ath-choinneachadh | morda
parting is such sweet sorrow after all; continued from here with @mpxmorrigan
He does not enter just yet, as he has not been bidden to. And in true fashion, he leans against the doorjamb, looking at the sliver of the goddess whom he had searched almost a millennia for. She was here, and the part of him that had been spurned by restlessness and unknowing seemed to calm. And so he watches, for a beat, even as his body yearned nothing more than to wretch the offensive door away and behold his queen in all her glory. And then she spoke---
“Ahhhh. you are mad at me.” His words, spoken in a soft burr from their homeland, was laced with a tinge of regret. His memories had been sparse when he had first awoken, only her name had lingered. And through his wanderings he had pieced them back together. Dagda had hoped though, that the ire and wrath she had last shown him had cooled over their parting. But what was his queen if not constant.
“Business, pleasure. To whichever you would take me, mo grá." He taps the chain that held her door, a silent question to please let him in. “You know I would never leave you to the cold.”