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• S Umbo Aera	By : larch Category: Final Fantasy VII > Het - Male/Female Views: 616 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
  Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

• Chapter List
  • 1-S Umbo Aera
• • 1

• A/N: Although the songs are written in the 18-something-somethings, the original (pagan) tunes are kept, and most of the words are those of the original. If anyone can find an earlier version of these son wil will gladly replace the current ones with those.

  __________________

  ‘During reinrein of the fierce pagan King Laohgire, Patrick came to Ireland. On a high hill he lit a great fire. The King’s wizards said ‘That fire will burn until doomsday, and the man who kindled it will destroy the kings and lords of Ireland.’ So the Kings’ forces rose up against Patrick and Patrick cried out ‘At Tara today in this fateful hour, I place all heaven with its power between myself and the powers of darkness!’ A great earthquake trembled, darkness came over the son, and the sky seemed to fall from the heavens. The kings surrendered to Patrick, but Laoghire devised an evil plan, inviting Patrick to come to diner. In good faith, Patrick came with his eight clerics. The Kings men were hidden ready to attack, but all they saw were eight deer and behind them a fawn with a white bird on its shoulder.’

  The priest’s hand shook as he pounded on the great oaken door. Too cold now, he pulled his arm into his cloak and began werinering a prayer that someone would save him and his companion, who stayed silent.

  
  

  Finally, just as the two were about to turn and go back down the road, they heard the bolt slide away and the door was pulled open. A lone man stood in the doorway, looking at them. He wore nothing on his feet, yet he wore a breastplate and carried a sword on his belt while there was no evidence of any need for battle—there were no other settlements or buildings for several miles in any direction and the closest ones were small farms. He said nothing and gave no indication that he was interested in the two, or their fate, whether it be surviving or dying in the cold rain Ireland was famous for.

  
  

  "Please, sir," the priest spoke, finding it apparent the man was waiting for them to explain themselves. "We are on a pilgrimage. We did not count on the weather."

  
  

  "Nor the season," the man said, blocking the doorway and giving no indication that he’d let them inside yet. "’Tis well past sunset yet."

  
  

  "We came from southern France and were not informed of—"

  
  

  "You seek shelter from your own lack of planning."

  
  

  "Indeed."

  
  
• • 1
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