her stomach swooped. It was almost the same look as the first time Fand had seen her, her mind dragged her back to that fateful encounter, to the moment she found herself reliving again and again, wondering what Emer would have done if she had been angered further, if her arms were as strong as they looked.
꩜
Emer focused on keeping her steps even and her pace relaxed as her whole body trembled. She had seen her, that useless woman who haunted her dreams. She had crossed over from disturbing Emer's sleep to invading her waking hours. She struggled to keep her breath controlled as her heart galloping in her chest, sweat mixing with the mist coating her skin.
She had only glimpsed the woman- perhaps it was her mind deceiving her? Her and the Hound could never cross paths again, of that she was certain.
Emer's brows furrowed. Was she only appearing before her to torment Emer herself?
Childish. To think she ever felt any worry over her.
Emer's heart refused to listen to reason, still thrumming in her chest. And what cause had she for panic, anyway? She was Emer, wife of Cuchulainn and first among the women of Ulster. Why should she be sent shaking by the mere sight of that strange woman?
꩜
Fand gazed at Emer, unable to look away. She looked furious.
She looked beautiful.
It was almost enough to put shame upon Fand, how drawn she was to Emer in her anger. She found herself dwelling on things that no noblewoman should ever think on, her eyes darting from where Emer's hands were clenched by her sides to the subtle heaving of her chest. She nearly revealed herself to Emer again in the hopes that she would feel those hands strike her. How she longed to be pierced by sharp words from that sliver tongue again.
Before her mind could be entirely consumed by Emer, Fand felt a strange desire to leave her behind and return to her dwelling. Frustration rose within her, for she knew this feeling signified that the Hound was returning, and her husband's power prevented them from ever laying eyes on each other again.
She had no desire to leave Emer, but the urge to run was growing stronger each moment that passed. Against all the strength of her will and her desires, she turned and strode into the embrace of the soft, grey mist.
One thought prevented her from lashing out and striking the trees in her anger, from challenging Manannán's enchantment and staying by Emer's side until it drove her to madness.
Cuchulainn was a name destined for fame in times long past hers, but it was also the name of a man who was destined to die young. The blinding flame of the Hound's life was bound to flicker and die, while Fand was fated to remain frozen in time.
She had often lamented this fact while Cuchulainn stayed with her for those few short months, but now she felt a great sense of gratitude for his glory hungry ways. He would die, and Emer would be left alone.
The mist deepened around her, welcoming her home.
Fand could wait.