Tirnan'Oge

by Amanda McIntyre

  Roan stood for a moment on the road where his life had changed forever. What might have happened had he not gone back for his watch?

  The same sun hovered on the horizon, like a great fireball casting the tall pines around the pond as dark sentinels against the purple sky. The familiarity of twilight was his constant.

  His spirit was rejuvenated here, more than anywhere else on earth, and deep down, he knew it had to do with Feeorin’s presence in this place.

  Roan had twice searched for the magical entrance to the fae kingdom but never found it. After the second time, he found that he was just as content to rest on the bank and let the magic of the place replenish his desire to continue his writing.

  Roan questioned what Feeorin’s life was like. Had she married? Did she look different? According to legend, Tirnan ‘Oge was the land of perpetual youth.

  He raked a hand though his hair, now tinged with threads of silver-grey. He wore it long to his collar, by preference, but each time he looked in the mirror he was reminded of his mortality. Would Feeorin find him as appealing if she were to come to him today?

  He was restless tonight, more so than he’d been in a long while, not since Meghan and Will had left. His dreams had turned once again to being with Feeorin, of waking to her sweet face everyday. Was she reaching out to him or was this the torment he would face the rest of his days?

  Roan found his favorite spot beneath the ancient oak tree and waded a few feet into the pond, soaking the hem of his jeans. He cast out his line, flipping it once just as his da had shown him, claiming that the small gesture was a secret to catching fish.

  The old tree’s limbs now hung precariously low, stretching out over the middle of the pond. With his cast, Roan’s line tangled, in the wooden fingers of the branch, and jerked the pole from his hand. The rod careened through the air and landed with a soft ker-plop in the, obscure green water.

  Heaving a sigh of resignation, Roan climbed the overgrown path to the knoll above. Once he’d determined it to be sturdy enough, he carefully crawled out on the offending branch that held his fishing rod hostage.

  He never thought much about keeping fit, but he supposed he could thank his nightly walks for the dextrerity it took to maneuver over the thick limb.

  Roan mumbled as he inched his way over the water, “Note to self, bring a saw next time and cut down this pain in the arse branch.”

  The gentle sway of the tree he’d found a thrill as a boy, was now plain irritating. He spied the annoying hook, barely snagged on a thin twig. Just a few more inches and he’d be able to flick it free….

  A deafening crack alerted Roan that he wouldn’t have need of his saw. His body jerked once as the great branch gave way and fell into the deepest part of the pond. The motion tossed him like a rag doll over the edge, pushing him into the chilly blackness. Only one thought entered his mind as the water rushed over his head and the faint light from above disappeared. He was going to drown.

  ***

  A sharp nudge against his cheek brought Roan instantly aware of his surroundings. Groggy and unsure how long he’d been underwater, he noted a thin branch bobbing precariously near his face. And he realized with some confusion that he was still submerged.

  Instinct caused him to squirm, his foot searching for hold, something to push off of. The toe of his boot touched something solid and he forced himself upward, straining his face toward the murky surface above.

  An incessent tug on his boot kept him secure, and he realized with a sickening reality that he was caught. Jerking at his foot with greater determination, he fought the fear rising in his mind and tried to focus on saving his breath.

  From the corner of his eye, a hazy white apparition drew near. He glanced toward the movement, his eyes beginning to sting from the freezing temperature of the water. Unable to determine the shape of the watery ghost, the thought crossed his mind that he might be dead and this was an angel come to retrieve his soul. Whether it was fear of dying or the unknown, a flash of life sparked inside of Roan. He didn’t weant to die today.

  He tore off his heavy flannel shirt, its weight impeding his movement. Then he plunged down through the swirling water and found his boot. He fumbled unsuccessfully with the laces, his fingers numb from the cold.

  A delicate brush on his flesh startled him and he flung himself away, searching for whatever touched him. Already he could feel his lungs growing heavy as they filled with water. Before him, though certain it was all in his mind, was the image of his beautiful Feeorin.

  Surely, he was dying.

  Her silvery hair floated luxuriously around her as they stared at one another. She smiled and Roan ceased his struggling, succumbing to the inevitable. The apparition moved toward him, her hand smoothing over his torso. No heaviness clung to his lungs and no fear clouded his mind. His gaze held hers, locking to her image, determined to remember her.

  She placed her lips on his, gentle in her quest for response. Strength fused back into his body with alarmingly clarity. Roan tugged her into his embrace, kissing her like the dying man he thought he was.

  In the next moment, he was crouched on hands and knees on the grassy bank, coughing up pond water.

  “‘Tis the second time I’ve saved yer hide, Roan McNamara. And let me just say that you’re not the spry lad you once were.”

  His chest hurt from trying to take in too much oxygen, too fast. “Am I dead?” he choked out the words, figuring if he heard them that would be a good sign.

  “Nary not long, I imagine, had I not come to your aid.”

  The voice swimming in his thoughts was that of his dear, sweet Feeorin. Was this all in his imagination?

  Roan lifted his head and brushed sodden strands of hair from his face. “Who plays such trickery?” he sputtered through gasping breaths. “I pray I’m not dead, but if I am, I pray that I’m in my sweet Feeorin’s company.”

  “Then ye have not forgotten me as they said you would.”

  A cool hand touched the damp hairs of his chest and with a single deep gasp, life-giving air surged into his lungs.

  He reached out and grabbed her hand, holding tight until he could clear his senses. Sure as the stars at night, Feeorin stood in front of him, her concerned pale blue gaze resting on his face. “I’ve waited so long to see you again. I hought you were no more than a figment of my imagination.” Roan couldn’t contain the emotion in his voice. He drew her into his arms and held her tight, wanting to feel her heart against his. The scent of her hair and her familiar curves etched deep in his memory like it was only moments ago since he’d last held her.

  His lips found her shoulder, leaving a soft caress of his appreciation and adoration there. “I’ve never forgotten you. It’s like a part of me was gone. The best part of me.” He took her face, warm and alive in his hands, and drank in her beauty. “You haven’t changed. It must be true then, what they say about Tirnan ‘Oge.”

  She grinned. “‘Tis true as I stand before you. If you are now ready, there yet is a way we could be together, Roan McNamara. You know it as well as me. You’ve only to love me as you would a human woman and I shall be free to live as a mortal for the rest of our days.”

  Capturing her warm mouth, Roan wanted to satisfy his fierce, carnal hunger. Unable to find an opening to her gown, he hesitated briefly as he pulled his gaze back to hers.

  “Love me, Roan. Take me as your own.” Her eyes pleaded with longing.

  Or was all of this a dream?

  His heart filled with desire, he kissed her fully. Her tongue mating with his tasted of sweet, summer days, bringing to mind simple pleasures and a peace of mind such that Roan hadn’t known for many years.

  There was no doubt he wanted her and this time his need, set aside for so long, was great, effectively nudging aside the sense of danger that crept into his brain. His body burned to mate with her.

  Roan turned her in his arms, pulling her against his chest as he buried his face in the still coolness of her neck. His hands c
urved beneath her firm breasts, his thumbs finding her soft tips aroused by his touch. His fingers caressed, coaxing from her a soft, womanly sigh. No novice to the sensual pleasures between male and female, Feeorin pressed against him, urging him to quell his fever.

  “This is what I want, Roan. I want to be with you like this for the rest of our days. Whatever that may hold, however many of them we may have together.” She rubbed her bottom against the swollen bulge in his jeans and encouraged him to satisfy a passion as ancient and potent as time.

  Roan was more than ready to give in to his desire and grant hers as well even as Feeorin’s moans of pleasure encouraged him.

  He cradled her firm breasts beneath the sheer gown she wore, allowing himself the luxury of trailing kisses over her bare shoulder. His fingers slid beneath her gown’s straps and his heart pounded hard against his chest as the garment pooled at her feet. She stood naked, her skin shimmering powder blue in the light of the harvest moon. Roan’s heart beat hard in his chest.

  She was offering herself to him without hesitation and without concern for her own mortality. How could he not react with total reverence for this woman whom he now believed with a full heart was his soul mate?

  Roan kissed the warmth of her neck, his hands gliding over her body, knowing from his dreams her every curve. His hand covered her soft curls and dipped lower, stroking until she pressed against him with pleasured sighs.

  He wanted to be inside of her and bring her over the edge, and his stroke deepened with his fertile fantasy, relishing finally being able to touch her in the way he’d always dreamt.

  “More,” she whispered, turning her face to the warmth of his neck.

  He captured her mouth, plunging his finger deep and held her tight as she sank against him with a soft moan. Her kiss drugged his senses and he abandoned all reason to that of pure, carnal pleasure.

  Feeorin’s hand moved over his, the other cradled his head as she offered him slow kisses that sent his mind into oblivion.

  Finally, he would not have to live this torment of walking this earth alone. Never again would he have to awaken at night and pretend to feel her petal soft skin against his. Never would he have to face the dawn with no one at his side. One act, a few moments in time, and she would be his. Together, to the end of their days, they could share moments of such passion, so exquisitely matched, so destined to be.

  “Is this what you’ve dreamed of, Roan?” she sighed. “We are one soul that was never meant to be divided.”

  Roan fought the urge to take her fast, wanting to claim her as his own, not wanting to sacrifice his sanity any longer.

  Her sighs grew more desperate, her knees buckled once so that he held tight to her waist to hold her upright. She propped her foot on his knee, opening herself wide to his loving hand. He grew harder just knowing he was the master of her exquisite pleasure.

  Abandoned to his minstartions, she leaned against him, curling her hands around his neck. Synchronized in a rhythm as old as time, their hips moved together as he plunged one, then two fingers deep inside. And with a sound that carried on the wind, so sweet and powerful that it set the birds to flight, she milked his fingers with her climax and collapsed in his arms.

  Roan knelt in the soft grass, turning her beneath his body as he fumbled with his zipper. Freeing himself, he pressed her legs apart, poised to quell the fire buring inside him. Her eyes, still glassy bright with arousal, shone up at him.

  Yet, amid the euphoric need, another image popped into his mind. Not one of seeing the pleasure on her face as he brought her over the edge again, but one of pain, sorrow and guilt. He saw himself seated in the pew, the very same where he’d sat at William’s mass, only this time the ornate coffin was surrounded by wildflowers, and inside, her delicate hands folded over her chest, her pale blue skin now pasty white, lay Feeorin.

  His stomach lurched and Roan rolled away, pulling his jeans up like a boy caught in a naughty act. He sat for a moment, catching his breath, waiting for the nausea in his gut to subside. When at last he thought he would be able to handle it, he looked over at Feeorin’s expression of hurt and shock.

  “I’m sorry, Feeorin, I can’t. I just can’t.” He shook his head and dropped his face into his hands. “God help me. I must be insane.”

  “‘Tis true then, ye do not care for me?”

  Roan shook his head and looked then at her beautiful face, the one he’d wanted to see for so long. “No, you’re wrong. Can’t you see that it’s because I do care for you… because I love you, that I cannot impose my mortality on you? Even as much as I desperately want you.”

  “Then come with me now to Tirnan ‘Oge and live forever as we are now. We can plead our case before the king and he’ll see how deeply you care for me. Surely, he’ll allow you to stay. We need never be apart again.”

  Her hand touched his shoulder and like a conduit, her intense passion for him surged through his body, causing him to shudder. Roan swallowed and averted his eyes from her questioning gaze. Desire for what he wanted, what would be perhaps the easiest to take from her in this vulnerable state, warred with the promise he’d made to himself to keep alive the myths and legends of her people. “If I went with you now, who would be left here to tell your stories? Until I know they’re in circulation, until I know they’ll be remembered, I cannot leave.”

  He stood, helping her to her feet and took her face in his hands, hoping to convince her as well as himself of the insanity he was proposing.

  “If the stories aren’t kept alive, then Tirnan’Oge may cease to exist. I cannot go with you yet. There are many stories left to write. They need to be recorded so that people everywhere will know and believe in your world. There’s much yet to be done. It’s my duty to see it to completion.” His enthusiasm affirmed his mission and the beliefs that he held dear in his heart. But the expression on his sweet Feeorin’s face gave way she felt otherwise.

  “Are you the only one who believes? Are you the only one who can tell the stories? Are there not others? Why must you deny yourself a little happiness? No, why must you deny me a little happiness?” Feeorin adjusted her gown over her delicate shoulders. “You neither want me in your world, nor do ye wish to enter mine. That is what I see, Roan McNamara.”

  Roan shook his head. “No, my sweet love, more than anything I wish I could make things simple. You must know that you’re my life. It’s for you that I live as I do. One day, we’ll be together. I promise you that. Until I know that your stories will be kept alive through the next generations of humans, I must stay here, and you in Tirnan ‘Oge. Only then, will I know you’re safe.”

  He brushed his palm against the delicate softness of her cheek. “Do you understand how much I love you?”

  Feeorin pressed her cheek to his palm, closing her eyes, and sighed. “Aye, and ‘tis your loyalty to my world that I love so much about you.”

  She opened her eyes, her gaze settling deep inside Roan. “I’ve remained yours these many years and will always be, Roan McNamara. But the truth is that a faery king has spoken to my father about me and it would be good to bring the two kingdoms together with our joining.”

  A single tear slid from the corner of her eye. Roan had no idea that a faery could cry. His heart was torn with wanting to resolve her pain, yet at the same time, perhaps it would be better for her to be bound to another, one of her own kind.

  “You must do as your heart tells you to do.” Roan let his hand drop to his side.

  “You won’t let me do what my heart tells me to do, Roan. I want to be with you. I want to be mortal.”

  The temptation to ease the anguish on her face with but a few moments of bliss clattered in his brain until Roan held his hands to his ears and looked to the sky, pleading for intervention from some higher being. “I cannot. I will not.” His voice echoed in the stillness of the night.

  Roan dropped his hands and opened his eyes, searching the knoll. He stood alone.

  Chapter Seven

  1994~


  Roan lost another friend and gained an ally in the span of a few months. Not more than two months following the wedding of William Neill, Jr. and Penelope Ann Worthington, Roan once again found himself in the small country church cemetery, its trees much taller than he remembered these past few years. The occasion was to bury Meghan next to her first love, William. It had been her wish, and a stipulation of hers, even before she married. Roan’s admiration for Brian rose instantly that day, knowing the sacrifice of letting go of something you love.

  Roan stood beneath his black umbrella, one of many that cold, gray spring afternoon. Dampness hung in the air, chilling the flesh to the bone. The dark green grass was sodden from the downpours, squishing like a sponge as Roan trudged up the hill following the procession. He thought of the first time he met Meghan, of her laughing eyes as she and William taunted him that fateful day on the picnic.

  He thought too of their years together, raising William, Jr. who stood now at his side, almost a head taller than Roan. One arm held his umbrella, the other held his new bride, Penelope, close to his side.

  “You’ll stay on a day or two before heading back?” Roan hated the thought of returning to the farm alone tonight—too many memories, too many ghosts. Though the question was presented to all three, Brian, William and Penelope, the invitation was clearly offered to his godson and his bride.

  “I’d love to see the farm, if its not an imposition, Roan,” William spoke without hesitation.

  Roan offered him a smile. “I’d love to have you and Penny for a visit, you’re welcome for as long as you like.” He was admittedly relieved that he would have someone to talk to tonight.

  “My train leaves in the hour,” Brian stated finishing off his coffee at the reception in the church basement held by the churchwomen. “I need to get back to New York and see to a few things.” He glanced at William. “And you’ll stop by when you get back and we’ll go through your mom’s things, then, okay? I won’t touch anything until then.”