The Adventure of Conle

In the time when Conn of the Hundred Battles ruled all Ireland from his great fortress at Tara, he had a son named Conle the Fair, who was beloved by all who knew him. Conle was young and handsome, brave in battle and wise in counsel, and many said he would make an even greater king than his father when his time came to rule.

One bright morning in spring, Conle walked upon the ramparts of Tara with his father, King Conn, looking out over the green hills of Meath and discussing the affairs of the kingdom. The air was sweet with the scent of hawthorn blossoms, and larks sang joyfully in the blue sky above.

As they spoke of matters of state and the challenges facing Ireland, a voice suddenly called out to Conle – a voice as musical as silver bells and as clear as mountain streams. Both father and son looked around in surprise, for though they could hear the voice distinctly, they could see no one who might have spoken.

“Conle the Fair,” the voice called, “son of Conn, jewel among men, why do you not answer when love calls to you?”

Conle spun around, his heart racing strangely at the sound of that beautiful voice. Still he could see no one on the ramparts, no one in the courtyard below, no one anywhere within sight of Tara’s walls.

“Who speaks?” he called out. “Show yourself, whoever you are!”

Then, as if she materialized from the morning mist itself, a woman appeared before them. She was more beautiful than any mortal woman Conle had ever seen, with hair like spun gold that caught the sunlight and seemed to glow with its own inner fire. Her dress was made of what looked like woven moonbeams, shimmering silver-white and seeming to move with a life of its own. Her eyes were the color of summer skies, deep blue and filled with ancient wisdom.

King Conn could see nothing – to him, his son appeared to be speaking to empty air. But Conle saw the woman clearly, and his heart was immediately filled with a longing he had never known before.

“I am from the Land of the Living,” the woman said, her voice like music to Conle’s ears, “where there is neither death nor sin nor transgression. We feast in lasting fellowship without need for service. Strife we have not among us. In the great sid-mound where we dwell, we are called the People of Peace.”

“Father,” Conle said, his voice filled with wonder, “do you not see her? Do you not hear her words?”

But Conn heard only his son’s voice, and he grew troubled. To him, it seemed that Conle was speaking to invisible spirits, and he feared some enchantment had fallen upon his heir.

“Guards!” Conn called sharply. “Summon the druid Coran immediately! Some sorcery is at work here!”

The woman smiled sadly at Conle. “Your father calls for his druid because he fears the truth I bring. But know this, beloved – I love you with a love that will never fade. Come with me to the Plain of Delights, where Boadach the Eternal is king. There you will wear a crown of gold that will never tarnish, and your youth will never fade away.”

Old Coran the druid came running at the king’s summons, his robes streaming behind him and his staff of power glowing with otherworldly light. He was the wisest and most powerful druid in all Ireland, learned in all the ancient ways and skilled in protecting mortals from supernatural influences.

The moment Coran arrived and began to chant his spells of banishment, the woman began to fade like morning mist in sunlight. But before she disappeared entirely, she threw something to Conle – a crystal apple that glowed with its own inner light.

“Until we meet again,” she called, her voice growing fainter as she vanished, “let this sustain you and remind you of my love.”

Conle caught the crystal apple, and the moment it touched his hands, he felt a strange peace settle over him. The apple was perfectly clear, like the finest crystal, but it pulsed with a gentle golden light that seemed to come from its very core.

“The spell is broken,” announced Coran with satisfaction. “The fairy woman’s power is ended, and she will trouble you no more.”

But the druid was wrong. Though the woman had disappeared, her influence over Conle had only grown stronger. From that moment on, the young prince ate nothing but the crystal apple. Yet no matter how much he ate of it, the apple never grew smaller, never lost its perfect shape or its magical light. It sustained him completely, and he needed no other food or drink.

More troubling still, Conle began to change. He lost interest in the affairs of the kingdom that had once fascinated him. He no longer joined his warriors in their training or his counselors in their deliberations. Instead, he would sit for hours gazing westward, toward the setting sun, with the crystal apple in his hands and a look of infinite longing in his eyes.

“My son,” King Conn said to him one day, “you are not yourself since that strange encounter. You eat nothing but that accursed apple, you speak little, and you seem to see and hear things that are not there. Let Coran examine you again, for I fear the fairy woman’s spell was not completely broken.”

But Conle only shook his head. “Father, I am not enchanted, but I am changed. That apple feeds not just my body but my soul, and it has shown me truths I cannot ignore. There are realms beyond this one, beautiful beyond description, where love is pure and eternal. How can I be content with earthly things when I have glimpsed the divine?”

King Conn grew more worried with each passing day. His son was wasting away before his eyes, not in body – for the crystal apple kept him perfectly healthy – but in spirit. Conle seemed to be slowly detaching himself from the mortal world, becoming more like a ghost than a living prince.

A full month passed in this way. Then, one evening as Conle stood again upon the ramparts watching the sunset, the beautiful woman appeared once more. This time she seemed even more radiant than before, and her presence filled the air with the scent of otherworldly flowers.

“Conle,” she said softly, “I have come for you at last. Will you come with me now to the Land of the Living, where we may be together always?”

This time King Conn could see her clearly, and her beauty struck him like a physical blow. He understood now why his son had been so affected by her presence. Yet still he fought against her influence.

“You shall not have my son!” Conn declared, drawing his sword. “Coran! Work your magic! Banish this creature before she steals my heir!”

But before the druid could begin his chanting, the woman spoke again, and her words were directed not just to Conle but to all who could hear her.

“Why do you struggle against love, King of Tara? Your son’s heart has chosen freely. I offer him not death but eternal life, not sorrow but endless joy. In my realm, he will be a king greater than any earthly ruler, beloved and honored for all time. What can your mortal kingdom offer that can compare to that?”

Conle stepped forward, his eyes shining with decision. “She speaks truly, Father. I have thought long about this choice, and my heart is decided. I love you and honor you, and I love Ireland with all my soul. But there is another kind of love calling to me, and I cannot deny it any longer.”

“My son,” Conn pleaded, tears in his eyes, “if you leave with her, you will never return. I will never see you again, and Ireland will lose the king it needs.”

“Perhaps,” Conle said gently, “but others will rise to take my place. Ireland will endure without me, as it has endured for countless generations. But if I do not follow my heart now, I will become a hollow shell, alive in body but dead in spirit.”

The fairy woman extended her hand to Conle, and her smile was radiant with love and promise. “Come, beloved. My crystal ship waits beyond the horizon. Together we will sail to the Land of the Living, where summer is eternal and love knows no ending.”

Conle took her hand, and immediately they began to glow with the same soft golden light that emanated from the crystal apple. As they rose slowly into the air, supported by otherworldly power, Conle looked down at his father one last time.

“Do not grieve for me, Father,” he called. “I go not to death but to a different kind of life. Remember me not with sorrow but with joy, knowing that I have found love beyond all earthly measure.”

“And know this as well,” added the fairy woman, her voice now kind and respectful toward the grieving king. “Your son’s choice honors both our worlds. Love freely given ennobles all who witness it, mortal and immortal alike.”

With that, they rose higher into the evening sky, their forms becoming more and more translucent until they looked like stars dancing together in the heavens. Then they faded entirely, leaving behind only the lingering scent of otherworldly flowers and the echo of joyful laughter.

King Conn stood alone on the ramparts of Tara, tears streaming down his face as he stared at the empty sky where his son had vanished. Coran the druid placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“My lord,” the old druid said softly, “do not despair entirely. Though we may call it loss, for your son it is the greatest gain imaginable. He has chosen love over duty, eternity over mortality, and in doing so has become more than human. His name will be remembered not as a king who ruled Ireland, but as a prince who showed that love can transcend all boundaries.”

In the days that followed, the story of Conle’s choice spread throughout Ireland and beyond. Some called him foolish for abandoning his kingdom and his duty for the love of a fairy woman. Others called him the wisest of men for recognizing true love when it appeared and having the courage to follow it wherever it led.

But all agreed that his tale was one of the most beautiful and heartbreaking they had ever heard. It became a song that bards sang at royal courts and peasant hearths alike, reminding all who heard it that love is the most powerful force in any world, mortal or immortal.

Years later, travelers to the western coast of Ireland sometimes reported seeing a crystal ship sailing just beyond the horizon at sunset, its passengers glowing with golden light. Whether these sightings were real or merely wishful thinking, no one could say for certain.

But the story of Conle the Fair lived on, teaching that while duty and responsibility are noble virtues, the call of true love is sacred and should not be denied. It reminds us that some choices, no matter how difficult, lead to destinies greater than anything we could have imagined.

And it suggests that perhaps the greatest courage is not the bravery shown in battle, but the willingness to follow our hearts even when doing so means leaving everything familiar behind.