He closed the door behind him and slumped against it. Unseemly behaviour for a king of the realm, but since there was no one to see him, there was no one to comment upon it.

Except for Serri, and only Niall or another lir could hear him.

It taxes you; I can see it, Serri said, as if on cue. Only a week, and the coping comes no easier to you.

The Mujhar closed his eye and sighed. "Aye Serri, it does and no, it does not. Jehana has only been dead less than a week and it feels like forever. It feels as though I have lost all despite having everything."

You do have everything. Cheysula, children, meijha, brother, loyal subjects... The wolf's eyes were intent. Lir, he added as though to solidify his point.

"My jehan had many of these things, as well as a few others. It did not make him feel as though he were completely alone in this world."

As Mujhar of Homana, it is your tahlmorra to be alone in many things.

"That makes it no easier to deal with; to cope with."

You have not been coping lir. You run through the forests of Homana as wolf; that hardly speaks to anyone of coping.

"You have been listening to the servants speak," Niall said in weary agitation. There were no secrets, not in Homana-Mujhara, not when there are servants to take notice of things and gossip about it amongst their peers. "I wish you would not."

The servants exaggerate, but there always lies a kernel of truth behind their words. They exaggerate your absences from the palace but that does not mean that you would prefer to run than to face the reality that lies before you. Serri got up from where he lay in the shadows to lean against Niall's right leg. Three days out of the last seven you have gone out to run, to escape your toils in lir-shape. Last night you spent your time in lir-shape. It is no wonder the servants talk.

"And I would go again, if only to ease the burdens upon my soul."

You cannot bury a seed and expect it not to germinate and fester within your spirit lir. The wolf nudged at a hand. You will have to learn that running from your troubles only serves to ease you for a little while, but not forever.

"But these are personal sorrows Serri; they do not encumber me or my responsibilities."

A king cannot afford even that kind of luxury, not when there is a kingdom to govern.

Niall opened his eye to stare into the darkness of his room. It was long since dusk and most of the occupants of the palace had gone to bed unless it was their duty to stay awake.

"Serri I wish jehan were here. He of all people would understand."

He is here, if only in spirit. Serri stepped back from Niall to look up at his lir. They are all here, both in body and in spirit.

Here to watch over their descendants as they are born, grow and die in their turn. They always have, and always will.

Niall's reaction was to turn, open the door, and summon his lir to him, fully intending to go for a run.

He was not expecting to come back to Milliways so soon.

He'd tried as best he could to avoid them. Last night had marked the third night in four days that Niall had spent in a marathon council session, discussing treaties and trade agreements and disputes between the Homanans themselves. Attending him was his lir, the silver wolf Serri, who sat out of the way in a corner, listening intently but keeping himself out of the way. Just as Niall listened, doing his best to train his focus upon an argument involving a trader who had sold goods of questionable make. A woman had purchased several pelts, believing them to be fox fur, but in reality were nothing more than poorly-dyed rabbit fur.

With a wave of his hand, he ordered the furrier to return the woman her money, and to replace the pelts with those from the proper species, and the pair departed in silence.

You are troubled lir; that much I can tell, the wolf said from his place next to the wall.

Aye Serri. I have much on my mind.

And none of it concerns Homana.

Succinct and to the point.

Aye Serri. I wish only for solitude. I wish only to be alone. Niall sighed. Away from all this. Though it benefits Homana that I spend so much time in governance, I wish only for solitude.

Only one more petition to go lir, and then you can have your rest, as you no doubt believe you have earned it.

He closed his eye slowly, a sign that he truly was weary of playing the role of king; that what he needed most was escape.

It did not take long. Minutes if even that.

And Niall was free.

Dismissing everyone with a wave of his hand he left the chambers, Serri in tow. Heading not to the dining hall but to his chambers, where he intended to discard royal garb for something far simpler and far more practical: Cheysuli leathers.

And grabbing his knife, he left his quarters, left the castle, left the city entirely. Outside the walls he allowed the void to swallow him whole and take away everything that could be called "Niall", leaving only a white wolf in place of a man.

And with Serri - who was ever present - he ran off into the fields, the brush and into the forest itself.

Far away.

Away from everything.

Including the demons that gnawed at his soul.

[OOC: First off, I'd like to say that from this post on (both here and in Ian's journal), Niall and Ian will be embarking upon a new chapter in their lives. I've decided that rewriting Track of the White Wolf is far more trouble than it's worth, and though I don't mind the idea of doing just that, I'd much rather focus my energies on something else instead.

So as of this point, Niall and Ian have left the pages of White Wolf and have moved into the 20 year gap between White Wolf and Pride of Princes and Daughter of the Lion.

And given that there's plenty of room to explore Niall as a personality, I figure that this would be the best way to explore his personality, and learn more about the man who had inherited an entire kingdom as well as the struggles waged within it.]

---

Ten years after the defeat of Strahan and Gisella's banishments to Atvia for her attempt at kidnapping her own children for Strahan's uses...

---

The last rays of the setting summer sun bathed the room in a reddish hue as the Mujhar and his meijha, the Erinnish princess Dierdre, along with Niall's five children, had assembled in the dining hall for their evening meal. Most of it was now over, and the servants were busying themselves by clearing away the platters and goblets; exchanging them with jugs of wine and water as well as a few bowls of fruit for those whose appetites were not sated by the generous feast.

And as usual Niall's sons - Brennan, Hart and Corin - as well as his daughters - Keely and Maeve - were engaging each other in a heated debate while Deirdre pulled out her embroidery and began to stitch out a pattern in the cloth. Serri, the ever-patient silver wolf that was Niall's lir, lay underneath the table, doing his best to try and get some sleep in before his warrior and his warrior's mistress had retired for the night.

The sound of ivory pieces hit the wooden table every so often - Hart was busy rolling the dice which as of late had come to fascinate him so, while his twin brother went on, detailing what a proper prince of Homana should and should not be.

"...a prince does not waste his time with silly games," Brennan admonished Hart, who was clearly ignoring him. "A prince cannot afford to waste his time with games when he has more important matters to attend to."

Keely and Maeve on the other hand were, if it was possible, arguing louder than their brothers were. Maeve was busy dressing up a cloth-made doll with miniature clothing as Keely scoffed at her sister.

"I don't know why you insist upon playing with that thing," she said, rolling her blue eyes for the umpteenth time that evening. "Really. You're eleven years old; it's time to put away dolls and start thinking of other things."

"What would you have me think about Keely? My husband, whoever he will be?"

Keely, incensed at this, began to yell at her sister, which broke Niall's reverie and brought him back to reality.

"Would it be too much for a father to ask his children to quarrel in a quieter voice?" he asked, the calm tone of his own voice causing all the talk around him to cease at once. "Though I may be half-blind I am not deaf. And I most certainly am not invisible."

Niall's children - sons and daughters alike - turned their faces towards their father, who was trying to maintain an expression of long-suffering tolerance. Unlike their father's, their faces ran the gamut of emotional expression. Brennan's expression mirrored his father's, while Hart remained somewhere in his dream-like state, and Corin's was impudent. Maeve was the only one who could not look her father in the eye, prefering to give her murmured apologies to the floor beneath her, as Keely gave Niall a defiant look, as though she were challenging him to punish her.

But instead of punishment, Niall merely smiled, causing the scars around the right side of his face to crease around the patch that covered the empty socket that was once an eye.

"I believe," he said, surveying the darkening room, "that it is time for us all to go to bed."

The silence of the children was broken by a series of protests - particularly from Corin and Keely. "Jehan!" the youngest of the five began simultaneously, but Niall merely waved his hand to silence them again.

"Enough talk; it is time for all of us to rest. Tomorrow you can resume your discussions but for now we all should sleep." And with that, he got up, offered his hand to Deirdre, and made his way out of the dining hall, making it plain to all he'd meant what he said.

And once he was out of the hall, he turned to Deirdre. "I'll meet you in your quarters within the hour." She nodded her head and turned to make her way to her chambers as the doors of the dining hall opened again and the sons and daughters of Niall of Homana made their way to their own rooms.

Alone at last, with Serri (who had accompanied the children the way a sheep dog accompanies the shepherd as he tends his flocks) he let out a sigh.

Fatherhood suits you, the wolf said, then trotted off to Niall's quarters.

"It does," Niall said in reply to the wolf before following him to his rooms.

"It does."

[OOC: Since not much happened during the war in Solinde, there isn't a whole lot to speak about. As such we'll just move things along, and fast-forward Niall and Ian to a later date.]

---

There was only the faintest amount of daylight peaking above the horizon when Ian and I left for home that morning. The land all around us was barren; devoid of all life. The Ihlini had seen to that. Using an old military strategy, they had put every square foot of Solindish land to the torch, burning everything that could not move or get out of the way. With no avenue of retreat for the Homanan forces there was no choice but to head towards the enemy and an almost certain death.

I shook my head; I could not understand it. Ian told me that it was an act of desperation committed by a desperate people to win a war they fought with only a handful of men.

A war I'd been sent by my father to fight.

But now I was returning home. With Ian and our lir at our sides.

As important as fighting the Solindish insurgency was, there was no point in my remaining to fight it. There was a greater demand that needed attending, and there was no way for me to deal with it while still in Solinde.

A messenger had been sent from Homana-Mujhara with two missives for me. One from Rowan; one from my mother the Queen. Rowan's message was far more involved than my mother's but both troubled me greatly.

Plague had struck Homana, sweeping through it like a mindless beast, devouring everyone in its path. And like a mindless beast it was an indiscriminate killer. It didn't just affect the Homanans, the Cheysuli too felt the beast's bite.

As did the lir.

As Rowan's message stated, the lir were not immune. And even if the warrior survived, if his lir did not, the warrior is consigned to death, being unable to live without his animal companion.

Slaying one, the beast slayed both.

It was truly a murderous beast indeed.

But that wasn't my only concern. My mother sent word that Gisella had conceived again. If plague was in Homana my heirs were in danger - newborn and unborn both.

There was no choice: I had to exit my role in the war and head for home. And Ian, being my liege man, would join me.

And after giving Sayre his orders to stay and fight the war until it was won, we left for Homana, each of us deep in thought over what lay ahead of us.

[OOC: Over-due posting from Niall, so without further ado, here it is.

Niall's POV; the war in Solinde.]

---

Solinde is not a place I wish to be in even at the best of times.

But as there was a rebellion stirring within Homana's neighbour, I had been sent - along with my brother Ian and a suitably-sized army - to help squash the uprising and thus help maintain the uneasy peace between the two warring realms.

Two warring realms.

The thought made me think of my sons, who would one day inherit from me. There was Brennan, who Serri had told me was first born, and he would inherit the Lion upon my death just as I would inherit it from my father upon his own. And there was Hart, Brennan's twin brother. His realm of inheritance - should he stand to inherit anything or become his brother's liege man as my brother had become to me - had yet to be decided.

And there was still the matter with Gisella. Before I had left she had come to my quarters, demanding my attention and making a request that, the more I thought upon it, nauseated me thoroughly. She had asked that we do it as wolves, and that request made me - briefly - curse the Old Blood in her. Such things only fueled the legends Homanans spoke of in whispered tones and I did not wish for anyone else to hear that the prince and his wife had gone at it literally like a pair of rutting dogs.

Thankfully I had Ian to distract me.

"Get you down rujho!" I heard him shout. I'd been thinking of the fight that had seen us off before we left to fight this uprising.

The bastard - or rather, his supporters - had come to Homana to have thier petition heard and my father deem it valid enough to consider the bastard's request (it felt more like a demand) to be considered a potential heir. Ian had said in a roundabout way that the Homanan's time on the Lion Throne was over; it was time for the Cheysuli to begin their second dynasty, and I would be the second Cheysuli Mujhar in recent history.

Again I asked him if he would take the Lion if I could not. Again he said "no", but I suspected some reluctance in his answer, though he assured me that he would help to raise my heir until he was old enough to take the Lion and rule over Homana as Mujhar.

"Rujho get down!"

"I am down!" I shouted back to Ian as an arrow whizzed by my head. Serri it seemed had noticed it too and was skulking along the ground, tail between his legs to protect his posterior.

Serri are you well? I asked.

Of course, he replied. There is no need to fear for me.

I wanted to say "Aye, there is cause to fear - it had taken me too long to aquire him", but now was not the time for protests. Already he was at my side, warding it from attack as Tasha did the same for Ian.

To think a lir would so readily lay down his life for his warrior, even though doing so would only lead to the death the lir intended to prevent.

And the Solindish, with their Ihlini allies, intended to give us our deaths just as surely as we intended to give them theirs.

Lir. Ihlini. Ahead of you. I turned to look at Ian, who it seemed also knew of the threat, if the expression on his face was any indication. And it was. And just as I had been told their presence would, I felt the link between me and Serri weaken and threaten to fade.

And take our magic with it.

To think that the gods would give us the shapechange, and then take it from us when our greatest enemy presented itself to us...

"They come rujho," Ian said, his voice breaking my reverie. "Bowmen and Ihlini."

They did. And so the fight itself began, lives being taken on both sides, until I stood facing not a Solindishman but an Ihlini servant of Strahan.

"Strahan sends you his regards, Niall of Homana, and says that he'd warned you about wedding Alaric's addled daughter Gisella. You have sons now. New links."

"What does it matter to you?" I asked him, sensing his fear spilling from him like the smoke that surrounded him. "Why does Strahan care?"

"Ask him," the Ihlini said. "That is, if you live long enough to ask."

Enough, I thought, and charged at him as the sorcerer pulled his hand back, as though to toss something at me. But I saw no weapon of any kind, which left the Ihlini as defenseless as I was when it came to magic.

Defenseless as I ran my sword through him.

"Your efforts are wasted," I told him as he died. "Whatever you intended to do it did not work."

The Ihlini merely laughed as the life in him extinguished. How odd that he should face his fate with such humour-

-and then I knew the reason for his levity.

A sharp pain in my shoulder told me that the Ihlini's hand was not as empty as I thought it was.

"Ian! Serri!" I shouted, feeling blood pour down my back, as my mind begain to dim from the loss.

"Serri!" I said again.

Just as the world went dark...

[OOC: Well, now that Niall has his lir, his journey as a Cheysuli warrior has finally begun and we can move on to the next chapter in Niall's life.

Niall's POV, first person.]

"How did I manage to survive before this? Before I received my lir?"

Sul'harai. Though it means "the moment of greatest satisfaction in the union between man and woman", it's also the word the Cheysuli use to describe the shapechange.

And yet, I knew, as every Cheysuli knows - past and present - that this word could not fully encapsulate how the shapechange feels when one actually trades their human form for an animal's.

And I knew, if the Homanans were as blessed as we were to experience this, the fear and distrust they expressed might not exist.

Even if they were blessed, they would find another way to distrust the Cheysuli. It is the way it ever is with men.

The shapechange is a time of being, when one realises the perfection inherent in the animal form. A time unlimited by beginnings and endings. When I wore the shape of a wolf I really and truly was a wolf. There was nothing in me that could be called "Niall". Nothing that could be called "prince" or even "Cheysuli". I was merely a wolf, and yet, I was more than a mere wolf. No wolf ever had the insight and sentience of a man - only lir came close to being this sapient.

Which was why the Cheysuli valued the lir so: they were the best the world of the beasts had to offer.

And I understood - now - why this was so. The lir offer a means to enter another world beyond human ken, and without them it is impossible to even be aware of this world's presence; let alone enter it.

Without the lir full growth as a man and a warrior is simply impossible, because it does not even exist as an option for him.

And I knew why the Cheysuli believed the Homanans unblessed: to have a lir and everything that a lir brings is the greatest gift a man could ever receive from the gods.

The Cheysuli might not be wealthy, but with the lir and their gifts we are truly rich indeed.

...oh gods I thank you for this lir...

[OOC: A few days after this and this. Niall has just had his fateful run-in with Ceinn and the a'saii. I'd love to write out that scene from a fresh perspective, but there isn't the time for that. Instead we start just as Ceinn uses the Cheysuli coercion talent against Niall in order to make Niall believe that he A: had a lir, and that B: that lir is dead, and thus Niall has no choice but to seek out his death in the death-ritual of the clans.

Niall's POV, first person.]

"I promise, for Isolde's sake we will not hurt you," Ceinn said as he placed his hands upon Niall's shoulders. Niall struggled against Ceinn, but it was, in the end, futile. "A lirless man, Niall; you are a lirless man. You have no choice but to seek your ending by the teeth and claws of the beasts, because life without your lir is unthinkable and impossible..."

---

Oh gods, my lir... My lir is dead... Oh gods...

I could not stand it; I would not. The grief I felt was too much. My lir - my soul - had been ripped from me, and now I was left in a state of frenzied despair. A despair that was all-consuming. A despair that demanded an end, however it could be found.

I ran through the forest, through the trees, not caring if I was injured in a fall or tangled up in vines. To me, it was a tolerable kind of pain, unlike the pain that comes when one's lir is taken from him.

My lir... Why did they take something as perfect as you are - were? Why?

I tripped over an exposed root, slamming my knees against the deadfall-covered earth, which was even now in prepairation for the coming fall and winter. My breath stirred the leaves about my face, causing them to dance and whirl and shapechange themselves into the vissage of my now-dead lir.

Gods...

I got up again, not wanting to face my death prostrated upon the ground. I was weaponless, aye, but I intended to face it like a man, and that meant on my feet. I got up, was hit full in the chest with the overwhelming grief and sadness and ran again.

I continued to run for what seemed an eternity, and yet I'd only been running for a few minutes. I was exhausted and a sharp pain began to form in my side, but I cared not. It meant that soon enough I'd find my ending, and that ending would bring relief from my pain.

Yes, it said. It will give you relief.

Aye I said, relief. I want it. I need it, I said.

Then give yourself to us, it said. Give yourself to us; we will give you peace...

Yes, I said. I need peace...

Then give yourself over to us.

I felt and saw darkness envelope me; swallow me. It promised peace. I wanted peace.

No!

Peace... I need it...

No!

But I must...

NO!

"Who are you?" I demanded. "Who are you to deny me what I seek?"

No. Do not, it said.

"Why do you tell me 'no' as if I were a child that you can order about with impunity?"

Not a child, but a man. A man and a warrior. A warrior and a Cheysuli.

"You jest! I am not a warrior or a Cheysuli! I have no lir!"

The words echoed in my mind. And I knew, then, what they'd done to me; what they tried to do, and failed.

There was no lir; I never had one.

Ceinn had tried to send me to a lirless man's death. And failed...

[OOC: Well, since I've tackled Niall, I should take care of Serri as well. After all, the process of finding a lir is one in which both parties seek each other out.

Third person from Serri's POV.]

It had only been a fortnight since the young wolf had been at the bar, and already it seemed he'd completely forgotten his time there. In his mind, the existance of such a distinctly human place was wiped out by a new thought. A new need. And bars that existed at the end of the universe were no longer of any significant importance at all.

A fortnight ago the silver yearling was like any wolf who'd found himself without a pack to call his own. He'd spent several months in search of others like himself that he could spend his days with, and had failed each time - nearly losing his life in the process. And during that time he'd found himself in the strange place he knew was full of humans inside.

But now he found himself wanting human company. He'd been wandering the forest day and night, never stopping; always moving. He had to find this human; he had to. If he did not it could well spell disaster for him. Animals like him that did not find their human companions in time died a horrible death, filled with loneliness and despair and all-consuming emptiness.

He is here. The human is here..., the singular thought ran through his mind. Here. Somewhere.

He had to find this human; it was vital that he do so. The gods that made and shaped this world demanded it.

He had to find him and bond with him.

And tell the human he had a new characteristic.

The wolf now had something very few of his kind ever had before. Something that was beyond the ken of his race. A trait unheard of amongst the world of the wolves.

This wolf now had a name.

Find him. Find him and bond with him...

Onwards he went, hoping with each day that passed that the human he sought would just be around the next corner or shrub.

Find him....

[OOC: takes place a week or so after this. Niall is now off in search of his lir, though he's not yet aware that this is what he's doing.

First person RP, Niall's POV.]

I wish I knew what the cause of this emptiness is...

I don't know how long I had been out in the forests for, but from the fact that the beard on my face was now becoming quite noticeable to anyone who saw me - due to the fact that out here in the woods, there are no silver plates or razors to be had - I'd been gone at least a week now.

And still I was no closer to easing the emptiness that ate at me from the inside out.

I was certain that my father and my brother - and my mother as well - were quite worried about my sudden disappearance. And I wanted to return home; I truly did. But this matter was so pressing that even the desire to give reassurance to my family was outweighed by it. Until I found the means to cure this unending loneliness and craving to have my soul filled, I could not return.

This was too important to be set aside for things like family cares.

Right now, I began to tend to the deer I'd happened upon and killed. He would provide me with food and clothing. I'd brought no food with me when I left the castle, and my clothing was ill-suited to life in a rougher environ, and so the deer would have to provide. As to my horse, he seemed content to browse upon the bushes when he wasn't grazing upon the grass.

At least one of us here does not care if we go back at all...

Once the hide was stretched, I tanned it. And while the leather cured I stared up at the ceiling of the forest, looking for answers that I knew were not there.

Gods why do you leave me to my misery? Why not send me what I need?

Would I ever recover from this crushing despair?

[OOC: Once again we speed things up, because once again we are overdue. Like severely overdue.
Damn that crack!
Ahem.

First-person RP from Niall's POV.]

It was surprising we even managed to pull it off.

Given the chaos of the last few days, after the meeting between Gisella and my mother and father - which ended disasterously; Gisella had somehow created a knife out of thin air, and, calling up godfire, had tried to slay the mujhar (my father's attempts to heal her failed, though that was partially due to my own interference), and the obscene haste in which we'd summoned guests, one could be forgiven for having doubted that the wedding between Gisella and I could even be performed.

Ian had just returned from Clankeep after having performed i'tosha-ni, the cleansing ritual of our clan, looking decidedly like he felt as though he was still far from having his mind, body or soul purified. In fact he was as withdrawn now as he was on the boatride home. I would've inquired about it, but my attentions were elsewhere.

Right now though I was prepairing myself to go through with a marriage my mother insisted (as she had done) for the past week or so was utter foolishness, and that I could do better.

Aye, I could, but the "better" I could've done was gone now. Alaric had seen to that.

And so we - Gisella and I - stood before both priest and then shar tahl and proclaimed ourselves husband and wife. Cheysul and cheysula. I listened to both men, feeling an intense sadness that I had no lir-torque to bestow upon my bride to show to the clans that we were wed. I had no lir; I never would.

And that thought, on what was to be the most important day of my life, had left me feeling empty inside. An old feeling, but tonight it was more intense than before.

Once the vows were spoken, we were free to mingle about. As the hours passed we met and greeted the Homanans who wished us well in our union, and one or two added an additional well-wishing that the baby Gisella was obviously carrying be granted a safe delivery by the gods.

I am starting a new life. Why can I not be happy with it? I have accepted that my fate is to be a lirless Mujhar; why can I not be content with it?

It was dark out by the time my sister Isolde and her husband Ceinn came along to speak to me and my newly-wedded wife.

It would prove to be as disasterous a meeting between 'Solde and Gisella as it was between Gisella and my parents. In one fell swoop Gisella had cast aspersions upon the legitimacy of my sister's parentage, leaving 'Solde devestated, though she tried hard to mask it.

A moment that marked the beginnings of the downward slide of my fortunes that night. The look on Ceinn's face told me exactly what was on his mind: this marriage would only worsen my position within the clans, he told me. And I, in my emptiness-fueled state, had decided enough was enough, and demanded that Ceinn tell Isolde exactly why he had said what he'd said.

And in the span of a mere five minutes Ceinn had told the both of us what his plans were for me, but more importantly, Ian. More importantly still, his plans for his child. If Ian could not - or would not - accept the Lion Throne, then Ceinn's son would take it instead. And Isolde, in a show of incredible strength and self-will, had declared that there would be no son for Ceinn, because there would be no marriage to her either. She pulled off the lir-torque and dropped it at Ceinn's feet.

If I had thought that things could only improve, they did not. Isolde refused to take Ceinn back, declaring him too great a risk towards my life, and the Atvian envoy had proposed an offer to me that could very well have seen him executed. If Gisella and I could not maintain a relationship, that I should look elsewhere for it. In disgust I left the ballroom, the envoy still smiling that disgusting smile of his.

And that's where I ran into Ian.

"An easy target, for an enemy."

I jumped and spilled the contents of my wine-goblet onto the floor. "I wish to be alone Ian."

"I know, which is why I followed you out here."

Words that sparked an argument between Ian and I, in which I accused my own brother of desiring the Lion Throne as Ceinn had no doubt wished he did. Ian bluntly declared that he had no wish to claim it; his place was with me as liegeman.

"One day you will ask me to take it, and I will refuse. One day you will see why."

And he turned and left.

And moments later, overwhelmed by drink and emptiness, I left too.

Outside.

Into the forest. On horseback.

Where destiny and my relief from the soul-searing emptiness awaited.

[OOC: There were scenes I wanted to write out from a fresh perspective, but given it's been nearly two weeks...
And I want to move things along...
We'll just speed things up a little bit so we can get to more important matters.
Niall's POV]

He stood there atop the Dragon's Skull, a torch in his hand, his mind full of thoughts.

He thought of his last hours in Kilore, how Shea of Erinn had pardoned him, but with conditions. Ierne, Liam's wife was heavily pregnant and due to bear a child. Shea requested that, should the child prove to be a female, that she wed Niall's son. And Niall agreed; this was a promise he could not break.

He thought of Liam, who, like his father Shea, had told him that Deirdre would be staying in Erinn. She was no man's whore; they would make sure of it.

And he thought of Ian, who stood nearby. Ian. Who had been rendered lirless by the storm that had stranded them in the Idrian Isles months before. Ian, who was bound up by magic to remain in Atvia, courtesy of Lillith. Ian, who wished more than anything to be permitted his last request: to honour the death of his lir by performing the death ritual. Something Lillith had denied him.

And Gisella. Gisella it seemed was always on his mind - asleep or awake.

Gisella, Alaric's daughter.

He thought of how, on a whim, she had summoned godfire with absurd ease while telling them that Lillith, not Bronwyn, was her mother. He thought of how Ian had tried to get her to stop, and Gisella, in her madness and rage, had shapechanged into a black mountain cat. And she would have slain them both, had Alaric not intervined.

He thought of the previous night, how, in a brief moment, his wits had deserted him, and he was left helpless to her. To do as she bid. And how he'd followed her to her bed.

And now they stood, all of them: Lillith, Alaric, Ian, Niall and Gisella, on the Dragon's Skull, overlooking the black waters below.

"Light the fire Niall." Alaric's voice. "Light the fire. We need to light the beacon-fire so ships can find their way home safely.

Yes, they should do that, Niall agreed silently. The Dragon's Tail was dangerous even at the best of times. Niall knew that all too well.

"The fire, Niall. Light the fire." Again, Alaric's voice.

"Niall I want to see the fire." Gisella this time.

Gisella. For Gisella he'd do anything.

But he had no idea why.

"The fire Niall. I want to see the fire. It is so pretty..."

Aye, it was, he mused, and lowered the torch to the pile of wood that stood before him, then stepped back as it roared to life. The Dragon's breath had been kindled, and only the foolish would dare get too close.

"Pretty..." Gisella half-whispered. "So pretty..."

"Aye, that it is," Alaric said, in a tone of immense satisfaction. "I wonder if Deirdre of Erinn can see it too."

"Deirdre..." Gisella began, then sang, "No more Deirdre! No more Deirdre! Niall is all mine now!"

Deirdre... Shea... Ierne, Sean... Deirdre... The House of Eagles... Niall was filled with dread. Alaric had told him earlier that a beacon-fire was the signal Alaric would give when he decided that his final orders as far as Kilore and the Eagles that lived in its aerie were concerned. A beacon-fire to tell them that Alaric's orders of assassination were to be carried out at once.

And Niall had lit the fire.

Deirdre...

"No more Deirdre!" Gisella continued to sing.

"That's right. No more Deirdre. No more threats to your happiness, my poor little kitten. My poor fragile sparrow. No more Deirdre. Now you can be happy. You can be queen."

Gisella turned to her father. "When can I be queen?" she demanded.

"Soon my little one. Very soon. You must first go to Homana. There you can be queen."

"But I want to be queen now..," Gisella said with a disappointed tone, then turned to watch the fire burning atop the Dragon's Skull. "Pretty..."

But not to the House of Eagles, who sat in blissful ignorance of its true significance...

[OOC: Note - this is a long entry, and a particularly overdue one at that.

Kilore's dungeons; Niall's POV.]

Chains.

And shackles.

He could feel them even before he opened his eyes. He was no longer in the bar. He was in the dungeons again. Which meant he was back in Kilore; in Shea's castle in Erinn.

He sighed. He had hoped to be free of the dungeons and Shea and the king's wrath, but here he was, about to face a fate almost as bad as permanent lirlessness.

He didn't bother to open his eyes; there was no need to. There was no light in these dungeons, so it didn't matter if his eyes were open or not. His surroundings would be as dark with them open as they would be closed.

Too bad he could not close his nostrils. An unmistakeably rank smell of dampness and mildew and sweat filled the air around him, and he felt his throat burn from the invisible fumes created by human waste and the aroma of dead animals rotting about the room. His eyes too began to itch and burn and he could feel tears running down his cheeks as his eyes did their best to rid themselves of the effects of the terrible conditions around them.

'A pity you did not think of this when Deirdre came to you that night. You might've eventually managed to secure your freedom from Shea if you had not despoiled his daughter so,' he told himself sternly.

Deirdre. She was the one responsible for his being here, and for a brief moment his anger flared at the thought of her. She was the one who'd come to him, and not the other way around. Deirdre had sought out his company; Niall had not sought hers.

But he knew better. It did not matter who sought out whom; all that mattered was what had happened, and when Shea came for him, it would not matter who seduced whom - all that counted in the end was that a king's daughter had been ruined by another man. No one would want her now; she was spoiled goods, and no amount of begging and pleading would spare him what Shea no doubt had in store for him.

Niall's anger subsided. It would not do to be angry now. He was going to die - he was sure of it - and he did not intend to leave this world in a negative frame of mind.

The sound of rusted hinges creaked was distant in his ears, as was the rattle of keys and a man's voice. Shea's voice, giving someone orders. Who Niall could not tell, but then again, it did not matter. Nothing mattered now.

A clunking sound and the door swung open, causing light from a candleflame to spill into the room. It wasn't particularly large, the flame, but compared to the total darkness of the dungeons, it was blinding.

"Niall." It was not a question or a request; it was a statement.

"Aye."

"Is this how Donal of Homana raises his son? Is this how the Mujhars of Homana rear their heirs? To defile the daughters of foreign kings? To break their paroles when they have been shown nothing but honour?"

"No."

"No? Is that all ye can say in your defense?"

"Do not judge my father for what his son has done."

He could tell just from Shea's voice the extent of his pain; how the man hurt from the pain he felt. From the rage and the anger he felt at what the man at his feet had done to him and his daughter.

"Do not judge him because of me."

"What have ye to offer for an explanation lad? What do you have to say in your defense?"

"I have nothing I can say. I have thought of it, aye, but there is none that I can give. Nothing I can say that would be sufficient enough to explain all that has happened."

"Was she willing lad?"

This was not the answer he was expecting. He had not expected Shea to ask him about Deirdre's willingness that night. He had fully expected Shea to simply come down to the dungeons and lay out the sentence Niall knew he would be given.

But not this.

"Aye."

"And did ye accept because it was offered, or because you wanted it; needed it, like any man wants and needs a woman?"

"Aye."

"She was not willing to betray ye lad, but she could not hide the truth, not when it was so obvious how unhappy she was. How diminished her spirits seemed to be." He paused. "She said she was as willing as ye said."

He could hear Shea draw in a heavy sigh. No doubt Shea was preparing himself to tell Niall what his punishment would be. That any minute now Shea would give the date and time for Niall's execution.

"By the laws of Erinn ... by the laws of my kingdom, I am fully within my rights to see you executed for this."

"In any man's kingdom, my lord."

"And yet you are Donal's only legitimate heir."

This Niall was not expecting.

"I would have ye both wedded were it not for a betrothal made between your father and Alaric. I know both of ye would be grateful for that, but betrothals are not idly cast aside, not even for the love between two people. Especially not betrothals like the one between ye and Alaric's only daughter."

Niall was silent - there was little he could say; the incredulity he felt at that moment kept his tongue still.

"I will not keep ye here any longer. There are things in your home that must be dealt with - war and bastards and the battles being waged for your throne. I will send word to Alaric that you will be leaving for Atvia within the day. For now, we shall make ye presentable. Ye cannot be sent to Alaric in the odourous state ye are in. As much as I despise Alaric, I will not subject Gisella to such unpleasantries."

Shea turned and exited the room, giving instructions to the guardsman to remove the Homanan prince from his bindings, and that he should be bathed and given fresh clothing before he was sent on his way, leaving Niall alone in the darkened room to think about the unbelievable turn of luck he'd just been given.

[Takes place after this.

Liam's POV this time.]

He stared down at the unconscious form of Niall lying supine at his feet. A bruise was even now beginning to form where he had hit him, and for a moment he felt a twinge of guilt for what he had done. But then Liam's mind turned to Deirdre, and what the unconscious man had done to her, and all guilt was driven out of his mind.

'Time to show you some real Erinnish "hospitality", princeling...,' he thought angrily as he bent down and did his best to move the not insubstantial bulk of Niall's body onto his horse, which protested against the weight. "Oh hush you; it's only temporary..," he told the animal as he secured Niall to the beast. "A short walk up to the castle and you can be rid of him." And grabbing the reigns, he led the animal back up the bank, up towards the clifftop and towards the fortress that Liam and the rest of the House of Eagles called "home".

And once inside, he barked out an order towards a servant to have Niall tossed into the dungeons. It was where he ought to be after all, and they did not waste time following their prince's orders, knowing that it was unwise to protest his decision while he was as angry as this.

"Throw him in; chain him up. My father can deal with him afterwards..," he said as the shackles were placed upon Niall's wrists. "I'm done here..."

[I'll keep this short: Niall's POV, the day after his last post.]

He could not believe his good fortune.

He'd been looking for the last two days for an opening that would allow him to escape, and today, at last, one had presented itself.

Niall and Liam, Shea's son and prince of Erinn had agreed last night to spend the day out on the moors of Erinn that overlooked the Dragon's Tail hunting with the hawks on horseback. He watched as the hounds would search the heather and grass for suitable quarry, and once they'd flushed them out, Niall or Liam would let their birds fly to catch the feathered prey on the wing. And after several hours they had managed to aquire several quail and pheasants for the table tonight.

It had been such an enjoyable day that Niall had almost forgotten his desire to make good on his promises to Rowan and to Deirdre that he would, somehow, escape this place, find his bride and return to Homana where they could be properly wed.

A good thing he hadn't, for just before they were to return a member of Shea's serving staff had run out towards the pair demanding that Liam see his father at once. And once he'd gotten Niall's promise that he would remain where he was until the prince's return, he rode back to the castle as fast as his stallion could carry him.

Niall looked at the falcon that sat hooded and jessed on his arm and thought for a moment that he should at least return her to the mews before he made his escape. But doing so would only delay him and make it even harder for him to escape. He slipped off the hood, causing the bird to blink rapidly from the sudden light and look about for potential quarry once she had recovered from her momentary blindness. But there was no quarry to be found. Niall slipped the jesses from his gloves and with an upward motion of his arm, sent the bird into the air to seek her own prey, with the dogs running and yapping after her.

This was his chance and he had to make good on it. He turned the horse towards the cliff and steered it down the slopes, dislodging rocks and divvets of dirt as they made their way down. And after a few moments, he jumped out of the saddle and slid the rest of the way down.

'...freedom...'

Finally he'd be free and he could go home. All he needed was a boat and he'd be off for Atvia. And Gisella. And given Kilore was a coastal town, finding a boat would be unbelievably easy.

'...almost there...'

He ran towards the docks, seeing a reasonably sturdy vessel tied up and bobbing up and down on the waves.

And behind him, an angry shout, announcing that Liam had returned.

No time for that; he was almost there...

And then he found himself cut off.

And on the ground, spitting blood from his mouth while Liam voiced his rage.

Niall tried his best to protest; that he had to, that he had to leave, in order to retrieve the one he'd come out all this way to get: Gisella. That the prophecy needed to be fulfilled and the only way to do that was to go through with a marriage he did not want or desire.

Liam screamed in fury. And then told him the reason for his rage: Deirdre. Deirdre had told her father of what she had done, and Liam was furious.

"False prince! You have betrayed my father's trust, and mine! When we have honoured you with our favour!"

Niall tried his best to calm the situation and bring sense back to the furious prince, but it was no use.

"I should slay you where you are!"

"Give me a knife then!"

"I'll do no such thing! I won't give you the honour of a fair fight!"

And before Niall could say anything else, Liam drew back his fist-

-and drove it straight into Niall's head.

If Liam had said anything else to him afterwards, he did not hear it. Liam's blow had rendered Niall unconscious...

[The second of two posts, Niall's POV.

Setting: the night before Niall makes his bid for freedom.]

He sat there at the table, in the guest's seat, a roaring fire burning behind him.

But despite this he felt cold - both inside and out.

Deirdre had become sullen and dispirited, and Niall did not know why.

Two nights previous she had been as happy and as buoyant as she had been when he first came to Erinn. It was her irrepressible charm and gaity that had made his imprisonment in Erinn (he knew better than to believe himself "guest", despite the hospitality Shea of Erinn gave to him) more tolerable than it could've been. He was supposed to have gone to Atvia months ago to collect his cousin-bride, but a storm in the Dragon's Tail had changed all that.

It was Deirdre who made the pain of loss easier to bear; Ian and Tasha, the mountain cat who was Ian's lir had been with him, though he knew both would've preferred to remain in Homana. But as Ian was liegeman to his younger brother, the Prince of Homana, he was obligated to go. But he would never return - the storm had claimed both cat and man in its fury.

He had watched as Deirdre shared him the secrets and magic of her home. He remembered the night on the tor, where Deirdre had brought the stillborn colt to be placed upon the altar for the cileann to come to collect it.

He remembered all those nights - nights just like this one - spent with the family, watching them as they interracted and listened to their stories, both of days gone by and the legends and magical stories of their land.

He did not regret his time here, but he knew that however kind his hosts were, they would not let him leave. No matter how important it was. He was a pawn caught in an age-old battle between two kingdoms ruled by two kings who argued and fought over a title that meant as much to him as the lir and the Cheysuli's traditions meant to the Erinnish.

And until tonight he had enjoyed his time, making the most of it while he had it, for he knew it would soon end.

And it was that inevitable end that had brought Deirdre, princess of Erinn to his side and his bed, to declare to him what she felt for him.

But instead of making Deirdre smile, it had left her quiet and withdrawn.

His heart hurt to see her this way. He had wanted to make her his wife, but the prophecy and the betrothal made long before he had been born had chosen another woman to play that role. And no doubt Deirdre was regretting her choice. After all, she would've made a fine wife for another man, another king.

But not anymore.

She had despoiled herself in an act of impulse and now no man would have her. And no doubt that too was eating at her heart as much as her act of defiance was.

He took a sip of his wine.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would make an attempt at escape.

He had hurt Deirdre greatly, and would hurt her again. He had to leave, to claim his bride and declare the union made, whether Deirdre liked it or not.

Tomorrow.

Whether Deirdre liked it or not he was leaving this place.

And when he was home he would send for her and give her the honours every meijha was given.

But only if he could get away...

[This will be the first of two posts - one featuring Serri; the other Niall.

Setting: four months after the events of late winter/early spring. Serri's POV.]

Waiting. Waiting. The hunt, now as always, was a game of waiting. One in which both sides stood poised and ready for action, waiting for the other side to make the first move.

Ahead of the pack stood a herd of deer, each one tense and ready to flee at the slightest hint of danger. Though winter had reduced their numbers, it was summer now. And the fawns that had been born were now much older and fleeter than they were before. Catching them would not be easy and they all knew it. The herd knew their enemies were there, even though the pack lay just out of sight, waiting for their prey to make a move and show just how much they had recovered in the weeks and months since the winter snows melted away revealing lush growth for them to feed on.

The silver wolf sat next to a ruddy female, watching the quarry with enthusiasm. He hadn't participated in a hunt since the cubs had been born only weeks earlier - he was needed as a guard and chewtoy for the whelps as they stumbled awkwardly about. But now that they were more or less mobile, the yearlings could once again take part in the hunt, and the silver was eager the chase.

But the deer would not move.

Instead they stood their ground, refusing to budge. If they were going to move, they would have to be forced into it. And the longer the pack waited, the greater the tension between them grew, and the silver was getting impatient. If the pack would not run the herd, he would have to do it himself.

And without waiting for permission, the silver charged.

And the deer, seeing the signal they had been instinctively waiting for, fled, tails flagging as they ran, snorting and whistling out their alarm calls so that all animals in the forest knew of the threat.

And just as instinctively, the pack gave chase. Though the silver had broken rank by acting without permission, there was the chance that a meal might come out of this, and the cubs would be fed.

If the herd showed any kind of weakness, and from the looks of things, there wasn't any to be found. They were fat and fit and healthy, and easily left their pursuers behind.

The silver stopped, sensing that there was no point in further pursuit. There was no point in wasting further energy in a futile chase; they may have been hungry but they were not desperate either. And while he sat and watched as the herd ran off into the forest, the old brown male was coming up behind him. This youngster had not learned his lesson and had broken his rank and the brown had had enough of it.

He charged at the upstart and a brief-but-bloody battle ensued, leaving the young silver limping and whining in defeat.

But it wasn't enough. Now the whole pack was there, and now that the herd had left, decided to chase the upstart instead. They were chasing him, and there was no doubt what their intention was.

They were chasing him to exile him.

He was leaving the pack and their decision was not a request. If he wanted to survive he would have to make his fortunes elsewhere.

And so he fled. As far away as his legs and his heart could carry him. Away from the pack and the lands he had called "home" all of his life. Away from everything and everyone he knew to roam the world as a lone wolf in search of another of his kind to become his companion and possibly his mate.

But none of this would ever happen. There would never be another wolf in his life ever again.

This would be the last time in his life that the silver would spend in the company of his own kind, for at that moment the gods had decided that there was another purpose for him.

And that another creature would serve as his companion in life.

And that he would have to be ready for him.

A Cheysuli warrior, believing himself long past the age for receiving a lir would soon be embarking upon his search for his animal companion.

And the young wolf would have to be prepared...

( OOC Note. )

I lay there on my bed, my mind drifting off to the events of the previous night. It was not yet dawn outside, and yet I was awake, staring at the ceiling above me, the darkness of the room slowly giving way to light. I thought of many things, but most of all, I thought of her.

Deirdre.

Deirdre of Erinn, daughter of Shea of Erinn and one of the many proud and royal eaglets who called Kilore "home".

I thought of me lying in bed, just as I was doing now, and Deirdre coming to visit me. At that time my thoughts were on darker things: my brother, who must surely be dead, for I have heard no word of him. The war that was stirring at home. The a'saii who wished me removed from the line of succession. And the faceless bastard who called himself Carillon's son and who commanded an army wishing to see him placed upon the Lion instead of me, claiming him a better candidate for Mujhar than I, for I was not wholely Cheysuli, since I had no lir, nor ever would either.

We spoke of many things. Of Cheysuli and Homanans. Of her and my designated Atvian bride.

But not for long.

Deirdre was determined to make her feelings known, and I, wanting it as badly as she did, was more than willing to comply.

I enjoyed that night, and I am certain Deirdre did as well, though were her father to find out about what his princess had done, how she had given away her virtue to a man who was not her husband or even her chosen suitor. How she had given it away knowing that the man she gave it to was promised to another woman.

And at the time, I had opted to give her the only compromise I could: I would take her as meijha if I could not take her as cheysula. If not wife, then light-woman. Though Deirdre would've preferred otherwise, she accepted it.

But now...

Less than a few hours later Deirdre had changed. In a matter of hours she had gone from bright and bold to sullen and retiring. Where once she was spirited and happy she was now in a depressed state. Meijha or no, she was never going to play the role she wanted to in my life, and we both knew it, and neither of us liked it very much.

As much as I did not wish to admit so to myself I began to realise I had made a mistake.

Today.

Today I would look for an opportunity to make good on my promise to Rowan and leave this place; leave Erinn.

All I'd need was an opportunity and a boat destined for Homana.

One way or another I had to go home.