Death of Flann Sinna
Flann Sinna, the High King of Ireland, lies dying in the royal enclosure at the Hill of Tara. The assembled nobles, clergy, and warriors watch as his final breaths draw near, while the bard prepares t
Setting
The Hill of Tara, an ancient ceremonial and political site in early medieval Ireland. The scene unfolds in the royal enclosure, surrounded by earthen banks and wooden palisades. The sacred Lia Fáil (Stone of Destiny) stands nearby, marking this as the traditional coronation site of High Kings.
Characters
Flann Sinna
primary
A gaunt, elderly man with a long, white beard streaked with remnants of red, his once-powerful frame now withered by illness. His pale skin is marked with faded battle scars and the deep lines of a ruler who has weathered many storms. His piercing blue eyes, though dimmed by pain, still hold a regal intensity.
Abbot
primary
A tall, gaunt man in his late fifties with a prominent tonsure and deep-set, piercing blue eyes. His long fingers are marked with ink stains from years of scribing manuscripts.
Tanist
secondary
A man in his late thirties with a lean, muscular build honed by years of warfare and hunting. His sharp features are framed by a closely-trimmed russet beard, and his piercing green eyes betray both ambition and wariness. A faded scar runs diagonally across his left cheekbone, a trophy from past battles.
Royal Guard
secondary
A broad-shouldered warrior in his late thirties, standing at an imposing height with a muscular build honed by years of combat. His face bears the marks of battle—a jagged scar running from his left temple to jawline, and a broken nose that healed crooked. His thick, reddish-brown beard is neatly trimmed, and his piercing blue eyes remain alert beneath heavy brows.
Bard
background
A middle-aged man with a wiry build, his face lined with the marks of a life spent traveling between courts. His dark hair is streaked with grey, tied back with a simple leather thong. His hands, rough from harp strings, move deftly as he composes.
Dialog
Flann Sinna
By the Lia Fáil that bore my weight at coronation... Flann Sinna does not beg, but I would hear the psalm for departing kings.
Abbot
Domine, in manus tuas commendo spiritum meum... The Church receives all souls with equal grace, be they kings or swineherds.
Tanist
Save your Latin prayers, holy father. A king's last breath should hear the fénechas naming his rightful successor.
Flann Sinna
The derbfhine's choice stands... (coughs blood) ...but kingship follows the man, not the name. Remember that, tanist.
Abbot
Ecce quam bonum... Let there be peace between sacred and secular authority in this hour. The chronicles will record how this king departed.
Tanist
The chronicles will speak of a strong succession. The tanist comes now to receive the king's testament.
Flann Sinna
Testament? (laughs painfully) My testament stands at Clonmacnoise and Armagh... written in the blood of a hundred battles.