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☘ [ooc drabble]
On a single day every year without fail, the famed Hound of Ulster Cú Chulainn would simply disappear without warning. He told none of where he was going or when he would return, not even Emer; any that asked were met with the piercing stare of crimson eyes and cryptic statements from a clever mouth. Wherever it was that he vanished to, his mood was never quite that of the proud, lighthearted warrior that was nearly as famed for his charisma as he was for his lance. No, around that particular day the Irish hero was quiet and reserved, as if distracted somehow. Thoughts that none of the fabled warriors he surrounded himself with could even comprehend weighed on his mind until he returned from wherever he'd gone.
That was fine with him. Better, even, that they should not understand it.
For lying dormant in the proud warrior heart of Cú Chulainn was a deep despair he hoped none other could comprehend. And it was only when he traveled to that place that it awoke, unlocking itself from the dark corners of his thoughts. Regret and doubt were things he had cast aside long ago, and yet they too came alive in full force on that one day each year.
It wasn't somewhere that would be found by any mortal. Even if the entire landscape of Ulster and the rest of Ireland should change, the ground where Cú Chulainn stood now would remain the same. It was as good as sacred ground, never to be intruded on by any but himself. Yet for a place of such importance to the greatest knight in the country, the area seemed so simple; little more than a pine forest near a small lake.
Perhaps any that knew Cú Chulainn would have found his demeanor strange had they seen it at that moment. Where so often he wore an arrogant grin and had the appearance of a loudmouth constantly about to make a sarcastic remark, today he seemed unusually somber and quiet. This day was that day when he disappeared, isolated himself for reasons he would never speak of.
On that day there was no Emer, no Red Branch Knights--just a dark-haired warrior in armor, the cursed crimson lance resting on his shoulder, and a solitary pile of stones.
All the world's glory and fame was worthless on that day. The demigod Knight of the Red Branch, Culann's Hound was nothing more than Setanta Mac Sualtaim, and that pile of stones was the mark of his greatest failure--not as a knight, but as a man.
He approached steadily, stopping a few feet short of the pile of stones. Closing his eyes, Cú Chulainn took a breath and sighed before planting his spear firmly in the ground and sitting down beside it. For a long moment he just stared wordlessly at the stone before him...then finally he spoke. Just two words, delivered in a quiet voice laced with a strangely wistful note.
"...Hello, Connla."
--
Servants didn't dream. This was a known fact, a property of heroic spirits summoned by the Holy Grail.
But Lancer wasn't a Servant in Johto, now was he?
If only that was the case. When Lancer awoke, it wasn't with a start; he just blinked dazedly a few times as he caught up with reality. The music from nowhere--that of Violet City--brought him back to the present, away from the two-millenia-old memory. He cursed under his breath in incredibly outdated Irish Gaelic, sitting up and bringing a hand to his head--that wasn't something he'd wanted to see without warning.
Idly he wondered if the enchantments on that place really would last the eternity it was intended to. He couldn't exactly go home and check; even if he left Johto, it'd be straight back to the Throne of Heroes until the next Holy Grail War. And if he was summoned again, that would be it. Lancer would have forgotten everything, family reunion included.
Speaking of family reunions, it took a moment for the heroic spirit to realize he wasn't quite alone in that bed, a young blond teenager snoring nearby. Inwardly, he made a note to stop getting hotel rooms with two if the kid was going to insist on this.
Not that he minded Connla's insistence on sneaking in next to his father, of course. But one would think of all things that the son of Cú Chulainn would be a little less...clingy. Lancer himself never would have guessed that to be the case--but he'd never really known Connla at all, had he? Their first meeting had ended in bloodshed, and it was only now in this strange universe that the legendary knight got the one thing he'd always wanted and never had.
It was a very little-known fact, perhaps even among those that knew the stories about him. But it was fact regardless of how common the knowledge was--Cú Chulainn had always wanted a child of his own.
People could curse Johto all they wanted. Lancer certainly wouldn't stop complaining about losing everything that made him a hero and a Servant, but he would have given all of it a thousand times over without a second thought; his lance, his runes, even his divinity itself.
It was all worthless in comparison to having Connla with him anyway.
That was fine with him. Better, even, that they should not understand it.
For lying dormant in the proud warrior heart of Cú Chulainn was a deep despair he hoped none other could comprehend. And it was only when he traveled to that place that it awoke, unlocking itself from the dark corners of his thoughts. Regret and doubt were things he had cast aside long ago, and yet they too came alive in full force on that one day each year.
It wasn't somewhere that would be found by any mortal. Even if the entire landscape of Ulster and the rest of Ireland should change, the ground where Cú Chulainn stood now would remain the same. It was as good as sacred ground, never to be intruded on by any but himself. Yet for a place of such importance to the greatest knight in the country, the area seemed so simple; little more than a pine forest near a small lake.
Perhaps any that knew Cú Chulainn would have found his demeanor strange had they seen it at that moment. Where so often he wore an arrogant grin and had the appearance of a loudmouth constantly about to make a sarcastic remark, today he seemed unusually somber and quiet. This day was that day when he disappeared, isolated himself for reasons he would never speak of.
On that day there was no Emer, no Red Branch Knights--just a dark-haired warrior in armor, the cursed crimson lance resting on his shoulder, and a solitary pile of stones.
All the world's glory and fame was worthless on that day. The demigod Knight of the Red Branch, Culann's Hound was nothing more than Setanta Mac Sualtaim, and that pile of stones was the mark of his greatest failure--not as a knight, but as a man.
He approached steadily, stopping a few feet short of the pile of stones. Closing his eyes, Cú Chulainn took a breath and sighed before planting his spear firmly in the ground and sitting down beside it. For a long moment he just stared wordlessly at the stone before him...then finally he spoke. Just two words, delivered in a quiet voice laced with a strangely wistful note.
"...Hello, Connla."
--
Servants didn't dream. This was a known fact, a property of heroic spirits summoned by the Holy Grail.
But Lancer wasn't a Servant in Johto, now was he?
If only that was the case. When Lancer awoke, it wasn't with a start; he just blinked dazedly a few times as he caught up with reality. The music from nowhere--that of Violet City--brought him back to the present, away from the two-millenia-old memory. He cursed under his breath in incredibly outdated Irish Gaelic, sitting up and bringing a hand to his head--that wasn't something he'd wanted to see without warning.
Idly he wondered if the enchantments on that place really would last the eternity it was intended to. He couldn't exactly go home and check; even if he left Johto, it'd be straight back to the Throne of Heroes until the next Holy Grail War. And if he was summoned again, that would be it. Lancer would have forgotten everything, family reunion included.
Speaking of family reunions, it took a moment for the heroic spirit to realize he wasn't quite alone in that bed, a young blond teenager snoring nearby. Inwardly, he made a note to stop getting hotel rooms with two if the kid was going to insist on this.
Not that he minded Connla's insistence on sneaking in next to his father, of course. But one would think of all things that the son of Cú Chulainn would be a little less...clingy. Lancer himself never would have guessed that to be the case--but he'd never really known Connla at all, had he? Their first meeting had ended in bloodshed, and it was only now in this strange universe that the legendary knight got the one thing he'd always wanted and never had.
It was a very little-known fact, perhaps even among those that knew the stories about him. But it was fact regardless of how common the knowledge was--Cú Chulainn had always wanted a child of his own.
People could curse Johto all they wanted. Lancer certainly wouldn't stop complaining about losing everything that made him a hero and a Servant, but he would have given all of it a thousand times over without a second thought; his lance, his runes, even his divinity itself.
It was all worthless in comparison to having Connla with him anyway.
I can totes reply even though I'm not in route riiiiight?
strongestmost loyalum.. fastest of heroic spirits! You are the fastest, right?my journal, my ooc post. :|b i say you're cool.
/facepalm
You know you want this CR so badly
fffff
[JUST. STARES.]
(yay)
no subject
[Because they are all Connla's.]