“Neither was I…. Do you know,” Lugh chuckles, “that she had the temerity to stand in front of me and tell me, when I roared at my servants for allowing the living to pass, that I was no better than that nutter she’d been pledged to. Let me see…. Oh yes….” Planting his hands on his hips, Lugh mimics Emlyn, “I have had quite enough of petty, capricious, bratty, whiny gods. All of you must have a family tree that resembles my hair braid.”
Straightening, he grins at Morrighu, “We still laugh about that. You’ve got your work cut out for you with that one.”
“You should have seen her when I went to fetch her,” Morrighu sighs, “Burnt to a crisp. Physically shredded. Not enough of her was left even to try to crawl away, but still willing to fight. She’s going to make a magnificent champion once she’s healed. She’s asked me to find her companions and offer them sanctuary. Other than to have her swords returned to her, it’s been her only request. I want to honor it, if I can.”
“You’re welcome to come to my court and see if they’re the right ones,” Lugh shrugs, “If they accept you, I don’t see the harm in it.”
“That would explain why I haven’t been able to scry them,” Morrighu replies, “Two of the three is better than none at all.”
“Maybe they know where the third one is,” Lugh offers, “Try talking to them.”
“I think I will accept your offer,” Morrighu nods.
When Morrighu leaves with Lugh, Nuada reaches into his pocket and pulls out a brightly glowing soul stone. Flipping it over in his hand, he stares into it. “Who are you?” The name that comes drifting back is Cian.
“Do you know these others that she’s looking for? Neit, Midir, Dian, Gwladus?” All Nuada can sense is a deep longing, triggered by those names. “So, you do know them. I find myself in need of a champion. Perhaps we can also reach an agreement like the one Morrighu has with this girl.” At the mention of the girl, a spark of hope flares. “Yes, I think we might be able to reach an agreement,” Nuada allows, “I’ll have to see just how much of you is left. That twit was using you to enchant weapons, and I can’t tell yet if there’s enough of you left to regenerate.”
The Hall of Judgment does not lie on any charted map of the gods’ plane. It stands at the terminus of The Soul’s Path, a winding, shifting trail of trials that threads through memory, truth, and sacrifice. Only mortals who have walked that sacred path may approach its radiant threshold. Rarely, a god in Lugh’s favor may carry a mortal here, but only with his express blessing, and never without cost.
The Hall itself rests atop a rise of greenstone, carpeted with flowering hawthorn, and is open to the ever-turning sky. Its white-ash columns are carved with knotwork and beasts of old tales, and the dome of its roof gleams with woven sun-metal and river glass, catching light from realms seen and unseen. Behind Lugh’s throne of judgement lies the Oathfire, a gently flickering flame fed not by wood but by intention and truth; no soul can pass near it unjudged.
The great tree at the rear of the hall, known as Bríathar, bears leaves of bronze and silver. It sings softly when promises are fulfilled and grows silent, leaves tarnishing when they are betrayed. The air hums with balance, neither cold nor warm, but clarity. Here, judgment is not rendered in anger or cruelty, but in fairness sharpened by wisdom. Those who enter rarely leave unchanged.
Some find peace. Others find purpose. Most are sent on to their afterlife. And a rare few, those whose paths are not yet finished, find Lugh watching them with a gaze that sees not just what they are, but what they might become. Morrighu arrives in Lugh’s Court and takes stock of the souls gathered awaiting judgment. Today, the Hall is packed; throngs of people have gathered here, with more awaiting entry. A great many of them seem to be heavily tattooed, and Morrighu sighs, realizing that, if anything, Emlyn has understated the devastation of her people.
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Nodding, Lugh points out two that seem to be lurking in the corner, shielded in a large part by the crowd of other tattooed souls awaiting judgment. Dropping her head for a moment, Morrighu whispers, “They’re trying to protect them.”
Shaking his head, Lugh replies just as quietly, “They should know by now that it isn’t necessary with me. I understand that their previous experience might make them wary, but I’ve been studiously ignoring them. They’ve been through enough.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Morrighu says. Ducking out of sight, she alters her appearance to look like Emlyn and then slips through the crowd. The whispering stills as she makes her way through the crowd. Many move out of her way; others bow or salute her. Unsure of the proper response, the Goddess smiles and keeps moving. Approaching the two, she says urgently, “I need to speak with you.”
Without waiting for an answer, she turns and heads toward a more private corner. She catches the two of them arguing briefly before following. One of them approaches her and speaks rapidly in a language she can’t quite grasp. “Don’t misunderstand,” Morrighu says, “I’m not Emlyn, but she did send me here. I wasn’t sure how else to get your attention. She’s begged a favor of me, and I’m trying to grant it. She’s to become a paladin consecrated in my service, and since you died without a god, she’s asked me to find you and offer you sanctuary.”
At their wary looks, Morrighu shrugs, “I’m supposed to tell you that she was successful and that it was not in vain.” This, bland as it is, seems to have been some coded message because both of them relax visibly.
“I knew that if anyone could do it, she’d be the one to find a way to make that rat bastard pay,” one of them crows.
The second one looks at the tattooed throng in the court and sighs, “So many of us are here, brother.”
The first one sighs, “I know. Who will she find to found a new House with?”
The second one nods his agreement, “We were the last. There are no Great Houses left.”
“Can we see Emlyn?” the first one asks, “The real Emlyn that is. Just for a few moments. We need to be sure…”
“I understand,” the Goddess replies and reaches for their hands. “She very nearly joined you here. If I’m not very careful, she still may. There isn’t much left that binds her to life. When she asked me for this, I could hardly refuse. I hope it gives her a measure of peace.”
Reverting to her normal appearance, she appears in Emlyn’s room, where Emlyn is struggling with her shoes and cursing softly. “Emlyn, child, I have found two of them for you,” the Goddess starts.
Before she can finish, Dian speaks rapidly in Cymry, “Ai chi yw hynny mewn gwirionedd?” (Is that really you?)
Tears starting and a small smile tugging at her mouth, she looks up and rattles back “Pwy arall fyddai hwnnw?” (Who else would it be?)
“Ydych chi wedi derbyn y dduwies hon?” (Have you accepted this Goddess?)
“Ydy, mae hi wedi bod yn garedig i mi. Fe wnaeth hi hyd yn oed newid fy adduned er mwyn i mi allu gadael os yw hi'n wallgof.” (Yes, she’s been kind to me. She even changed my oath so I can leave if she goes crazy.)
The two boys turn to the Goddess, “If she’s accepted you, we will as well. We claim your offer of sanctuary.”
“Do you know where Midir is?” Emlyn asks.
“No,” Dian shakes his head, “We’ve been loitering around the Hall of Judgement hoping to find him as he passes through, but no one’s seen him. No one’s recorded Cian or Neit passing either. We peeked into Lugh’s book to see.”
Gwladus’ face goes tight, “Gods above, Em. You should see the throngs of our people streaming in.”
Emlyn breaks finally, face in her hands, “Gwn. Gwn. Fe wnaethon ni ennill y frwydr a cholli'r rhyfel.” (I know. I know. We won the battle and lost the war.) Clutching at her pillow and sobbing, she gasps out, “Dyma'r ddiod chwerwaf oll.” (This is the most bitter drink of all.) Dian approaches her and crouches down, just out of reach. He looks up into her face.
“I wish I could hug you to comfort you, but I can’t. I want you to promise me something. Don’t do anything stupid. Live for all of us. Live enough for all of us. Be the remarkable person that you are and have an equally remarkable life. If you want to honor us, live well enough for the five of us, too. Promise me.”
Still sobbing, she gasps, “Rwy'n ei dyngu.” (I swear it.)
Nodding, he stands up and returns to the Goddess, “We should go now. Maybe we can help you find the others. That might help.”