Recovering from Battle
This were the story I told me grandkids durin' our usual after-supper gatherin' by the hearth...
'Beannaithe hardly felt any pain at all durin' her battle with Naruhel, but now that it were over she were weary and her limbs and joints ached. "Where can I go to be healed?" she wondered. Mac Énbarr the pony knew where.
Mac galloped fast and far, over hill and plain, through woods and downs, north and west he ran until he came to a land of ice and snow. The lass found herself in a land some call the Northern Wastes. Beannaithe shivered in the cold, but not for long.
Mac finally slowed and then stopped beside some hot springs surrounded by wintry climes. Conveniently, the springs were near a stream of cold fresh water. Beannaithe carefully removed her damaged armour and donned instead a bathing gown.
Soakin' in the hot springs soothed her achin' limbs, but when she became too warm she slipped into the fresh water stream to cool herself down. By alternatin' exposure to hot and cold water the lass greatly accelerated the healin' process.
Beannaithe relaxed while bathin' in the water. When shut her large blue eyes she could feel her spirit transported somewhere far away. Then she heard a voice. It were the familiar voice of her sióg mhaith (fairy godmother), the goddess Áine.
"Beannaithe, I am most pleased with your efforts. You performed great kindnesses for Goldberry, Willowsong and Naruhel. Yet, there is still much more to be accomplished."
"But what of me armour?" asked Beannaithe in thought.
"You will need far greater armour for the tasks that lie ahead," said Áine. "You will need the Armour of the Aes Sídhe."
"Where shall I find it?" Beannaithe asked again in thought.
"The Armour of the Aes Sídhe resides in a cave in the side of a mountain, the lair of Dragún Dearg (Red Dragon)," Áine told her. "The dragon seems to sleep very soundly yet still he jealously guards his hoard," Áine warned Beannaithe.
"You must not remove anything from his lair other than the Armour of the Aes Sídhe. Not a gem, not a cup, not a single gold coin. Take only the armour. Even this you must do with the utmost care. Failure to do otherwise would be catastrophic.
Even if you were able to don the armour before the dragon attacked, an impossible feat in itself, it would avail you not. Consider a chicken in a pot. The flame of the fire touches neither the skin nor the flesh of the chicken, yet the heat of the fire cooks the chicken.
Do you understand?"
Beannaithe mused, "Is not the chicken already dead before it goes into the pot?"
Áine smiled. "It is merely a metaphor, little one, and not, I confess, a perfect one. Believe me when I tell you that if the chicken had not been dead before it went into the pot it would be not long after it had been put on the fire."
"And the feathers? Ought they not to be plucked before placing the chicken in the pot?" Beannaithe asked in thought.
"Of course," Áine answered, "but the dragon would not pause to pluck you before he ate you. He would gobble you whole then spit out the bits that he did not wish to keep in his belly."
Beannaithe thought for a moment. "I have been persuaded that I had best take great care to not disturb the dragon. I will take the armour, and only the armour, then leave the dragon's lair as swiftly and silently as I may."
Áine smiled once again. "That would be wise."
'And it would be wise of ye to go to bed now,' said me daughter Ériu.
'Aye, it would be wise indeed,' agreed her sisters Banba and Fódla.
'Ye heard your mams. Off to bed with ye!' I said to me grandkids.
'Good night, Granda!' they cried as they were led off to the sleepin' chambers.
