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The Season of the Wolf	By : LadyOfTheSouthernIsles Category: G through L > Hellboy Views: 1435 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hellboy or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter List
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Treasach looked up as the towering figure of the elven warrior came to a halt in front of him. Although he had been spared thus far, he feared that was about to change. He glanced nervously at the supine figures of his father and Mathúin. There was every chance he would wind up beside them and there could be only one end for him – for all of them – after that. The familiar twinge in his bladder started up and he suddenly found he had more than death to worry about. It was bad enough whenever it happened in front of anyone else but his shame would be a thousand times worse if he disgraced himself in front of this warrior.
"Where is your village?" asked Nuada.
The softly-spoken question held an edge of menace to Treasach's ears and his fear took yet another turn. He had no doubt that the elves were going to repay the Clan na Dáirine in kind and that meant Órfhlaith and her mother, Áine, would soon be no more. Their spirits would be sent scattering to Tech nDuinn along with his. He felt sick to his stomach. Words, never easy at the best of times, were impossible now – not even to plead for his own life or theirs, though he was certain that even had he had the oratory skills of the Druids', they would do him no good with this one.
Nuada saw the anguish in Treasach's eyes and guessed something of his thoughts. He crouched down level with him. "I mean only to return you to your home," he said. "You will not be harmed. We do not slaughter the innocent." He couldn't resist adding, "Unlike your clansmen."
Treasach – all too used to reading the nuances of his kinfolks' manner and speech, ever alert for the tell-tale signs they were about to amuse themselves at his expense – saw nothing but truth in the elf's eyes. His fear eased and he glanced at his father again.
"Their lives are forfeit," said Nuada. He wanted no misunderstanding on that score.
Treasach stared outright at the two unconscious men. He found no joy in the thought and no sorrow either. Garbhán had long since ceased to have any meaning for him beyond feeding him and clothing him and beating him, and their deaths were only to be expected after what they had done to the elven village. "A-Arigneach," he mumbled.
"What?" said Nuada, straining to catch the name.
Treasach hung his head. "Arigneach," he repeated but though he tried to speak carefully, his misshapen jaw still mangled the word.
Nuada sat back on his heels and lifted the boy's chin. "Look at me when you speak," he said, not unkindly.
Had it not been for that, Treasach might not have been able to manage another word. The warrior's fierce golden gaze was fixed on his face with unnerving intensity. Treasach steeled himself and did as he was bid. "The Mountains of Arigneach," he said, fighting every urge to pull away and cower before those piercing eldritch eyes. "My – my village lies on the upper slopes." As always, he felt as if he was speaking through a mouthful of moss but the elf nodded in understanding and released his chin and Treasach slumped with relief. He hugged the stone corpse of the baby even tighter.
"I know the place," said Nuada. "I will take you there soon. But first…" He paused and held out his hands.
It took Treasach a moment to realise that the warrior wanted the baby. He looked down at her cold lifeless body. "I'm sorry, acushla," he said quietly before handing her over.
For a fraction of a heartbeat, Nuada hesitated and then he took the dead child from Treasach. Cradling her in his arms, he stood and swiftly turned away. Sorry indeed, he thought, and not the only one. His unseeing eyes gazed out past the ancient circle of stones…
He pulled himself up short. Whatever blame he bore for her death, this weakness – this… self-pity – helped nothing and no one. He forced himself to look at the baby, at her frozen perfection. Acushla. It was a fitting endearment. She was smooth and white and so delicately formed. And so light too, scarcely any weight at all, and her life had been within his grasp. I too am sorry, he wanted to say but the words turned to ash in his mouth. Instead, he placed her carefully at the base of the nearest standing stone and summoned the remaining war dogs. After setting them to guard over her body, he took hold of Treasach and within the space of a breath they were standing near the outskirts of the boy's village.
Treasach stared at the familiar scene, confused, disbelieving and amazed all at the same time. "It – it would've taken us maybe a – a se'n night to get here," he gasped.
The corner of Nuada's mouth quirked in amusement and he thought it strange he could any feel any such thing on a night like this. The paths of light – the ley lines of his people: such ordinary things to an elf perhaps but obviously something special to the human boy – something he would remember for a very long time. Nuada was glad to have been able to do at least that much for him. "Our people travel on different paths," was all he said though.
Treasach nodded solemnly.
"Which lodge is yours?" Nuada scanned the assortment of snow-covered roundhouses snuggled into the side of the hill, behind a low, semi-circular stone wall. It was by far and away the largest human settlement he had ever seen and the talk he'd overheard in the reivers' camp suddenly took on new significance. He would need to report every detail to his father, the king.
"That one," replied Treasach, pointing to the largest building.
Nuada paused, not quite certain how to phrase his next question. "Will – will you be welcome there? Safe…"
Treasach gazed down at his feet. Safe! Not the word he would have used but it did well enough, he supposed. "Y-yes," he started to say and then he remembered the elf's earlier instructions. He raised his head, looked straight into those strange lupine eyes, and started again. "Yes. I'll be safe." He hesitated and then added, a little self-consciously, "The – the Druids cast a prophecy for me – when I was born."
Nuada arched an eyebrow. "And that will keep you safe?"
Treasach felt his colour rise. Though the prophecy had been with him since birth – indeed, was so vital a thing that he wouldn't be alive without it – it struck him now as presumptuous to lay claim to it for how could it ever be fulfilled? The warrior before him – a skilled fighter, tall and true, and one born of magic – had surely had a hundred such prophecies told of him. If anyone was destined for greatness, it was he. Not a useless, misshapen boy who couldn't even lift a sword. Treasach hung his head again and mumbled, "It – it will."
Nuada laid a hand on his shoulder. "I am glad your prophecy will keep you safe from your kinfolk," he said. "And sorry too that it has to serve such a purpose."
Treasach shrivelled up inside and wished he could sink into the ground. Pity, he discovered, was even worse than scorn.
"But it was no prophecy that kept you safe from elven justice tonight," continued Nuada. "It was your own courage and kindness."
Treasach's head shot up in surprise and then dropped again, just as quickly. His heart swelled in his chest; he didn't know what he felt. It was a strange sensation, a weakness almost. His kindness had only ever earned him the derision of his clansmen, and as for courage… well, he would not have said he had any.
Nuada's hand slipped from Treasach's shoulder and he stood silent for a moment. The humans who lived in the forests beyond Bethmoora – the ones he had first thought to leave him with – were certainly no worse than the boy's kinfolk and if it were known that he was under the protection of Prince Nuada of Bethmoora then Treasach could look forward to far better treatment than he had ever received at the hands of his clansmen. But Uileog was right. To take him back to Bethmoora would be to sign his death warrant. Balor's law was immutable; there would be no escaping that… The prophecy would have to do.
Treasach shivered in the cold night air and shuffled his feet, and Nuada realised it was time to say farewell. Even so, he was reluctant. "Is – is there anyone in your clan who stands as friend to you?" he asked. He didn't hold much hope of hearing anything in the affirmative but to his surprise, Treasach's face crinkled in a brief smile.
"Aye," said the boy. "Órfhlaith is my best friend and Áine is nice to me sometimes."
Though Nuada knew neither Órfhlaith nor Áine, he gave silent thanks to the gods for their existence. They lightened some of the weight on his own shoulders. "I am glad of that," he said, and then he looked away and lapsed into silence again.
"Should – should I go now?" asked Treasach hesitantly after a moment or two.
Nuada's gaze cut back to the boy. "Yes," he said. "It's time to go now. Time to go home."
"Aye," whispered Treasach, suddenly despondent. Home. What would it be like with no Da there? There would be no more beatings, for sure, and that should have made him happy but he felt a strange, restless yearning. He wanted to know more about the elves, see where they lived – how they lived. Learn everything about them… The idea took root and flourished, all in an instant. "Can I come with you?" he blurted out.
Nuada was taken aback by the abrupt question. He should have expected it, he realised. From what he had seen tonight, it was a not unreasonable one. He furrowed his brow. "No. You must stay here. You'll be… safer."
Treasach's face fell and though he desperately wished to go to Elfland now, he didn't dare press his case. He couldn't believe he had had the nerve to ask in the first place.
Turning away from the boy's obvious disappointment, Nuada looked out over the valley. "My father, Rí Balor -" He stopped short.
Treasach gawped at the warrior's stark, chiselled profile. Not only the Elf King's champion but his son as well!
"If I take you to Bethmoora," said Nuada, changing tack, "you will die." There it was. The truth. Blunt and bare. He attempted to soften it. "And even if it were not so, do you not think Órfhlaith and Áine would miss you?"
And with those words, Treasach's idea withered and died. Órfhlaith would miss him and Áine might too sometimes and besides, he didn't want to die – though he didn't know why he would have to just because he went to Elfland. "They – they would miss me," he admitted.
It was a reprieve of sorts and Nuada gratefully seized on it. He turned back and clasped Treasach's upper arm and shoulder, in the way that one warrior might greet another. "You have my thanks for what you did tonight," he said. "For what you tried to do. You are worth more than all your clansmen put together."
Colour flooded Treasach's face again, though this time it was from the embarrassment of modesty rather than from any sense of shame. He felt as if he had just grown several inches taller and indeed, he stood a little straighter. He would never forget this moment.
"And speaking of your clansmen," – a chill settled over Nuada's features – "I have a message for them, if you would oblige me by carrying it."
Treasach agreed without hesitation. "Aye! I will!"
"Tell them," said Nuada, his voice as sharp as chipped ice, "tell them that what they do amongst themselves, amongst other humans, is of no concern to the elven tuatha. But when they wreck havoc on our lands, steal our possessions and our lives, spill our blood… they should know what to expect in return. Tell them what happened tonight and tell the next Toísech to make sure they understand what it will cost them if they ever steal from us or harm any one of us again."
"I – I will," whispered Treasach. He quailed at the thought of delivering such a message to his people but deliver it he would. He could only hope they took heed of it.
Nuada inclined his head and then released the boy and stepped back. "May the gods watch over you, Treasach of Arigneach."
Treasach's eyes widened in surprise; the Elf King's son knew his name!
"And know too that you have a friend in Prince Nuada of Bethmoora."
It took a second for the words to sink in and when they did, Treasach was overwhelmed. He didn't know what to say. The elven prince – Nuada – had given him both his name and his friendship! Treasach settled on the only thing he could say to such generosity: a heart-felt "thank you."
At that moment, from somewhere inside the sleeping village, there came the low, threatening snarl of a dog. The feral howl of a wolf rang out in the valley below, as if accepting the challenge. Both Nuada and Treasach looked towards the sound and Nuada was reminded that he had other work to do. He turned back to the boy. "Go now," he said. "I will wait until you're safe inside."
"Thank you," whispered Treasach and with that, there was nothing more to be said. He raised his hand in farewell and limped into the village.
As Nuada watched him go, a memory sprang to mind of a time when he and his sister, Nuala, had been about the boy's age. They had been in the meadows of Bethmoora and had found a large, newly-hatched butterfly lying tangled in the long grass. It was trying to flutter its wings – burnt-orange with black spots on top and silver-washed green underneath – but they had not fully unfolded and never would, being as bent and misshapen as they were. Nothing could be done to help the creature. Still, for the brief span of its life it had had its own beauty and he and Nuala had walked on, silent for a little while…
Treasach was at the threshold of the lodge now. A child grizzled from within, a dog began to bark in earnest and the muffled voice of a woman drifted out through the opening. The occupants of the other dwellings started to stir. Treasach turned back and waved to Nuada one last time and then went inside, calling out quietly in his distinctive voice, "It's only me, Áine."
Looking up, Nuada saw that the moon had started to dip in the sky. His face hardened; it was time to finish the night's work. He turned to the east – to where the ancient fortress lay – and in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

References:
Treasach: (Irish Gaelic) name meaning "warlike" or "fighter".
Mathúin: (Irish Gaelic) Modern Irish form of Mathghamhain, a name meaning 'bear'.
Clan na Dáirine: (Irish Gaelic) Dáirine Clan. The Dáirine were the proto-historical rulers of Munster prior to the 7th century AD and may have been an especially violent tribe based on the cognate meaning of their name (Dari (o) - tumult, rage). Their ancestors are known as the Clanna Dedad in the Ulster Cycle, one of the four great cycles of Irish mythology.
Órfhlaith (OR-la): (Irish Gaelic) name meaning "golden princess".
Áine: (Irish Gaelic) name meaning "radiance".
Tech nDuinn: (Irish Gaelic) the Land of the Dead (literal meaning 'The House of Donn', Donn being the Irish god of the dead and the Otherworld as well as other figures in Irish mythology. Tech nDuinn is often described as lying at the tip of the Béarra Peninsula on the south-west coast of Ireland although other stories have it as a realm that exists beyond this conceptions of the land of the dead are not synonymous with those of the Otherworld (e.g. Tír na mBeo, Mag Mell, Tír na nÓg) though they are often close to them.
Garbhán: (Irish Gaelic) name meaning 'rough one'.
Arigneach: (Irish Gaelic) Former name for Arigna, a village in County Roscommon, Ireland.
Acushla: (Irish Gaelic – dated term) an affectionate form of address; dear one. From a oh + cuisle darling, literally, pulse, vein, from Old Irish cusle.
Se'n night: archaic term for a week or seven nights.
Uileog (IH-lig): (Irish Gaelic) name meaning 'resolute protector'; de na Abhcóide Ciallmhar – phrase meaning 'of wise counsel'.
Dadaí: (Irish Gaelic) Daddy (pronounced DAH-dee), "da" for short.''
Rí: (Irish Gaelic) King.
Tuath (plural tuatha): (Irish Gaelic) Old Irish word meaning "people, tribe, nation".
Toísech: (Irish Gaelic-Old Irish) leader or chieftain.
Faolán (FEH-lahn or FAY-lawn): (Irish Gaelic) name meaning 'wolf'.
Silver-washed fritillary butterfly: a common butterfly in the UK and Ireland (and other places.) The upper side of its wings is orange with black spots and the underside is green with the silver streaks that give it its name.
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The Season of the Wolf