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Eithne Sullivan     There aren't many weeks left before school restarts. Eithne is going to be in year fourteen, functionally a high school senior, and she wants to have all the moving and settling bits done before her first day. To wit, Inga had invited her over for the tour, and she'd taken the (slightly) older woman up on it. Still, she's a little uncertain... she's never lived with anybody but her father, and now that he's not in the picture...

    Can she live with somebody else?

    It shouldn't be too hard, right? Eithne is friendly! She's helpful! She doesn't wander around in her underwear or anything!

    Following the directions given, she's found Inga's front door. The whole place looks extremely comfortable, if a bit medieval (in Dun Realtai? No way!) and she feels a bit relieved about the whole affair already. "Iiingaaaa," she calls through the front door, knocking softly. "It's Enya!"
Inga Freyjasdottir It is certainly a place that fits in with Dun Realtai, if distinctly Norse styled in flavor. It is fair sized for what she calls a cottage, being somewhere between a viking-age long house and a modern sized cottage in the woods. The magically sensitive would pick up on various energies; protection spells mostly, over a foundation of otherworldly ambient energy that yells "HEY! I'M A SACRED GROVE!" to anyone remotely in tune to those sorts of things. There's goats in a pen, chickens in a coup, and Jodis tied up by a tree outside, happily nibbling grass.

Inga opens the door a few moments after Enya knocks, smiling in welcome. "Eithne, glad you could come. This way," she says, motioning her inside.

Inga is dressed a bit more modern today, if by modern one means, perhaps, sears catalogue meets amish. A long dress with elbow length sleeves in a small floral print and black background.

"The tea is made and there's honey cake," she says, motioning to the clashingly modern ikea table where tea service has been laid out.
Eithne Sullivan     As usual, Eithne's got on another iteration of her 'short-sleeved shirt and mid-thigh skirt outfit', this time in black and dark blue. She knows what types of garment work for her, and she bought about a dozen versions of each. Mix and match!

    The cottage is larger than she'd been expecting, which is good - she's pretty sure Inga had mentioned a second floor, which had been promising, but you never know about these things. "Hullo!" she smiles, following Inga into the house. The very modern (still Nordic-esque, which makes Eithne smile a bit) kitchen table gets a bit of a long glance. She'd never considered Dun Realtai to be a hotspot for Scandinavian design, but what does she know anyway? "It smells amaaazing!" Judging by the scent alone, she's gonna have to ask for that recipe.

    She has a seat at the table in what she believes to be the correct spot for a guest (her dad has a favorite-- HAD a favorite chair that he always preferred, maybe lots of people are like that) and relaxes. "Thanks fer havin' me over."
Inga Freyjasdottir There is no second story, sadly, unless its somehow invisble which isn't impossible with wizards around...but unlikely. It is fairly spacious however. Around the main hearth are plenty of benches lined with furs, the kind of place many people could sleep, and there are other rooms down the hallway that leads away from the main area.

Inga smiles, taking a seat at the table as well. It is all set it. It's almost as though she knew when Eithne would arrive. She did. She pours the tea; earl grey and starts slicing the cake. "I'm glad you could come. I haven't had anyone over for tea in quite a long time it seems. Aside from my time in the village I think I've become something of a hermit--which I suppose is expected," she says with a shrug.

Inga looks around, pride in her eyes. "So, this is it. As you see there is plenty of space to sleep. There's only one bed room at the moment, but we could always add another. Bathroom is, I think, what you would expect in your time. Running water, hot water, a shower and flushing toilet," she explains. "But anyway...before we get into all that, why don't you tell me a bit more about yourself."
Eithne Sullivan     It would seem that Eithne just misremembered, but you never know with wizards.

    The tea is a familiar kind, the scents of black tea and bergamot as easy to identify as coffee. Eithne jazzes hers up with milk and no sugar, watching it all swirl into a uniform tan color as she stirs it.

    "Well, yeh /are/ the village wisewoman, right?" she grins, taking a test sip. Mmmm! "Yer right, it's practically in the job description~! I'm happy to visit, especially in such a lovely place. Those trees outside must be fairly old, though not as much as the great big one in the middle of the citadel. I must admit I'm a bit curious about that one," she trails off, taking a slice of cake when it's offered. "I've never seen anythin' like it."

    The whole place is larger than her apartment in Belfast and there are six less flights of stairs to climb, which she considers a plus. "Mm. I don't really know what to say," Eithne admits after a moment. "I'm seventeen, I'm going into my last year of high school next month. I live alone currently - well, except fer Sheela. I like to sew and I'm learnin' to knit. Uh..." What else is there to say? What else is there to herself? "Tell me a bit about yerself too, right?" she asks, and sticks a big bite of cake in her mouth to disguise the fact that she doesn't entirely know how to make small talk.
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga laughs softly, stirring a bit of milk and a few drops of honey into her tea. "Isn't tea incredible? I like coffee too, but I was in the mood for tea," she says, watching Eithne prepare hers. "Heh..I suppose it is. It was a bit awkward having people call on my in Chicago. One does not expect the wisewoman to live in a basement appartment in the city."

Inga takes a sip of her tea, then a bite of cake. "Yes, that tree is a special one. I always leave an offering. It is home to many spirits. Trees like that are to be revered. We had a similar tree in Uppsala...." Inga holds her tea, looking off into the middle-distance, nostalgic. "On Yule, every nine years we would hold a great sacrifice at that tree, nine of all the creatures would hang from the branches..." she rememberes. Fondly.

Blinking, she looks back to Eithne. She grins. "You /do/!?" she asks, motioning over to a well-loved armchair near the fire and a basket beside it filled with yarn balls. Inga has a drop-spindle, a spinning wheel, a loom, knitting needles and a pile of clothing for mending. "I make most of my clothing--not this though. This I bought in a store--gods, I have so many clothes now. Before I came here I considered myself quite fortunate to own four dresses. I learned to knit quickly, I could teach you some things--and if you do not weave I can show you that. And spinning. I like to spin or weave when I am watching the wyrd," she explains.

Ings tips her tea again, looking back to Eithne, shifting from playfully excited to sudden intensity. "...and you are born of blood and battle and crow's feathers. I see a name--the Morrigan, I know her by presence if not by name--like a Valkyrie, she is, ja?" Inga asks.
Eithne Sullivan     "If it weren't fer tea and coffee I'm not certain I'd be fit to be around." Especially in the morning, when the floor is cold and her feet are bare and she's supposed to be at school in an hour. "I could tell already," Eithne nods to the thought that the great center tree is something more than merely special. "There's a... an energy there. Like magic." Or a minor god.

    If she's disconcerted by the idea of ritual sacrifice, it doesn't show on her face. After all, the Tuatha are old gods, as old as the Aesir, and Eithne is well-read besides. "Was it really big enough fer nine of everything?!" is her only concern. "...It wasn't named Yggdrasil, right?" she laughs jokingly.

    The armchair and its accoutrements are a welcome sight. "I've never used a loom before. They're not really considered practical in my world, an' they look a right pain to move. Mostly people buy cloth that was woven by machines." The clothes she can see look well-made though, of better quality than Eithne herself makes. Inga probably has a couple years' practice on her. "I'd be happy to learn though." Because she /ought/ to know how.

    Her eyes narrow faintly, briefly as Inga's manner suddenly turns intense and focused. But it's only about her mother. "Mm-hmm. She's got a few other names but that's the one most folks know." Those other names have other faces attached, and other magic, but technically they're all her mother. "She's a lot like a Valkyrie actually!" Eithne perks up. "One of her names is Chooser of the Slain. If a man were to see her washing his bloody clothes in a river, he knew he was to die soon." Apparently that was a thing that happened more often than not in Ireland's bloodier periods.

    Inga's Norse-ish, if Eithne remembers correctly, but one thing she doesn't really know is "...What's the wyrd?"
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga laughs. "No, it was not called Yggdrasil--I had seen the world tree. It is much, much larger. But it was a representation of Yggdrasil. It was a sacred tree where we held our sacrifices...where oaths were sworn and jarls solidified their power. Uppsala was the center, where all the really important things happened. We had a temple there, large and beautiful, with large statues of the gods--Odin, Thor and Freyr chief among them," she explains, her gaze far away, bringing the past back to life. "The branches would get crowded--and there were times we had...serious issues hanging the horses, but usually it was managed. We would stand beneath the sacrifices with large bowls," she says, making a large circle with her arms to demostate, "to catch the blood."

Inga looks over to her loom. It's a smaller one, not like what she would have used back in her time. This is made to be used by one person. "It is a useful skill. I will teach you," she reiterates. At least she's interested. That's rare in the people Inga knows.

Inga listens to Eithne explain about her mother, a bit of uneasiness rolling around her stomach. There's a certain vibration, one she has become familiar with. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "The Norns spin the tapestry of fate, the wyrd, even as I watch it they are weaving, and I am reminded I am not merely an observer. Sometimes I can feel when my chords are being struck," she says quietly.

"I am called Freyjasdottir not because my mother was named Freyja. I didn't know my mother at all. I was left to die for being malformed. But I was found and saved. The story goes, that I was found being protected by cats--the kind native to our forest, large and fluffy creatures--they were keeping me warm. A strange thing for wild animals to do. When I was found by the woman who would be my mentor, she took this to be a sign that I was chosen by Freyja. Freyja is a complicated goddess...she is a goddess of love but also of war and death. Half the battle-slain go to Freyja, who is a sort of Valkyrie herself. She is also a goddess of magic--and a Seer. It is she who taught Odin the magic of seidr," Inga explains. "What I see of your Morrigan reminds me of Freyja."

Inga tips her tea, then pours them both refills. "The wyrd--I use the Saxon tern, because that is what my mentor called it. She was half-Saxon, raised there before coming to Uppsala. She fled what was happening among the Saxons, namely the forced conversation to Christianity," Inga begins, unable to disguise her distaste when she says the word. "The wyrd is the tapestry of fate. It is what the norns spin. Everyone is woven into this tapestry, every life a multitude of threads that stretch into the past and on to the future, twisting and overlapping...it is what I see. When I look into the past I see what has been, but when I look into the future I see what will be--dozens of threads splaying out before me, changing even as they are being woven. Some are stronger then others, more likely to come to pass. Some--very few--are set. They have already been woven, and even those...there are differing paths to the same conclusion," she continues, watching Eithne to see if she understands.

"This I have always seen. I was raised with this gift and taught to use it--along with magic, healing, and the lore of my people. I worked with priests and priestesses of my gods and helped to serve them. I was saved, chosen, and I have dedicated my life to my gods and my people...." Inga sighs heavily. "That is what my mentor taught me. When she died...that is when things really became complicated."
Eithne Sullivan     To think of really seeing Yggdrasil before her very eyes... What else must Inga have seen by now? No doubt, she's seen alot more than most women her age. For example, a horse has a lot of blood. There don't seem to be very many folks built to make blood sacrifices anymore, so just imagine how very... red the world must've been for her, at least one day a year.

    "Oh, so that's what it is!" It isn't too far off from her guess of 'general prophecy-related thing'. "The Christians came to Ireland too," she hmmphs with scorn. "The early Church is the reason most of our lore an' was lost - they destroyed sacred sites, an' since our traditions were all passed down by storytelling there was no written record to hide away." Eithne frowns, and angrily hulps a big sip of her tea. "What's left over has been so watered down and mixed together it's impossible to tell what's real, other than broad strokes. --I should bring yeh a copy of the Ulster Cycle tales, though! It's got Ma an' a few of my relatives in it, an' my most famous cousin." That's apparently all it takes to cheer her up?! She's about to chatter on again when something occurs to her. "Wait, Inga, do yeh read?"

    She... she means well. Really she does!!

    "A-anyway, yer mentor sounds like a smart woman, if she saw that comin'. Namin' yeh fer Freyja was smart too, especially with the cats if they're the ones I'm thinkin' of... There're plenty worse patrons to have." She is /not/ going to say Aphrodite out loud.
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga cuts another piece of cake for Eithne, wether she's eaten the first piece or not. She listens with interest, wincing appropriately when she tells of how the Christians came to Ireland, her expression turning thunderous when she hears of what they did. "I had heard stories of your people and what became of them after Christianity...it is the same with the Saxons and it...I learned my people eventually converted as well," she sighs. A very painful piece of information. "There are still a few who worship the gods, but...yes much was lost because we did not write things down either. Not really. It was the duty of wisewomen, priests and skalds to remember and pass on these things. Most of what was recorded was done so after Christianity took hold," she sighs.

"I do not read, no. But I would like to hear these tales none the less. Perhaps you could read them to me?" Inga asks.

"Ja...she was a wonderful woman. She had the gift of Sight as well--what Sir Bedivere calls the awen. She saw me coming here--well, to the multiverse. She say me go to Yggdrasil and to other words. She heard the Buzzing, and knew that was where my fate lay. When she died...I knew I was to follow the buzzing and then...I came forward through time," Inga explains, reaching up to brush her fingers against the iron hammer pendant she always wears.
Eithne Sullivan     The first piece is, in fact, nearly gone. Eithne doesn't bake sweets for herself often, so it's a nice treat to have well-made cake! She'll not turn down another slice. "If I can take any consolation from it, it's that people are returnin' to the old ways in lots of places. It's illegal to persecute someone fer bein' a pagan - though yeh still see lots of people tryin', especially where the Church put down its roots the deepest." It is what it is... As long as a god has believers, though, they won't fade.

    "I'd be glad to! I love 'em, my Da used to tell them to me when I was a little girl. I think he wanted me to be inspired by heroes. Yeh know, to be willin' to fight if I needed to." She cuts off a big bite of cake with her fork and stuffs it into her mouth. "Mmmf!" Chew, chew, sip tea.

    It's funny to think of just how many peole must feel like they've gone forward in time. Does it work the other way, too? "I tried understandin' the temporal physics behind the whole unification theory an' all I got fer my trouble was a killer headache," Eithne grouses, not unhappily. "But yeh seem to have done well fer yerself, even so. This is a nice place - both the house and the town."
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga nods. "Yes, I have heard. The earth I came from, and those similar, seem to be that way...Harry has explained such. That is good but it is...well, it was quite a blow to learn what had happened. I never would have believed my people would convert. It just...I cannot imagine it. I am grateful I did not have to see it, I suppose. Now of course, I have a duty to carry on their worship--and they are still out there. I met a Valkyrie in Chicago," she says with a grin. "My runes came from her--a present Harry had to pull some string for he informs me," she laughs.

"Well, I know a bit about your mother...but what of your father?" she asks. She's actively trying not to get pulled into Eithne's threads, there's plenty there to see bt its a bit impolite.

"Yes...this is a good place. Finding Dun Realtai was such a great relief to me. The people here are...more like the people I knew. The land is...familiar. I knew I would spend time here. We built this cottage as a getaway from the city. Being surrounded by people a lot of the time is very exhausting for me. I need a quiet place or it is too easy to become overwhelmed by the visions," she says.

"I am sorry Harry is not here to meet you...he's been very busy with work. But you must meet him. I am sure he will be happy to have you here however. If you decide such," Inga adds with a smile.
Eithne Sullivan     "Harry seems like someone I'd like," Eithne mulls. Of course, if she ends up staying here, she's bound to meet him eventually! He sounds like someone from 'modern' times, or at least maybe a world similar to her own? Apparently there was a Valkyrie in Chicago, which already sounds familiar. And as far as she's aware, there were very few people named Harry in the middle ages.

    Her father...? Eithne blinks, and sets down her teacup. "My Da? He's the one who raised me. Uh..." She reaches into her bag and rummages around for a middle-of-the-road smartphone, scrolling through screens full of icons. "I've a picture -- here we go." She turns the phone around so that Inga can see it; there's a photo of a ruddy-faced man with sandy blond hair grinning in front of a brick building. "See? I look most like my Ma but I've got his eyes."

    There's more she ought to be telling Inga, isn't there? Shouldn't she tell the truth?

    "...The reason I'm livin' on my own is because he's in prison," she eventually adds, but without any sense of real sadness. There's just sort of a resigned exasperation. "S'why makin' the rent on my own's been a pain."
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga nods, smiling fondly. "Yes, I am sure you will like him," she assures. "If decide to stay, I'll make a private space for you. I understand that would be what you are used to," she adds.

Inga looks to the picture of Eithne's father, smiling. "Yes, I can see the resemblance," she says, patiently waiting for Eithne to tell her the rest. The awkward part. Perhaps Inga already knew, for she does not seem surprised. "I see. Yes that must be difficult. I am sure he will be happy to know you're being taken care of in Dun Realtai," she continues, pouring more tea. That's the last of the pot.

"Now...I know I have told you about my Sight, but I do have to warn you. If you do live here, there's a very real possibility that I will have...visions. It's about all I can do not to have them. Generally, the things I see I will keep to myself. Very often it does little good to say the possibilities of the future I see. Sometimes however...sometimes a vision takes over and I cannot help it. Sometimes I See and sometimes I cannot help but speak prophecy. It can be...very awkward," she cautions, watching Eithne with a hawk-like gaze, gauging her reaction. "Harry has learned to deal with it...and I keep most of what I see to myself. It is better that way. Not easy though," she says, shaking her head.
Eithne Sullivan     It's clear that Inga has a fondness for Harry... they're in a relationship, then, or a very close friendship. "It'd be nice to see folks bein' in a relationship. I'm not really sure how they go in real life - books usually, er, romanticize everything." She doesn't always know what she is and isn't supposed to remark on, but that seems harmless enough, right?!

    In the end it's probably no surprise to Inga, whether or not prophecy had ever been involved. "I'm surprised more people haven't mentioned it, or maybe they're just tryin' to do me a kindness. I suppose it's not very unusual fer girls my age to work an' be adults, in this kind of place." Eithne stows her phone away and swirls the last of the tea around in her cup.

    "...I suppose it can't be helped," she admits, eyes darkening a bit, though the idea of all her secrets being blurted out while Inga can't help it is unsettling.

    ...Does everybody feel like this around Inga at first? Her eyes soften, though she's still looking mostly into her teacup. It must be lonely...

    "I've lived by myself fer the better part of a year now. I've never lived with anybody but Da - and Sheela," she corrects herself. "I'll be a good houseguest though - I heard Sir Bedivere speak about Brehon law. The Tuatha have a set of rules that's about the same." Plus, she's a pretty good cook and she's not afraid of washing dishes. "But a place I can be alone sometimes is pretty important. Thanks fer understanding," Eithne smiles truthfully.
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga actually blushes a little, letting out a quick laugh of embarrassment. "Ah, yes, so I am told. Bob--er, a friend of Harry's--is very fond of those sorts of books," she explains. "But yes, we are in a relationship. I'm glad that will no make you uncomfortable. I'm fairly sure Bediver and Arturia are as well but I may faint the day they admit it aloud," she says, rolling her eyes.

"No, I suppose it is not. In my time you'd have likely married and had a few children by now. School is a rather new concept to me," she admits.

Inga sees the look as Eithne considers Inga's warning. She expects this. She accepts it stoicly, her expression carefully blank. This is why she gives the warning, afterall. Inga has spent most of her life apart from people, only interacting in certain circumstances--as a wisewoman and a Seer. People respect her, but do they like her? That is always the question.

She takes a breath and lets it out slowly. "Of course. I have come to expect my privacy as well. Additionally, Harry has a place in Chicago and we spend some of our time there. When we are gone I would appreciate having someone here to look after the place," Inga adds with a smile. "I'll speak to Harry if you like. See what he thinks. We could always build another building in the area so you have a space apart, but....well, I feel quite unsure if it would be appropriate to live too closely with Merlin," she says, pursing her lips. The cad. "I will say he's been on better behavior then when /I/ first met him," she grumbles.
Eithne Sullivan     If only Eithne knew about Bob. She would be /so/ delighted.

    As far as she's aware, Inga is talking about adventure novels with an unfortunate wedged-in romance subplot. Of course anybody would like those, she reasons! They're a cornerstone of literature. "Eggghhhh," is her only real response to the idea of being /that/ much of an adult. The face that accompanies it is truly heinous. Nobody should be able to see that much of another person's tonsils. "Er-- nothin' personal against yer home plane but I'm... not one fer that sort of life, I think."

    "I can certainly look after the place!" She's confident of that, at least. "As long as yeh can show me how to care fer the animals. Are these the kind of goats that have to be milked?" Maybe they're weed-control goats. Or meat goats.

    She's not phased; goat is delicious.

    "Mm. Did yeh hear he wants to try teachin' me to do magic?" The raised eyebrow says it all: she doesn't quiiiite believe it's a teachable skill but she's going to go along with it because what if she's wrong? An eyebrow can say a whole lot. "Still, it was kind of him and I'll enjoy tryin' to learn!"
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga laughs softly. "Yes, well, I did not think that I was either. Life if unexpected--yes even for me," she adds. "You are a warrior, yes? We had shield-maidens. One of the only other women I was close to was a shield-maiden. She was...fierce," Inga says with a grin.

"Oh yes, I can show you how to take care of all the animals. Two of the goats do have to be milked--the other are boys and thus they do not," she laughs.

At mention of Merlin she grumps. "Mmphmm...I've not seen Merlin to anything with magic but make pretty flowers and lights and, assumably, to change his outfit and keep his hair shiny. However--" she sighs. "He is Merlin and thus I must believe he is capable of great things and that, perhaps occasionally, he's willing to do the hard work," she adds.
Eithne Sullivan     "I am," she nods, and it's a strange combinatiion of seriousness and happiness and pride, the kind that seems to only come from young people who have recently discovered some Great Truth (or just think they have). "I'm more of a sword maiden myself~" Eithne jokes, because she's never even picked up a shield.