It was a beautiful early fall day, most of the leaves still bright green and the light breeze dappled the path with sunlight. A solitary man walked along, a small pack on his back and a staff in hand. It was getting late, only a couple hours of sunlight left so his thoughts were leaning toward finding someplace to camp when he saw the inn. He stopped and looked at it for a bit. Hot food and beer sounded good but he was trying to remember if he had been through this way before, whether anyone would remember him and whether his disguise would keep him safe.
He dredged up a memory of having stayed here once, but it had been many years ago. He started walking again, still debating whether to stop by the inn and scanning the courtyard. It was filled with horses but all appeared to be those of merchants and farmers, not imperial troops. That made it likely a safer bet to stop and get a meal. He entered the inn and headed to the bar to see about food and a place in the stable to sleep.
The innkeeper was a young man, blonde haired and slender, looking nothing like a typical innkeeper . It was the eyes, the man decided. The man behind the bar didn’t look like he had seen enough of both the good and the bad that one sees behind the bar when you own it, so this was probably some new apprentice the owner had hired. While he was filtering all this, he listened to the transaction the person ahead of him was making with the kid. Not only was he young, he seemed to be giving away the owner’s profits, not that the merchant ahead of him was going to complain. No wonder there was such a crowd.
“I’d like dinner, ale and a spot in the stable for the night,” he said to the kid, who responded with a ridiculously low price. “Does the owner know you’re giving away his profits?” he asked.
The kid smiled, “You could say that, sir. I’m the owner.”
The traveller shook his head. “Your generosity will keep you from being owner for long.”
The kid just smiled wider, an innocent smile, and laughed. “Have a seat and I’ll have your food brought over to you, sir.”
The traveller headed to a table where a buxom waitress brought him food and an ale. He are silently, taking in the myriad of conversations around him, minding his own business. The food was delicious and he was just ruminating on how sad it would be for the inn to go out of business because the owner was inexperienced when a man sat down across the table. This man's hair was a grizzled grey and his arms were thick with muscles built up from years of hauling kegs and wiping bar tops clean; his eyes had seen everything that goes on in a bar and someone like this was whom the traveller had expected to see behind the bar.
"I know who you are," the man said quietly. "And I have a favor to ask of you. " The traveller nodded slightly, neither acknowledging nor correcting the man's comment. "It's a special day, the wedding of my son and the miller's daughter. I gave them the inn and invited all of the merchants who made this a regular stop, to come by in celebration. "
The traveller’s mind raced as he wondered how he had been so blind to all the signs. The ridiculously low price for services wasn’t because the innkeeper was inexperienced because the couple was being generous on this day in the belief their generosity would be repaid them throughout their marriage, an ancient custom. One almost as old as the sharing of stories on such a day, mixing memories and tales to give the new couple a head start in life based on the wisdom of their elders or, in some cases, just old tales well-told.
The grizzled innkeeper continued, “I met you once, many years ago when you came through in different circumstances. While I won’t tell anyone who you are, your appearance here on this day is an auspicious sign for my son’s marriage. I just wanted to warn you in advance that we would be honoring this old custom and it’s not just because you were here. Some of these merchants have been working on what they want to say for months.”
The traveller nodded and the innkeeper got up and went to mingle with the other guests. The traveller kept eating and considered. He knew the story he should tell but he also knew the story he probably would tell. He should tell any of a number of stories he knew from his long life, that would be the safest thing he could do. But he had been given a gift from the Gods a long time ago and stories were his stock in trade. If he played it safe and told one of the stories he should tell, he would be dishonoring the Gods. Custom required that the details for any story told tonight would never be revealed, but the story of his telling of a story wouldn’t be so covered and while no one might figure out who he was tonight, folks who heard the tale eventually would and he would have to change his plans. He probably had a week before the story reached the wrong ears.
He sighed and took a sip of his ale and pondered. While he did, the grizzled innkeeper got up and started to thank everyone for coming, introduced his son and daughter, and started the evening’s activities. Everyone who could tell a story was asked to contribute and while you didn’t have to, it was bad form to be over a certain age and not contribute. The first storyteller was an eight year old village boy who told one of the popular stories of Dagda. It was funny on multiple levels and, while the storyteller might not get all of the sexual connotations, it was a very appropriate story for a wedding celebration such as this. The boy told the story well and seemed to enjoy the rounds of laughter that it brought.
There were many more stories as the innkeeper asked one person and then another to share. There were humorous stories of how not to do things and the one merchant’s wife who told of her first night on the road with her new husband, travelling from her parent’s home to his village some distance away, and how she had been so focused on the coming night with her husband that she wasn’t paying attention while she washed out her travel clothes and suddenly realized they had started to float downstream and had chased them, half naked and almost stumbled into another camp. That had brought everyone almost to tears with laughter.
There were poignant tales as well. One husband and wife told how a simple miscommunication and two very stubborn people had almost led to their marriage being no more until one finally gave in and they started talking and figured out the miscommunication and all ended well. It was a good tale, one that had a very real message and it was tales like this that were the reason behind the custom of not talking about the details of any story.
The grizzled innkeeper called on the traveler, “Stranger, do you have a story to tell?” All eyes turned toward the traveller who sat a bit straighter to give his voice better support, smiled and started to speak.
“On a night such as tonight, there are no strangers. No one brought into the loving embrace of heartfelt tales and lessons can leave as anything less than close friend. And yes, my friends, I have a story to tell.” He’d made his decision hundreds of times since the innkeeper had approached him earlier, and every time it had been the same decision. This time was no different, he would tell the story he had to tell in these circumstances.
“My story is an old story but a complicated one, because it concerns a life and a life is a very complicated thing. While you can take a day in a person’s life, it may not make a great deal of sense without some understanding of that person’s history.” He indicated the bride and groom who were sitting in front of the fireplace. “If we were to tell a tale of either of these two gentlefolk, it might be important to understand that they have a well-respected innkeeper or a prosperous miller for a father or that their mothers’ were women held up throughout the community as folk to be emulated.” He paused while the parents of the couple blushed or looked down and the rest of the crowd acknowledged the truth of his statement with nods or yesses.
“So, to tell this tale correctly, I have to begin by telling you of the father of the mother of our tale. He was, by all accounts, a giant of a man, an evil man, a violent man. When given a choice to make, he always chose the one that benefited himself in the short run, never concerned with a longer view. And the cruelest fate to befall anyone associated with him was that he was the king of his people and, while they prospered under his rule, they didn’t realize that the consequences of his actions would lead to their downfall as a people as he gave no thought to anything beyond himself.
“As with many families, he had several children, but it was his third child, a daughter, that caused the most consternation. While she was still in the womb, near time for her mother to deliver, the king had the wise men of his people in to cast augurs and tell the fortune of his daughter to be. Like many oracles, most of what came from that day was vague and subject to interpretation, but there was one, the king’s most trusted advisor, who had a clear message. He said, ‘O, king, your daughter shall be the most beautiful woman in all the land but beware, for her beauty comes with a cost. For to her son will come the task of killing you.’
“As you might guess, this caused the king some consternation. But he knew exactly what to do. When his daughter was born he ordered her to be kept in a tall tower on an island that loomed out of the sea, and she was there kept by a dozen ladies in waiting and they were instructed to never let her see a man nor to ever talk about men. And there, in the tower, she grew up and learned many womanly things but nothing of men. But there she also dreamed of a man, whose face haunted her, though she never spoke of this to the women who kept her.
“One night, this man appeared to her, in the flesh, and she knew him and she knew love and she discovered a happiness that she hadn’t known she was missing. But she also knew that this man couldn’t stay because her father would have killed him and she didn’t want that. So he left as mysteriously as he had come. And, though it was just one night, their love making resulted in her being with child, which made her father furious. When she went into labor, the king was there, very anxious to see if the result of this union would be male or female. When she delivered three healthy boys, he gathered all three up in a sheet and raced down the stairs of the tower. He picked up some rocks and placed them in the sheet and then went to his boat and rowed out, intent on dropping the whole bundle in the sea.
“But he was so made with rage that he didn’t see that the sheet wasn’t as tightly tied as he would have liked and one of the babies fell out as he was heaving the whole load overboard. That one baby was rescued and taken to his father who gave him over to be fostered by a smith. The boy was quick at everything he touched his hand to. He learned to smith as though he were Gofannon himself, and when he picked up a sword he had made he found it to be a natural extension of his arm. Words flowed naturally from him as though from the greatest bards, he heard any story once and was able to tell it. He knew all of the stories of the land and the Gods. He watched a craftsman at work and could instantly do the craft.
“And yet, for all of his skills, he was humble. While he could do something, he wouldn’t boast of it, he just did his work as he was bid to do. When he was of age, his father came and told him it was time for him to go forth and see the world. And so he set a pack and took his favorite sword and headed forth. After many days of travel and many minor adventures, he found himself approaching a beautiful city, one that made him fill with joy just to see it.
“As he approached, a woman suddenly appeared, blocking his path. ‘What business have you in Teamhair?’ she asked, ‘For no one enters the court of King Nuada unless they have a skill that none other possess.’
“’Well, I’m a smith,’ the young man said.
“’We have a smith,’ she said and started to turn away.
“’Aye, but I’m also a poet,’ he said.
“She turned back. ‘We have a poet.’
“He countered that he was a bard, a historian, a wright, a harpist, a sorcerer, a craftsman, and each time the woman responded that they had one. So he cocked his head to the side and said, ‘Aye, but do you have one person who is all of these?’
“She pondered for a moment and said, ‘No, we do not have any one person who is all of these.’ And she bid him enter Teamhair and thus Lugh joined the court of Nuada and started on a whole different set of adventures.”
The traveller bowed to the married couple, “And thus we learn three very important lessons. We are all more than the sum of our parts, we must persist in the face of adversity to gain what we truly seek, and fates will happen regardless of our attempts to thwart them.”
Everyone cheered the story and the grizzled innkeeper called upon another person for a different story. After all the stories were done and everyone was heading off to their rooms or homes for those who lived nearby, the innkeeper came up to the traveller. “That was a gift fit for a king that you gave my son. You didn’t have to do that. you know that people will be talking about having heard that story and folk will put two and two together.”
The traveller sighed. “I’d love to agree with you but that was the only story I could tell in the circumstances. You know who I am, you know what I am, to tell a different story would have been to dishonor the Gods. But, as I was reminded in the telling of the story, you can’t thwart fate. There must be a reason that I was here tonight.”
The innkeeper nodded, then picked up a pack. “This is for you. It’s good travelling food and some extra gear. My son doesn’t know who you are and I won’t tell him, but he wanted to repay you for the gift of your story. Don’t tell me you can’t take it, you need it.” The innkeeper led the traveller out to the stable. “Are you going to sleep here?”
The traveller considered and then shook his head. “No. I’ll go on a couple of hours and rest then.”
The innkeeper shook his head. “No, here,” and started to saddle a horse. “She’s not much of a horse, but she’ll give you a better pace than your feet will. Take her and, when you don’t need her anymore, let her loose, she’ll find her way home.”
The traveller shook his head. “I can’t accept this.”
The innkeeper chuckled, “You don’t have a choice.”
“How do you know I’ll let her loose to come home?”
“I know who you are. Your honor wouldn’t let you do anything less. Unless you are prevented from it, you’ll let her loose to come home.” With that, the innkeeper loaded some saddle bags with some additional feed. “Go, and Gods bless you.”
The traveller mounted. “I wish there were more I could offer you, but I ask the blessings of the Gods on this house and all who live here.”
The innkeeper smiled, “I suspect that’s worth more than you know. Good luck.”
And so the traveller left, walking the horse out, heading off in the direction he needed to go. As he lost sight of the inn he looked up toward the heavens and said, to no one in particular, “Thank you, I think.”
