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Fionn then set out towards Tara of the Kings, for he thought Caelte mac Romin would surely be there; "and if he is not there," said the champion to himself, "then I shall find him at Cesh Corran of the Fianna."
He put his hand into Fionn's, and the Chief felt as if that little hand had been put into his heart. He lifted the lad to his great shoulder. "We have caught something on this hunt," said he to Caelte mac Rongn. "We must bring this treasure home. You shall be one of the Fianna-Finn, my darling," he called upwards.
He bound Iollan to return the lady if there should be occasion to think her unhappy, and Iollan agreed to do so. The sureties to this bargain were Caelte mac Ronan, Goll mac Morna, and Lugaidh. Lugaidh himself gave the bride away, but it was not a pleasant ceremony for him, because he also was in love with the lady, and he would have preferred keeping her to giving her away.
For this was the order of Fionn's affection: first there was the boy; next, Bran and Sceo'lan with their three whelps; then Caelte mac Rona'n, and from him down through the champions. He loved them all, but it was along that precedence his affections ran. The thorn that went into Bran's foot ran into Fionn's also.
"There is no such place in Ireland," said Caelte, "but in the Shi' there is such a place." "There is in truth," said Fionn. "I used to eat fruits and roots in the summer," the boy continued, "but in the winter food was left for me in a cave." "Was there no one with you?" Fionn asked. "No one but a deer that loved me, and that I loved." "Ah me!" cried Fionn in anguish, "tell me your tale, my son."
That finished, he left the victorious Fianna and returned swiftly to the plain of Allen, for he could not bear to be one unnecessary day parted from Saeve. "You are not leaving us!" exclaimed Goll mac Morna. "I must go," Fionn replied. "You will not desert the victory feast," Conan reproached him. "Stay with us, Chief," Caelte begged. "What is a feast without Fionn?" they complained.
Everybody came, for a banquet given by Fionn was not a thing to be missed. There was Goll mor mac Morna and his people; Fionn's son Oisi'n and his grandson Oscar. There was Dermod of the Gay Face, Caelte mac Ronan but indeed there were too many to be told of, for all the pillars of war and battle-torches of the Gael were there. The banquet began.
Art og mac Morna of the Hard Strokes fell to biting his fingers, Cona'n the Swearer and Garra mac Morna grumbled irritably to each other and at their neighbours, even Caelte, the son of Rona'n, looked down into his own lap, and Goll Mor sipped at his wine without any twinkle in his eye.
When I look in her eyes I am tormented because I am not looking at her lips, and when I see her lips my soul cries out, 'Look at her eyes, look at her eyes." "That is how it happens," said Goll rememberingly. "That way and no other," Caelte agreed. And the champions looked backwards in time on these lips and those, and knew their Chief would go.
"In running alone," Fionn continued thoughtfully, "we have a notable champion, Caelte mac Rona'n." "This son of Rona'n will not long be notable," the stranger asserted. "He can outstrip the red deer," said Cona'n. "He can outrun the wind," cried Fionn. "He will not be asked to outrun the red deer or the wind," the stranger sneered. "He will be asked to outrun me," he thundered.
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