The Green Hills of Memory: Winter Show

Beatrice and Morgan, Ireland, 1101 a.c.

It was winter in Ireland now; the spring between the hills still bubbled along, but under a thin crust of ice. The ditches around Beatrice's fence were frozen over. The skies had threatened snow all day, prompting Beatrice to enlist Morgan in a hurried rework and ensorcellment of the stable to keep Loyal and Fiach extra-warm that night. She'd even tweaked the spell on the ravens' room to keep them comfortable. Once the sun had set, the soft, fat flakes of snow had started drifting to the ground; they'd made one last drive into town, for take-out and groceries to go in Beatrice's brand-new fridge, and made it back to the house before the roads became too treacherous.

After dinner - and a lengthy side-trip upstairs, and a shower - they eventually came to the conclusion that while they certainly could just make love until the snow stopped (Beatrice turned bright red during that part of the conversation), maybe they should take a break now and then.

It turned out that there was a TV under all the clutter in Beatrice's den. Perhaps even more miraculous was the fact that it both functioned and received a fair number of channels, all of them in color despite the questionable age of the television itself. It didn't look like it had been turned on in months - possibly even years - but it did work. A little further searching produced a remote control for it as well.

Beatrice stretched out on the sofa and turned on the set. She'd re-dressed in flannel pants, a t-shirt, and slippers; their relationship was still fairly new, and it was clear that she wasn't quite comfortable wandering around naked with him there yet. She flipped channels a couple of times, and then smiled hopefully at Morgan. "You could turn off a few of the lights," she suggested brightly. "And come and sit here with me... Maybe there's a good movie on."

Morgan was glad to be in Ireland, glad to be away from Amber with Beatrice. Even if he was a bit twitchy at times. Beatrice's house was close enough to town for their convenience, but far enough away that strangers were unlikely to stumble through and get themselves killed. You would think that a War fought in a mystical place wouldn't have any echoes in Ireland, but it certainly did. It wasn't all slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, there were plenty of swords, explosions, gunfire, the cries of the wounded, and perhaps worst of all in Morgan's mind, the cries of wounded and dying horses. A car backfired in town, and Morgan ducked and looked for cover, one of his hands bursting into fire, as he dragged Beatrice into an alley with him. Thankfully, no one was looking too closely, and Morgan disabled the spell quickly enough to escape notice. Morgan was glad to be away from Amber, missing faces, old songs, and the War.

He was wearing a full pajama set Bea had gotten him, a solid green that brought out his eyes. Morgan rather liked their flannel softness, and their warmth. He walked towards her when she called, and he paused when the TV had a burst of static spew from its speaker. He touched the TV, and the image cleared as he smiled. Lights went off both manually and magically, with casual gestures, until he was sitting beside her in a room now mostly lit by the television. He pulled her into his arms, and asked, "D'ye think its proper ta watch 'The Quiet Man' while actually IN Ireland?"

Beatrice laughed softly and leaned her cheek against his shoulder. "Aye, but only in the right season," she answered. "It's too early in the year to be seeing that - but come Saint Patty's Day..." She smiled. "We can come back for that, if you want. This year's parade, it's supposed to start out near Liam's place; I want to introduce you to him anyway. He's only been hearing about you for years." She flicked through a couple of other channels as she spoke - one she just plain made a face at, another was the news - and stopped on a commercial. "He was starting to think I'd made you up," she added fondly. "Which I'm not after blaming him for - after all, it was an unusual and brief meeting we had..."

Morgan smiled, "Bah. It's a fine film, one of my favorites. It is the Brawl I think." He squeezed her a bit. "Or maybe the Redhead." He smirked slightly, "Liam? That's good to hear, I was worried that you didnae have too many friends, what with yer concerns and yer Da's -- peculiarities." He shook his head, "Unicorn knows I didnae have many until I ran for Faery." Morgan chuckled, "Unusual an' brief was it? Aye, I s'pose it was at that. I still kick myself for not tryin' ta tell you, but it was likely the best thing. Ye learned about everythin' naturally enough, better than I could have done."

She smiled a little sadly and set the remote aside on the arm of the couch. "It's truth, it is, that I have few friends. Liam I've known for... ages." She chuckled softly. "Ah, that's no use. I met him when I was near t'eighteen. He and the others, they were seven, eight years younger than me. Ciaran..." The TV flipped from a commercial to what looked like a re-enactment of a riot, just as she trailed off. "...he met with an accident in his twenties. Brianna, she's moved off t'Chicago. Liam's the only one left here of that original group. There's been a few others since, but those three were really my first friends." She slipped her arms around him for a hug. "Don't be after kicking yourself too hard, now. What could we have done but piss him off?"

"Ah, a childhood friend, or near enough." Morgan replied with a nod. He tugged the remote to his hand with a small flex of magic, hit a button or three, and the film 'Charade' came on. He smiled slightly, and then kissed her hair. "I'm sorry about yer friend. That's young for a fellow of this Shadow ta pass on." Morgan nodded, "At least ye ken that Brianna lives, and that Liam is still close at hand. Not many can say they held on to three old Mates for as long as ye did." He hugged her in return, "I was ne'er afraid of yer Da. He was an odd bird, ta be sure, but maybe -- ah, hindsight is always clear, or seems to be." He smiled and lifted her chin for a proper kiss.

Beatrice watched the remote move, smiling faintly. "Now, this was my own idea, and you're stealing the remote from me? Tsk," she teased. "Ciaran was young for it - but he managed to get himself into things that he was too hot-tempered to leave well alone... Twenty, it turns out, isn't invulnerable." She offered him a wry smile just before the kiss, and nuzzled his cheek afterwards. "How have we managed t'find two depressing topics at once?" she asked softly, tilting her head to look at the screen again. "I'm not sure I'm in the mood for this one..."

Morgan chuckled, "Whenya put it down, t'was open tae bein' liberated. Stealin' is such an ugly word." He smiled at her teasing, and then nodded solemnly. "Aye, too right that is. I think I was just out of Faery, or closeta leavin', either way, it was nae an easy year. Still, I've had five times that number, and poor Ciaran only had the one lifetime. Poor kid. An' you." He hugged her, and leaned slightly into her nuzzling. "Two was it? We lead charmed lives, there's no end of depressin' topics for us." Morgan smirked, and flicked the channel, finding 'Coolhand Luke'.

"My own twentieth year was boring," Beatrice offered wryly. "I was after working on one of my first books, but nothing published yet..." She chuckled softly and added, "You're goin' to make me feel young, sayin' things like that - one hundred years is more than a little t'my own. An' I'm startin' to think that you're cheating with that remote. I haven't seen this movie played in Ireland in years." She shifted position, her head against his shoulder now. "Why don't we find something local? You can watch these anywhere."

"Writin' a book is hardly borin'. Especially when its meant to get intae the hands of folks the world over. That's somethin', by anyone's standards." Morgan smiled, and nuzzled her gently. "All of us were young once, I think. I'd not be too sure about Uncle Ben, but I learned about the greatness of his heart, an' feel that even he must've once been a boy." He laughed warmly, and looked surprised, "Me? Cheat? Surely, I'm shocked ye'd even suggest such a thing."

Beatrice chuckled softly and shot him an affectionately exasperated look.

Morgan clicked the remote once again, and an announcement stated that the following teleplay was about to be presented uncut, with parental viewing discretion advised. The film was one about Ireland, made in Ireland, about an American returning to the land of his Fathers. " 'The Outsider', ever hear of it?"

"Sure," she answered, straightening a little in his arms to get a better look at the screen. "There was a bit of a row, in London and other parts, when it came out; I've heard it was intended to be a balanced portrayal, but I never have managed to see it..." Her head tipped slightly, and then she leaned up for a kiss - and to steal the remote back during the kiss. "Let's watch this one - I'll just borrow this little bit of temptation here..."

Morgan made an expression of mild curiosity. Realism wasn't what he watched this Shadow's films for, he preferred the fantastic, which was likely no surprise to anyone. "Ah, did it now? Well then, we'll give it a go. I ken what it's ta be about, but only what I read in papers." Then she was looking for a kiss, and he was giving it to her. She could feel his slight smile against her lips, and a gentle nibble. "Mmm, now, dinnae be thinkin' I didnae think ye'd be stealin' that thing back."

Beatrice smiled at him. "Your accent, it's gettin' strong enough t'chew again," she pointed out in a gently teasing voice. "If you're after keeping that up, I'm sure to lose all th' enunciation I picked up in Amber. Not that I'd be minding that too much; I've been hardly sounding Irish at all." She chuckled softly and settled against him again. "Now, let's see what this is like..."

Once she settled down, she tended to be a quiet movie watcher; she didn't fall asleep, just watched interestedly. She'd shown him that once or twice already; sometimes she even made slight, silent faces if she was unimpressed with what was going on. It didn't take very long for her to start frowning at this movie. The frown wasn't her unimpressed one, though; it was subtly troubled, as the violence and plotting and manipulation unwound on the screen. There was something just as subtly troubled about the tiny bit of tension that came into her during the first half hour.

She shifted away from Morgan after nearly an hour and lightly placed the remote back in his hand. "I think I'm after understandin' why it was so controversial," she said quietly, meeting his eyes. "Why don't you find somethin' else? I think I'm going to make some hot cocoa."

Morgan had yawned a few times by then. He watched with interest, but the film was very -- mundane, and he could follow the background double-cross pretty well. He was an Amberite, after all, and he'd seen fishy business before. He felt Beatrice become tense, and when she sat up, he eyed her speculatively. "You knew someone in the IRA, yeah? If this was goin' ta bother you, ya shoulda said something, Love." He nodded, and grabbed the remote. "Mine with marshmallows."

"It's not that it's bothering me," she answered. "It's just overwhelming; County Tyrone, it's only around twenty-five miles as the crow flies, and there's more than a few that have gone up there over the years. Livin' in Sligo, you can forget how much is going on and how close." She considered the screen briefly again. "It's a fair bit more balanced than most of the documentaries I've seen, so at least that part is true, but I don't think I need to see the end." She smiled a bit after a moment and kissed his cheek as she rose. "I don't remember if we bought marshmallows; you may have to be supplying your own..."

Morgan listened to her and nodded. When she moved to kiss his cheek, he turned his head and caught her lips. "Alright then, Sweetheart, we dinnae have to watch the end. T'be honest, I'm not much for his kind of film, I like the fantastic." He stopped, "Oh, this one seems about right, an' it mentioned Sligo in the credits. 'Attracta', about some 6th Century saint." He hummed a song, and conjured a bag of marshmallows, likely right out of the local market, if the label was any indication.

She smiled brightly at him. "Saint Attracta, she was a student of Patrick himself. It's said she killed a dragon and could heal; there was a time she had convents, but I think they're all gone now. Now, I'll be in the kitchen, dear one." She touched his cheek with gentle affection and headed out of the room.

"If there's dragon' slayin' I'll watch this." Morgan replied cheerfully. "I always wanted to fight a great beastie. I knew a dragon once, I couldnae more slay a dragon than I could march upstairs and slay a Raven."

She returned a little while later, carrying a tray laden with two steaming mugs. "Do you want the left one or the right one?" she asked cheerfully.

Morgan shook the bag of marshmallows, "The Left Hand path, o'course." He smirked and took that mug in particular. He added the marshmallows, and waited until Beatrice sat down, to slip his free arm around her, and gather her to his side. A nod covered them with a comforter, as the movie was narrated and spoken by the actors in Irish Gaelic. "Y'know, I think this is the first movie I've seen in anythin' resemblin' my native tongue."

"It's not often they'll film one in the Irish," Beatrice answered, setting the tray aside and curling up against his side. "More often than they'll film in the Scottish, mind, but not too often. And heaven forbid they film in Welsh." She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "They'd slay the audience with consonants. Here, sweetheart, put the marshmallows here," she patted a hollow in the blanket, just where their thighs rested against each other. "I'm not after puttin' them in my cocoa, but I wouldn't mind eating a few." She turned her attention back to the TV, but curiosity quickly got the better of her. "And what does it sound like, your native tongue?"

"Aye, I dinnae see a lot of global commercial appeal in a film that is entirely in Irish." Morgan smiled and drank his cocoa. "I rather like Scottish and Welsh, Scottish is a bit closer to Hibernian I s'pose." He laughed a bit, "I dinnae mind Welsh, it's a very old language, an' so a little closer still ta home." Morgan placed the bag of marshmallows close at hand, so she could have some. He considered her question after a moment, "I'm not sure what ye'd label the language Under the Hill, Scottish, most likely, with a fair bit of consonants added." He smirked at that, "Hibernian, like I said, very Scottish in a way, but with say a fair bit of Welsh thrown in. The Fey tongue, was more lyrical, as much about posture, appearance, and body language as it was about the words spoken. Less consonants."

Beatrice laughed softly and fished a handful of marshmallows out of the bag. "I'm only teasin' about the Welsh and their consonants," she said cheerfully. "They're fine enough people and it's a fine enough language, though I can't for the life of me understand how they keep their place names straight. I just have a bit of trouble with the language - aye, and the Scottish, too, though I'm a far sight better at the Scottish." She wrinkled her nose and smiled at him. "I always end up back in the Irish if I'm not after paying enough attention. What I was asking," she continued after a pause for marshmallows, "or what I meant to be asking, was if you'd speak a bit for me."

Morgan looked to her for a moment, as if considering her request. "Okay, but I can't be responsible for what happens. The Ravens are likely to squawk, and we'd best leave a bowl of sour milk out, just in case." He smiled, and closed his eyes for a moment. "I spoke these words as the opening to a duel. A Sidhe Lord poisoned my Lady, and it meant a fight, or the appearance of weakness. Words can wield great power Under the Hill."

A subtle change came over, though there were no outward signs, and he did not move too much from where he was sitting beside her. His posture changed, though it would have been difficult for her to tell, were she not leaning against him. A light came into his green eyes, an intensity that she'd never quite seen before (though she would see it again, when he worked greater conjurations), and there was a new weight to his presence, like fingertips upon her skin. Morgan's words were spoken smoothly, naturally, with a tone in his voice that made it sound like a song, even when it wasn't quite that.

"Is truagh nach robh mi 's mo rogha cèile, Air mullach shlèibhte nam beanntan mòr,
'S gun bhi 'gar n-éisdeachd ach eoin na slèibhe, 'S gun tugainn fhéin di na ceudan pòg."

[ooc: I regret I am not with my own chosen mate, On the mountaintop moorland
And no one to listen but the birds of the heath; And hundreds of kisses I would give to her.]

Beatrice listened to him quietly, her head tipped just slightly in that way she sometimes did, as though tipping her head would let her hear more fully. She offered him a warm and affectionate smile when he fell silent again. "That's a lovely tongue, an' no mistake. Thank you." There was a touch of weight to the two words, a weight that acknowledged his concern and appreciated that he'd shared anyway. "I think there's some milk left from the last time we were here, though I'm after thinking it's gone beyond sour and maybe even beyond curdled by now..."

Morgan smiled, "Oh, there's likely no reason for concern. But just in case, I'll 'de-curdle' it a bit, and set some out, along with some water." He shrugged slightly, the Fae Mien fading quickly. "If ye're lucky enough ta still have some of the Folk about, s'better safe than sorry. An' better for your crockery an' so forth, House Folk can get downright mean if they think they've been slighted." Morgan met her eyes, and kissed her lightly. "An' ye're welcome, even with whatya ken, my life must still seem like a storybook, a very grim fairy tale."

"We won't be the only house with a bowl set out for the faeries in County Sligo tonight," Beatrice answered, smiling back at him after the kiss. "Whether they're here or not, th' old beliefs are still alive in all but the most urban areas." She touched his cheek gently and then leaned her forehead against his. "The fairy tales, they're all grim, sweetheart. Cinderella's sisters cut off parts of their own feet. Read enough, and you'll be after findin' cannibalism an' murder an' just plain bad behavior. They're meant t'be warnings, they are." She pulled back a little so he could see her smile again. "And sure, I'm hardly after thinkin' you're a warning to listen to my parents and mind my manners."

Morgan nodded, "I dinnae think we would be. One of the reasons I enjoyed spendin' time out here, the old ways are still here." He nuzzled her after she touched his cheek, and leaned his head to hers. "Oh, aye, wicked an' stupid step-sisters, but Cinderella starts in China, I'm thinkin'." He chuckled, "But that wasnae yer point. Warnings an' instructions in some cases, though I'm wonderin' if those Brothers did the tales a disservice by cementin' them in a book." Morgan shrugged slightly, "Oh, ya mean I might be the guy yer parents warnedya about?" He laughed, and pulled her close for another kiss.

She offered him a sober almost-smile. "No, you're not quite what my parent was after warnin' me about." She kissed him gently and had an actual smile to offer afterwards. "Maybe they did a disservice an' maybe they didn't - the oral traditions, they're all but gone in most places. Writin' down the one version you know, it's sometimes the only way to save the old tales."

"An' a sad thing it is." Morgan replied with a slight shake of his head, "I'm the last ta ken the stories of Avalon's Kingdoms, an' even Faery, but I'm nae sure I'd ever be after writin' them down." He looked thoughtful, "Perhaps I should, but doin' that makes 'em immutable, I'm nae sure I like that." Morgan smiled, "I'll have ta think about it." He met her eyes, "How 'bout we head onta bed, an' I'll tellye a story?"

She smiled brightly at him. "An' they'll only be as immutable as you let them. There's nothin' that says you can't be writing them down a dozen times, changing them each time." She chuckled softly. "I know at least one author that puts out a new version of 'Beauty and the Beast' every few years. Time changes any story, an' I'm after thinkin' even I wouldn't be able to repeat my own stories a few years after I wrote them." She hugged him and kissed his cheek after a moment. "Aye, let's go on upstairs."