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He did not like the men of Lochlann at any time, but this time he moved against them in wrath, for not only were they attacking Ireland, but they had come between him and the deepest joy his life had known. It was a hard fight, but a short one. The Lochlannachs were driven back to their ships, and within a week the only Danes remaining in Ireland were those that had been buried there.
The son of Lir turned then and went away in the direction of Ireland to take up his one-day rights, and Fiachna continued his battle with the Lochlannachs. He beat them before nightfall, and by that victory he became King of Lochlann and King of the Saxons and the Britons.
"They were with me," said Fionn. "They seemed to be with it," said the servant humbly "Tell us this tale," cried Fionn. "We were distrustful," the servant continued. "We had never known Fionn to return from a combat before it had been fought, and we knew you could not have reached Ben Edar or encountered the Lochlannachs.
And then, in Lochlann, at the battle of Cnocha your father and I met at last, foot to foot, eye to eye, and there, Fionn!" "And there, Goll?" "And there I killed your father." Fionn sat rigid and unmoving, his face stony and terrible as the face of a monument carved on the side of a cliff. "Tell all your tale," said he. "At that battle I beat the Lochlannachs.
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