And the time was long to Diorraing while Finn was asleep, and he roused him and told him the Fianna must have given up the hunt, for he could not hear a cry or a whistle from them.  “The end of day is come,” said Finn then, “and we will not follow them to-night.  And go now to the wood,” he said, “and bring timber and dead branches for a shelter, and I will go looking for food for the night.”  So Diorraing went to the wood, but he was not gone far till he saw a fine well-lighted house of the Sidhe before him on the edge of the wood near at hand, and he went back to Finn with the news.  “Let us go to it,” said Finn, “for we ought not to be working in this place, and people living so near at hand.”  They went then to the door of the house and knocked at it, and the door-keeper came to it.  “Whose house is this?” said Diorraing.  “It belongs to Conan of Ceann Slieve,” said the door-keeper.  “Tell him,” said Diorraing, “there are two of the Fianna of the Gael at the door.”

The door-keeper went in then and told Conan there were two men of the Fianna at the door.  “The one of them,” he said, “is young and strong, and quiet and fair-haired, and more beautiful than the rest of the men of the world, and he has in his hand a small-headed, white-breasted hound, having a collar of rubbed gold and a chain of old silver.  And the other of them,” he said, “is brown and ruddy and white-toothed, and he is leading a yellow-spotted hound by a chain of bright bronze.”  “It is well you have made your report of them,” said Conan, “and I know them by it; for the man you spoke of first is Finn, son of Cumhal, Head of the Fianna of Ireland, and Bran in his hand; and the other is Diorraing, and Sceolan in his hand.  And go now quickly and let them in,” he said.

Finn and Diorraing were brought in then, and they got good attendance, and their arms were taken from them, and a grand feast was made ready that pleased them well.  And the wife of Conan was at the one side of Finn, and his daughter, Finndealbh, of the Fair Shape, was at his other side.  And they had a great deal of talk together, and at last, seeing her so beautiful, the colour of gold on her curled hair, and her eyes as blue as flowers, and a soft four-cornered cloak fastened at her breast with a silver pin, he asked her of Conan for his wife.  “Leave asking that, Finn,” said Conan, “for your own courage is not greater than the courage of the man she is promised to.”  “Who is that?” said Finn.  “He is Fatha, son of the King of Ess Ruadh,” said Conan.  “Your wounds and your danger on yourself,” said Diorraing; “and it would be right,” he said, “that stammering tongue that gave out those words to be tied and to be shortened for ever, and a drink of death to be given to you; for if the whole of the Men of Dea,” he said, “could be put into the one body, Finn would be better than them all.”  “Leave off, Diorraing,” said Finn, “for it is not fighting I am here, but asking a wife, and I will get her whether the Men of Dea think good or bad of it.”  “I will not be making a quarrel with you,” said Conan, “but I put you under bonds as a true hero to answer me everything I am going to ask you.”  “I will do that,” said Finn.