During the early years, when Fand had still been enraptured with the thought of motherhood and thus brought the toddler to every court procession that she could to show off the darling daughter she had birthed, Rhiannon would fidget and fuss until she spotted the shadowy war goddess. On the days that the Morrigan didn't show to Tir Na nOg, Manannan swore that there was no placating Rhiannon's sullen moods.
*****
Rhiannon first meets the Crone the night that Fand presents her before King Conchobar mac Ness. The novelty of motherhood has worn off and Rhiannon's inquistive nature only exasperates Fand now. As the King's grand-niece, she's given over to fosterage and told to behave. Rhiannon twists the bottom hem of her tunic and stares on quietly as the faery queen strides out of the throne room without looking back.
The castle servants had not expected to care for another and so they set the girl-child with the startling blue eyes up in one of the older wings of the castle until more suitable quarters can be located. The night's storm only grows in fervor as time passes. Her fingers and toes are frozen and the fire's nothing more than a memory of dead embers when there's a knock on the door. She struggles with the heavy oak and is terrifed that the shriek of the wind really is a banshee and it's come to collect her. She pulls the door open the rest of the way and rushes back quickly towards the cot, burrowing under the covers and trembling as she hears absolutely nothing.
Minutes pass. There's naught but the frantic pounding of her heartbeat in her ears and the suffocating stillness underneath the woolen blanket thrown over her head. Her imagination runs wild with thoughts of slaugh and goblins waiting to pounce and when the anxiety overwhelms her, she finally allows herself a peek at the monster at the foot of her bed.
The warmth of the crackling fire in the hearth is as welcome as a summer's breeze on her skin and it instantly chases away the hollow ache in her bones from the autumn frost beyond the room's walls. She watches on in complete silence as a woman who is most definitely not the serving maid assigned to care for her bustles about the room, latching the windows firmly shut and setting another log on the fire from the small stockpile of wood in the corner. When the woman turns about and fixes her with eyes that are darker than the abyss itself, Rhiannon shrinks back into the protection of the blankets and only dares another peek when the bed dips down on her left. Her inquistiveness is rewarded by a shawl draped over her eyes and Rhiannon no longer worries about the storm outside.
***
Rhiannon first meets the Maiden on a hot summer's day the year after Manannan collected her from the castle to spare her from an arranged marriage set up by Conchobar to both secure an alliance and to prevent Rhiannon's growing beauty causing any more infighting amongst the lords that pledged loyalty to him.
She steals away to the bubbling brook while her father courts a Welsh goddess who laughs as gaily as he does and shares the same love of horses and is about to eat the midday meal she had taken with her when a girl about her age passes underneath the low branch Rhiannon uses as her seat. With hair and eyes as black as night, she reminds Rhiannon so much of her caretaker back at Eamhain Mhacha that she finds herself calling out to the passerby and offering to break bread with the girl. Before she knows it, she's laughing and treating the girl who calls herself 'Ann' as if they've known eachother their whole lives.
It's when the sun has sunk low beyond the horizon and the fireflies gleam about her that Rhiannon realizes that she's terribly late in returning to Manannan's ranch. She promises to meet with Ann on the morrow and races back through the shadows of the forest. When Manannan lectures her about missing her chores, Rhiannon finds herself thinking about her friend.
***
Rhiannon's long past the innocent blush of childhood when she finally encounters the Matron. There's no true first meeting; rather more like a series of encounters that have Rhiannon's nerves tightly wound with the anticipation of being cornered by the seductive shadow that lingers in the background of every social event Rhiannon finds herself flitting through.
It grows to the point where Rhiannon can feel that haunting gaze searing into her very dreams and she's watching the crowd for a glimpse of ivory flesh and ebony hair. She winds up obsessed with the woman, ignoring the many suitors in favor of just one more glance through the throng of people. It finally happens one night when her bedchamber is plunged into the solid darkness that only comes during the new moon that the shadows of her room seem to come alive and ensnare her in an embrace that leaves her breathless and yielding underneath the deft, silken touch that plucks a symphony from her body as if she was a finely tuned harp.
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