Day 6 - Ancient
Tagging @iwanttobepersephone because I got this idea from your post
“And, longing back to the days where you didn’t have an apprentice?”
Halt didn’t answer the question the right away. He surely did have moments where he wondered why by the gods he had taken another apprentice. His days were filled with endless questions, more paperwork as he had to check the answers and correct them. He didn’t even have time to train himself since his apprentice was training during the day.
Yet, it also did bring nice things.
Sharing knowledge, as well as watching how his apprentice started to understand what it meant to be a Ranger. Training together and learning from the boy as well. The wave of pride he felt whenever his apprentice had done an exercise right.
“Some days yes, other times I wish it would never stop.”
Halt kept his eyes on the work in his hands. He was making a few arrows, the fletching almost done by now.
A couple of Rangers were sitting nearby, all working on their own projects as well. Some were reading a report, others going over some texts from books that they had brought.
It wasn’t exactly a holiday, but closer than this none of them would get.
“Halt, you’re Hibernian, right?”
The Ranger, a few years younger than he was, was laying on his back when he asked the question. His hands were behind his head, his eyes following the clouds above him.
“Mhm,” Halt replied, his eyes still locked on his work.
His colleague knew him well enough to know that he could continue with his question.
“I was just wondering if you grew up with some ancient Hibernian folk stories as well. You know, myths, legends, those kind of things.”
When it stayed silent for a solid minute, he turned his head to see what was going on. He might have thought that Halt would give him a glance that said as much as ‘Why are you asking me this?’. He surely didn’t expect to see the sparkle in Halt’s eyes.
“You alright?” another Ranger asked, not sure what to do with this new side of the otherwise so grumpy and silent Ranger.
“Oh dear, you have touched a sensitive snare here,” a third one said, jokingly moving away from Halt. “I think you have to prepare to run.”
Remaining silent, Halt finished what he had been working on. It took him a lot of willpower to not hastily complete the task. Once he was done with doing the fletching, he put the materials away and looked at his colleague.
“What would you like to hear?”
For once, Halt didn’t mind that a group had gathered around him. He was sitting in the centre, his colleagues and friend sitting in front of him. After the initial question, more Rangers had joined the already present group. It wasn’t like the whole Corps was present – the apprentices were working on an exercise, some Rangers were training and then there were also a few who didn’t want to listen.
After explaining the four categories of Hibernian tales – mythological cycle, Ulster cycle, Finn cycle and King sagas – the colleague asked for the first type.
“Tell us the one you like the most,” he said, leaning back against a log.
Halt thought for a moment. It wasn’t easy since he had a few that he liked. But, eventually, he chose one.
“Very well, this one is about the Dagda, the chief of the gods and the leader of the Tuatha Dé Danann – a mythological folk that used to live in Hibernia long before the Hibernians came.
He was known to be good in a lot of things, like all the gods and goddesses. The Dagda is seen as a king, but also as a father-figure and a druid. There are a lot of things he is the god of: life and death, fertility, agriculture, the weather and the crops, time in general and the seasons. But also, connecting to his roles as king and druid, he is seen as the god of strength, magic and wisdom.”
Halt took a moment to catch his breath, which was also to see if someone wanted him to quit talking about this. Since no one said anything, he took it as a sign to continue.
“There are a few things that he loves: food, some good portion of mischief and music. One of his most precious possessions is his magical harp, Uaithne. By playing on it, he could change the seasons, let people feel joy or sorrow and even bring people to sleep.”
“Long ago, when the Fomorians and the Tuatha Dé Danann were involved in a battle against each other, the Fomorians got word of the Dagda’s harp.
The harp wasn’t any regular one; the Dagda used it to strengthen the soldiers, take away their fears and grief about fallen comrades. The melodies gave them courage and helped them fight until victory.
The Fomorians decided that it would be best to try and steal this harp to use for their own army. So, once the battle continued and the Dagda was fighting, a few of the enemy entered his home and stole his harp.
They ran away with their families and hid inside an abandoned castle. One by one, the remaining soldiers joined them, a silent sign that they had lost the battle.
The Fomorians had hoped to use the magical harp, but it turned out that it didn’t work. There was no melody they could play on it, so they hung it on the wall. In an effort to keep it there, they made sure there were enough soldiers between the harp and the entrance.
When the Tuatha Dé Danann asked the Dagda to play his harp to celebrate their victory, the Dagda discovered that his beloved instrument was gone.
Together with Ogma and Lugh, he went on a search to find it and bring it back home. Finally, after a long road, they arrived at the abandoned castle.
Ogma saw the huge number of soldiers in between them and the harp. He wasn’t scared easily, but he had no idea how they could fight against an army.
The Dagda didn’t worry; he stretched his arms and called for his harp. And Uaithne, bound to him by loyalty and magic, flew right to him.
The sound of the harp breaking free from the wall woke up the soldiers who hastily drew their weapons. With the soldiers awake and ready to attack them, it was an unfair battle for them. Lugh, aware of the melodies the harp could play, whispered into the Dagda’s ear to play his harp to help them escape.
The Dagda struck the strings and played the melody of Music of Mirth. The soldiers started to laugh, dropping their weapons. But once the music stopped, they picked them up.
The Dagda struck the strings again, playing the Music of Grief. The children started to wail, the women cried. The soldiers hid their faces so no one could see their tears. But when the music stopped, they took their weapons again.
The Dagda struck the strings a third time, so soft that barely anyone could hear it. He played the Music of Sleep and, although they tried their best to stay awake, the soldiers couldn’t keep their eyes open. One by one, they fell into a deep sleep.
The Dagda, Lugh and Ogma turned around and returned to their own homes.
And ever since that day, the Dagda kept Uaithne close to him.”
