Disclaimer and Notes: I do not lay any claim to the characters in this story. They, being of the world of Fire Emblem VII: Sword of Flame, belong to Intelligent Systems. I only own the stories and legends mentioned here, they are of my own design. There is a wealth of Welsh names in here. To help with pronunciation, I have added a guide; please use it.
Consonants
c- like k, never s.
ch-like loch, never church.
dd-like then, never thistle.
g-like girl, not gem.
ll- as if hl, with a hissing h.
s-sin, never rose.
th- thistle- never then.
Vowels
a-father
e-met
i-pin
o-not
u-pin
w-look
y-pin: consonantal before vowels, except w.
Diphthongs
ae, ei, eu, ey- tiger
aw-out
oe-oil
wy-dewy. Unless it follows a g, then like win.
Boon Companions
The wind was filled with a chill, though it was only early winter and the snow had yet to fall. However, it was Caelin, and winter had always set in early, cutting short the harvest season for the farmers. Though the wind was chilled and carried in it the start of winter, it still carried on it the scent of apples. One such breeze moved fast over the fields of Caelin, picking up leaves of flame, gold, and bronze in its passing. The leaves danced in the wind, flying high into the heavens, leaving the ground where mortals dwelled below, ever moving forward.
Another wind came and the leaves fell; they would not soar to where the Gods Silver Lamp flies. The wind carried the leaves across the land, though the leaves fell like a hawk gliding to his perch. To a castle they fell, the Castle of Caelin, where the marquess's throne sat.
A great circle wall of grey stone stretched around that castle and the small dwellings inside. Upon the battlements was the movement of soldiers in bright mail patrolling the walls, keeping watch for the enemies of the land. A great oak gate was at the southern part of the wall; it was weathered and without doubt had seen many storms. Carved upon it was the Hawk of Caelin, the crest of the land that was seen on all the banners of war for Caelin. The seat of the marquess's power was a hall, made of oak timber and grey stone. It had many wings for the dwellings of the retainers that stayed by the side of the marquess, though now he had passed to a place where they could not follow.
Carved upon the hall were many symbols of the land, ending with the symbol of a great golden eagle, which was placed over the doors that led into the hall. Caught in the wind over the hall where two banners, the White Eagle of Lycia in a black field on one banner, the Silver Hawk of Caelin in a green field on the other. Beside the hall was a great tower, tall as a mountain and made of black stone; from the highest point on it, one could see all the way to the territory of Laus nearby. Below the tower, one could hear the sound of clattering steel mail and the bellows of mighty horns.
Scattered about the feet of the stronghold were houses of stained wood, a village that had sprung up in the protecting shadow of the marquess's citadel. Roads went out from all sides of the settlement and ever on them were the black spots of travelers. By the edges of the village was a wooden wall, meant only to keep out small bandit groups or wild animals. The sun was setting, and everything was bathed in the fading light a crimson red. But the wind paid no mind to the magnificents of the castle or village. It dived low and sped toward the town, weaving in between people and buildings as if it were a game, the leaves trailing behind as a marker of its movements.
They struggled to keep up, but they could not and soon they fell out of the gust. They landed in the short flaming orange hair of a tall man. His normally hard brown eyes opened with shock as they landed on him, but he relaxed, grumbled, and brushed the leaves off his head. He unconsciously brushed off his black tunic and his weathered green cloak as well. The man looked like a traveler, with his comfortable leather boots and with the horse he was leading, which was laden down with some packs of food and clothing.
About his neck was a leather strap with a horn of bronze and pearl. His face had a grim look and his chin was clean, the latter a showing of a man high born. He continued his way down the quite streets of Caelin, the wind playing with his cloak; he walked as though he were a man with a troubling message on his heart, though his strides showed that he had a strong mind to carry the message through. After he walked a while, he came to a stop, for he had found his destination. It was a large weathered wooden building with a heavy oak door and bronze knocker. The roof was made of an oak wood with a stone chimney by one end. There were some windows by the front, but they were dirty, which made peering into the building impossible. Above the door was a sign with a pale silver boar on it.
Underneath the picture was a name: The Silver Boar of Caelin. The man tethered his horse at a nearby post and strode up to the door. He hesitated for a moment, but opened the door and walked in. Once inside, one could see that it was a tavern. The room was rather large and cozy.
Scattered about were tables and chairs. On the left was a bar, where a crusty man with grey hair and a dirty apron ran back and forth in order to fill men's orders. By the end of the room was a hearth, where a fire burned brightly to keep the travelers and workers warm in the increasingly cold weather. It was near evening, so the room was filled with various men and boys, though in the corner were a woman or two, talking about home and gossip. Weaving in between tables were some barmaids who brought men their tankards and pints of various ales and beers.
However one stayed by the hearth, her fair face blushing as crimson as her hair as she listened to one of the patrons speak flirtatious words to her. The man slowly weaved his way over there. When he was near his destination, he saw the patron who was speaking such words freely to the maid. He would have been a tall fellow if he were not on one knee, as was his custom when wooing women. He had a head of light brown hair and his eyes were a jolly auburn. About his forehead was a dark band, so as to keep the hair out of his eyes.
He was dressed in a fine black tunic with a green cloak draped over his shoulders. He had a handsome, clean face with a large grin on it. Fair words came from his mouth, praising the maiden's beauty and skill. He spoke poems to her, and indeed, he seemed the very image of an Etrurian knight, renowned for fair words and filled with courtesy.
Crimson crowned maiden, heed me,
dismiss not my courtesy.
It is true, so fear my hand
naught, it is no flaming brand.
Far from this land we can ride,
to an old hearth home hill-side.
Your feet would rest there, no pain
in the foot, illness be vain.
The red-haired man sighed at the words he heard, a sound which drew the attention of the barmaid, for he stood not far away. She gasped as she saw him, causing the other fellow to jump to his feet and turn around, his mouth open ready to defend himself. But when he saw the man, his face grinned and he gave a shout and called the man's name, "Kent! My dear brother-in-arms, what brings you here? This is no place for the Caelin Knight Commander!" A smile was ever upon his lips, though it seemed he was rebuking Kent.
Kent noticed the barmaid slowly slip away into the crowd, glad that he had saved her before his companion, Sain, burst into song as he was wont to do when being 'courteous'.He turned his attention back to his companion."Sain, I will decide what place I set my feet, not you. As for my reasoning for coming here, I was in search of you."
Sain laughed well naturedly and sat down. "Sit down, you have found me. Shall I order you a pint? Do not worry, I am paying for this round." He gestured to the mug sitting by his arm, filed to the brim with an ale of sorts. Kent hesitated, but nodded and Sain signaled one of the bar maids. The brunette soon came swooping by and dropped the ale at the table.
Sain made a move to grab her hand, without a doubt to make her stay and listen to him speak, but the maiden leaped like a deer and was gone in the crowd as she had come. Sain stared after her awhile with a little hurt look in his eye, as though her wariness of him was an arrow that pierced his chest, but soon his eyes lit up. He chuckled and turned towards Kent. "What has caused you to find me out, my friend? I haven't caused any trouble, at least none that should bring you out onto the hunt."
Kent remained silent, his mind going over various words to tell him. "I have come to see how," he hesitated, but pressed on, "you are doing. A lot has happened in this land. The Lady Lyndis refusing the throne of Caelin and the sudden lordship of the Ostian Marquess here must be no small shock to you."
Sain laughed, a cheerful sound that made some of the patrons smile when they heard it. "Why would you ask? Whatever decision Lady Lyndis makes, I will still drink to her health. And whatever lord rules here, I would still serve him with my spear, be it lord, lady, or cow from Ostia. It makes no difference to me."
Kent stared hard at his companion. Of course he wasn't telling him the truth. Sain often hid whatever his personal thoughts were behind a mask of a jester knight, who let the lord's decision be and continue his laughter. But Kent knew enough of him to know better. Kent heard Sain babble on, and he found it repetitive. He felt it best to speak before he continued his pretty little speech. "Sain, speak the truth to me now. I have neither wish nor time to hear pretty lies from your tongue."
Sain stopped in mid sentence, his face showing his surprise. The hard stare of Kent made him quake a bit, but he shook it off and spoke, "What do you mean, Kent? What reason would I have to hide anything from you, whom I trust the most in this world?" Kent just continued to stare hard at him. Sain felt as though he were before a judge or a priest, pressing him to confess all that he had done. Sweat formed on his brow and his skin paled, Kent would not let him continue his lies.
He sighed and let the mask drop. "I have been lying, haven't I? Forgive me my friend; I had no wish to worry you with my little sorrows. But who am I fooling but only myself? Truthfully, I had wished Lady Lyndis had stayed." Sain looked hard at his reflection in his ale, wishing to avoid the eyes of Kent.
Sain sighed again and went on, "I had hoped our Lady Lyndis would have stayed here. That she would stay the Princess of Caelin and that she might chose a husband to live with her here. And I would serve them both as their knight, as I had done before when she lived here alone. Nothing would have given me greater pleasure. But now. . ."
He trailed off and shook his head. He picked up his head and looked at Kent. Kent's eyes had the same hardness they usually had, but Sain also saw understanding there now. Sain smiled at his friend, and looked towards the laughing crowd nearby. He frowned slightly as he stared at them. "Even though their angel from Saint Elimine and the Gods leaves, they still laugh. Should I scorn them for their ignorance, or envy them for the peace in their minds?" he whispered softly, Kent made no response, for he had not heard him.
Sain turned his head back to his mug and continued, "But I have always known she would leave, I believe. Caelin has always been something that was her grandfather's, never hers." He stopped for a moment to take a drink from the ale. "She never settled down here. Lady Lyndis may have lived here, but it was never her home. I even question what our worth was to her if she leaves us like this." He turned his eyes to Kent once more. He was surprised to see Kent staring hard at him with scorn, his eyes burning with ire.
"Foolish knight, Lady Lyndis would never think in such a manner. Never speak that way of her again, you ignorant buffoon. You think only of your sorrow at her parting, yet harder it must have been for her, since she was leaving behind everything that she had come to know over the years. We were her best companions here and her choice to leave us must have been a hard one." Kent's face was hard as stone and his eyes smoldered like coals from the fire; he would knock sense into Sain, even if he had to do so with a hammer.
"So dry those silly tears of yours, the time for the sorrowful parting has ended. The gods will not let time stop, so you must live on. Do not let this one parting ruin your life. There are other matters at hand."
Sain heard him, but he rolled his eyes and leaned back. "A man may weep however long he wishes for the lost of a loved one. Lady Lyndis has returned to Sacae, and to me, that is the same as death. I fear I will know no joy in my days from this day onward." He frowned slightly and then leaned forward. "Besides, no one else seems to miss her leaving, so I suppose shall have to weep enough tears for this land."
The coals nearly exploded into a fire in Kent's eyes, but he controlled himself. "Never say such words. The people of Caelin wept when she left, but they are resilient and gave her their best wishes. All you seem to give her is the belief of her disloyalty and carry on like a child." Kent leaned onto the table. "Did she not wish you well at our parting? Would you fail her now, at this final stage of her friendship, when you have been true in all other matters?"
Sain stared at his companion for a moment, and then he gave a small grin; it seemed as though a small cloud had been lifted from him. "You are more of a wise man than a knight, dear friend. May the golden ale go to your mouth as fast as golden words leave it." Sain then downed the rest his pint and raised his hand to order another. It was delivered swiftly, with Sain detaining the maiden with fair words for only a moment before Kent shooed her away. They spent a few minutes drinking, letting the hardy tasting brew sweep into their mouths and then finally fall down their throat, in silence till Sain finally spoke up.
"Did you hear any news from her?" Kent stared at Sain in confusion. Sain cleared his throat and went on. "From my fair Etrurian noble; I heard some messages from Aquila arrived some days ago; Owein the Gate-keeper told me."
Kent was silent for a moment as he stared at Sain, but his thoughts caught on to what he was saying. "A messenger came about a week ago. I would have sent for you, but you were on that errand to Castle Myrddin. I'm sorry, but the message fell from my mind. I had," Kent stopped, his mind seeking for the right words, "another matter to attend to." Kent remained silent for a moment, wondering when he should tell Sain about his plan. Not at the moment, he thought. Kent reached into his belt and pulled out a small, fine parchment, which he handed to Sain. There was a brief moment of silence as Sain read the letter. Finally he sighed, rolled it carefully back up, and placed it at his belt.
Kent slowly spoke again, "What news?"
Sain was silent for a moment, drinking his ale to wet his throat. "She was wedded not three weeks ago. I'll have to send my congratulations." And then he was silent.
Kent frowned at his companion as seemed Sain to drown in his own gloom once more. But soon Kent heard a small chant. The words flowed smoothly and seemed to come from no origin. It seemed as though the air around them was speaking. Kent glanced at Sain to see if he heard the noise, but as Kent glance at him, he realized that it was Sain saying the words. The words were being sung it seemed, in a smooth voice.
Over the hills in the fair west,
by the blue sea lives a maid blest.
Golden leaves in her silken hair
and with eyes which none can compare.
Stars shine for only her pure bliss
and the moon yearns for her soft kiss.
Fairest maiden in all the land,
every man has wished for your hand.
I wish you well, my fair maiden,
I will miss your cheeks so crimson.
I must go to some distant land,
to your hand I make no demand.
I wish you well, no curse on you
or your kin, my heart remains true.
Far over the hills, in the west,
there lives the maiden I love best.
Sain raised his head and smiled slightly. He looked over at Kent and saw him staring. He spoke, "A man may love a women with his all heart, but be innocent if he lays no hand on her. And her letter gladdens my heart; a sad letter from her is worth all the joys of the world." Sain laughed and the shadow lifted from his brow. Soon the other patrons laughed as well, though reason for the mirth was not there.
Kent showed no outward signs of mirth, though, and spoke, "I was afraid you had sunken in despair again, as some men are wont to do." He locked his eyes on Sain and released the breath he did not know he held. "But I see now that the fear was groundless. I am glad to see you back to your normal self."
Sain laughed again. "Indeed, I am back to my normal self, though I have lost that fair maid." His eyes sparkled with mischief. "But one cannot keep down an old dog. Let it be true for me as well." Sain drank from the pint and jumped to his feet. He made to run into the crowd, possibly to grab a maiden to dance with in his joy, but Kent grabbed his arm and pulled him back to the table, his face set once more in its grim look.
"Keep your seat, Sain. You have caused enough trouble in your days to last a life time of many, so for once keep your seat and act respectable," said Kent. Sain laughed, but he sat down.
"Would you speak thus to our lord if he wished to dance in great joy? Even Rhugldyn, a man of noble blood and a great hero, was known to dance with the first woman he saw when glad and to enjoy their company in more ways than one."
Kent nodded, but his grip remained tight and his eyes hard. "Yet he received a knife in the back when he grabbed a kings' daughter to dance and enjoy. Be wary of your free ways, Sain, or you to will go likewise." Sain nodded, but the joy never left his eyes. Kent sighed, released his grip on Sain's arm, and took a drink from the brown ale in front of him. He spoke as he put down his pint. "I worry for you Sain, in truth, about what foolishness you will bring to yourself when I leave."
Sain's head picked up and he stared at Kent in shock. "You are leaving?" Sain's eyes hardened and it seemed to Kent that he had destroyed whatever good mood he had had with a slip of the tongue. But since he had slipped, he would not deny anything like a coward.
Kent returned the stare, for he was never one to back down, and spoke, "Aye, I am leaving. There is not need for my service now. Ostia shall rule here and there will be no need for a Knight Commander or any other vassal office. The Ostian lords shall rule here now as you said before."
Sain's glare hardened and it seemed to Kent as though he were a bear, a gentle creature by nature, but full of strength when provoked. "That is no reason to leave. You cannot say Ostia will remove us. Lord Hector might keep us since we both were companions with him in those old campaigns."
Kent responded coolly, his eyes unwavering and his face fixed, "Our offices are provided by the Peer System, which Hector means to remove in all Ostian territories. There will be no need for us much longer."
The fire in Sain's eyes increased. "But there might still be a need for us. And you often say that as long as a lord needs you, you will not leave. Were all the things that you said about honour nothing more than a lie?"
"Ostia is a large territory with its own armies. It will not need Caelin knights. And my oath was to the Caelin line of Peredur, not to the Ostian line of Gaius. Hector, noble as he is, is not of the Caelin line of Peredur," Kent slowly reasoned, his words carefully chosen and coming as calm and slow as the snow flakes of winter.
"An oath is bound to the ruler of the land, not to the family," grumbled Sain. "Besides, where would you go? Caelin has always been your life. You have nowhere else to go. Do you plan to roam the lands like some vagrant fool? Did your grandfather truly raise such a foolish heir?"
Kent's anger boiled more and some of it spilled. His patience came to an end and the line was drawn. His eyes became as black as the night and it seemed to Sain that a heat that came from Kent intensified to the point of burning him. "If you must know, Golden Tongued Sain, I will not rove for the rest of my years as the vagrant you think me for. I will spend the winter at my grandfathers' house and then travel to Sindriarfjord."
Sain opened his mouth to rebuttal, but then his mouth closed and his eyebrows were lifted up. "Sindriarfjord? But, that is a port city in Ilia. What reason would you go to that frozen land?" Kent remained silent, and Sain was certain he saw a blush on his face. Sain thought for a moment, his eyes widened, and he let out a loud laugh. "A lady! Of all the things in the world, you leave for a maiden?"
Kent's blush deepened and he tried to hide his face. Sain laughed again. "Don't be ashamed, Kent. Many men have done worse things then you. And if it were for anything but a lady that you left, I could never forgive you. Now twice I have reason to rejoice."
But Sain made no move to jump up, much to Kent's relief. "Tell me, who is this lady whom you would chase so far?" Kent's blush still deepened. Sain grinned, trying to the best of his abilities to get the red hair knight to speak. "Come Kent. Speak! I know she will not mind that I know her name."
Sain's grin increased on his face and it seemed to Kent that if his smile grew, his face would split in two. "Maybe I already know her name? Perhaps she is a lady from our little army of old, then? Maybe it is the Rambunctious Money Bag or the Melancholy Flower?"
Kent's face did not change, but slowly he raised his head and spoke, "The Flower, Sain." Sain kept his grin and reached over and slapped his friend on the shoulder, his eyes overflowing with mirth.
"So you chose Fiora. She is good choice for a bride, my friend. She will treat you well." Sain raised his mug and took a long drink from the ale. "You two will make a fine husband and wife, though a little too serious than a young couple should be."
Kent raised his mug too and took a short drink; he spoke after he lowered it. "I am not going to Ilia to marry, Sain." Sain's eyes opened in confusion and his mouth shrank to a frown, but he remained silent, waiting for Kent's explanation, as he was sure there was one. "I am only going there to court her and to prove myself to her parents. You know that in Ilia one cannot marry unless the parents believe it is a good match."
Sain smiled again. "You don't give yourself enough credit, Kent. They will find no better suitor in Ilia even if they dug through the land looking for a fairy one for her." Sain then released Kent's shoulder and picked up his pint and drank from the ale. "When do you leave for your little winter refuge?"
Kent stared out the window by the door on the other side of the room. "I was going to leave this night, but now it seems too late." Indeed, the sun had set and now a cloak of shadow had fallen over the land. "I will need to find an inn to stay at." Sain made no motion as he listened, but when Kent spoke of an inn, he laughed.
"You don't need an inn tonight. I won't send my friend away without a party of sorts behind him." Sain leaned over the table and stared at Kent, the mischief look back in his eye. "Tonight, you and I shall stay here with these patrons and tell tales with these ales. They are glad for any sort of party, even if they need to make up their own holidays." Sain leapt to his feet before Kent could stop him and strode to the bar.
"Bedwyr, you old goat of man; hiding behind that fort of yours. Bring me that old beech staff you have. A tale is needed; my friend leaves at the break of day, to the ice cold land of Ilia to be wed." Bedwyr, an old man with graying black hair and beard, ducked under the bar and came up with an old worn beech staff, its old grey bark starting to peel off, but it seemed in good condition and sturdy enough to lean on.
Bedwyr smiled at Sain and spoke as a handed it to him, "You always find an excuse to use this staff every time you come here. Before the beginning of the new season, I'll have to get you your own. My staff can't take much more of your crafty ploys." Sain laughed and grabbed the staff. In one movement he jumped onto the bar table and started to tap loudly on it with the staff, making a loud bump noise every time. Sain cried aloud, his voice rising above the smoke and chatter of the tavern:
A song! A tale! Let the old
harp be strung! Come, o you wold
men, and listen to my tale
while you sit in chairs with ale.
Silence then filled the room and Sain stared at them sagely, as if he was an old wizard and they were his foolish pupils. He spoke and his voice was loud and commanding, like thunder in the clouds, "Hear my words, patrons of this tavern. Heed these words, fair maidens of the ale. Listen, master of your bar fort. This year we have lost our lord and his heir; this year we lose our recognition as Caelin, Earldom in Lycia; and this year we lose our Knight Commander."
Sain pointed at Kent by the hearth, who was to his feet and ready to rush to the bar to pull Sain down from it. "He leaves in this week for colder lands and for a fair dame. A boon companion he has been to me, so I will see him off with no less then a tale and the thanks from those whom he protected." There was cheer and several men ran up to Kent and gave him parting hugs, much to his chagrin, and hardy clasps of the hand, which he slowly returned. He could tell several men already had too much ale in them, their breath stank of it.
Sain jumped down from the bar and grabbed a stool to sit on. He wrapped his cloak about him and placed the staff on his knee, as did the ancient priests of old did when they told their tales. "Gather around me, patrons of the bar. I shall tell you a tale in honour of my friend's leaving. Hear me, for now I tell a tale from Caelin's land."
Quickly some of the young men gathered around, for though they had beards, they knew not maturity. Some of the older men stood outside of the circle gathered around Sain, watching intently. The barmaids stood off to the side, watching Sain with interest. Kent stood still be the hearth, his eyes straying to the door and then back to his friend, seated in the middle of the circle of men. He thought for a moment; then he slowly moved through the circle with his ale, finally sitting near Sain on an empty stool.
Once Sain saw that Kent was staying, he took a deep breath and began in a loud voice so that all might hear:
Long ago, when Caelin was a young land and when there were kings in Lycia, there lived a youth named Gwyliwr, who was a fisherman in the lakes by our borders. He was a tall, handsome young man with quick eyes and swift legs, which were the origins for his name, which means Watchman. He was the son of two commoners in a town nearby Castle Lludw to the east, by the lake known as Llyn Rhianedd or Lake of Maidens. Every day he would rise and go to his boat to fish in the lake, as he had done sine he was a child. One day, when he was a boy of about fifteen years, he went deep into the lake, which was covered in an unusual mist. He fished for an hour near the edge, but he caught no fish, so Gwyliwr moved into deeper water.
He still caught no fish, so he moved deeper. He continued to do so, not noticing that he was going deeper into the fog and that he was losing sight of the land. Eventually his boat hit ground. Puzzled, Gwyliwr turned around and saw that he had run into an island in the middle of the lake. Gwyliwr could not sense the mystery of the land and raised his eye brows and rubbed his eyes. He knew not where this mysterious land came from.
Gwyliwr rose and stepped onto the land. The ground was solid and the grass felt soft beneath his bare feet. He slowly walked forward, his sharp eyes taking in all the trees he saw and the bushes upon the floor. He passed through a forest and his eyes were wide as he looked at it, his mouth open. The trees rose high to support the sky and each trunk was thick enough to hold two houses inside. The leaves changed colour from healthy green to rich gold to flaming red in a matter of moments.
Apples grew on them, though they were not apple trees, and they glowed with a fair light, for these were the Apples of Renewal, whoever ate them could keep their youth and their lives would extend beyond their normal measure. Eventually, he heard the sound of laughing and singing nearby. Gwyliwr raised his eye brows and turned his head to wear the laughter came from, he followed the sound. Gwyliwr eventually came to a river that passed through the land. In it were three maidens, swimming in the river and singing in sweet voices that seemed like the sound of bells to Gwyliwr.
What do dwarfs hate from days old
that brings doom to their stone home
and leaves them all in the cold
with no warm mead or stone home?
Falls like leafs, but not from trees.
Brings refreshment and death too.
Makes the cloak cover ladies
and makes all armies subdue.
It makes mothers cry for loss
and pirates call it their maid.
Mighty men in arms will cross
it, so it brings them the raid.
Water! Water! Rain! Rain! Rain!
Breaker of the dwarf stone home
and the one that makes rocks wane!
In rivers we see you roam.
The Seaman's Bride, Ladies Bane,
Son Taker and Doom Bringer.
You are stronger than the chain
and more solid than the Boaster.
So went the song that the fairies sung. Gwyliwr was entranced by the song and did not notice when the fairies spotted him. At first the maidens were afraid, but when they saw that he was not moving and seemed dumb, they laughed at him and mocked him. One of them even went up and grabbed his arm, pulling him into the water, splashing it in his face and finally pushing his head into the river.
Gwyliwr sputtered in the water, his floundering finally driving the fairy maid away, awaking from his dumbness. When he realized what had happened, he blushed and swam back to shore, the ladies jeering following him. He ran back to the boat and rowed back to land, where he recounted what had happened to his parents. His father, Marchgof, told him to never fish in the lake in the fog, otherwise the fairies might take him for a slave, as they were rumoured to do.
Gwyliwr listened to his father, for he was a wise man, though often found with ale, and secretly he was abash from the mocking he had received. So for four years he listened to his father and stayed away from the morning fog. Now as these four years passed, he had made friends with the fighters in town and would often grapple with them in sport. They would toss him aside as though a fly when he was young, but as he grew older he eventually could toss them just as easily as they could grapple with him.
He also became a bard of sorts, singing in the halls of nearby lords as well as in the inns of his town. No man was a better bard in Caelin save the royal bards. Gwyliwr still went out on the lake every morning, catching fish for the market to sell. He often thought of the mischief the fairies had given him and he silently wished he could repay them for the embarrassment they had caused him with his new strength. One cloudy morning, he rose and went out to the lake and fished. He caught many fish and his eyes gleamed when he thought about what sort of profit he would bring home that day. He took no notice of the fog that slowly rolled over the lake, for his eyes were following his net as it bobbed in the water.
Eventually Gwyliwr looked up and saw the fog. His eyes widened and his face grew pale, all sort of straight thinking left him. He tried to row his boat to shore. However, he lost his sense of direction and instead he steered toward the center of the lake. He ran aground on the shore and jumped out, but when he looked around he saw that it was not his home; he could feel his feet freeze and his skin go even paler. Gwyliwr surely would have fled then, but he heard a song coming from the enchanted trees. It was a different song than the one he had heard years before, but this one enchanted him more than the first and he stumbled forward to follow the song to its source.
Gwyliwr stumbled pass the large trees which bore the apples and into the clearing by the river; there he saw the three maidens from before dancing around a fire, singing in their sweet voices. They moved like leaves in the wind, their golden hair shinning like jewels were woven into the locks. Each wore a scarlet robe of fine silk with a torc of silver clasped at their necks. Their eyes were as green and shinned brighter than the stars in Hartmut's Belt. Wherever their feet touched silver flowers sprung up that were more precious than gold. No women were fairer than they save the great queens and their skin was fairer than the swans.
Each wore a crown of leaves on their head, leaves from the enchanted forest behind Gwyliwr. The leaves still changed colour and whatever radiance the leaves had before was enhanced by the maidens. Their voices were sweeter than that of the bards of any kings' court, save for Roland's bard, Gwydyon. Their names are not known to mortal ears, so I shall call them Olarian for the eldest, Serenllygad for the second eldest, and Gemblew for the youngest; Silver Track, Star Eye, and Jewel Hair.
Gwyliwr stood there, transfixed by the singing and dancing of the maidens, as he had years ago in his mind. And as before, the maidens saw him and recognized him as the lad from hours before, for in the Fairy Realm time passes there with more leisure than in the world outside of the mist and every year outside was but two hours to them. Once more they made jeering at him, mocking his strength and mind as fairies are known to do of men.
Serenllygad's eyes sparkled in the fire light and a sinister smile crept over her face. She reached into the fire and pulled out a log with a flame on it. She was not burned, for fairies often have secret arts that prevent harm to them of naturally means. And then using what art the fairies use, the flame grew brighter and hotter, till it nearly singed the grass beneath it from just its heat.
Serenllygad drew the log back and cried aloud in a clear voice, "If you are going to stand out there in the cold, we at least should give you a fire." She then threw the log and it landed by Gwyliwr's foot, singeing it with heat and scorching the ground with the flame on its end. Gwyliwr gave a yell and clutched his foot. His eyes flashed and his cheeks burned. Remembrance of past grievances came to his mind and he recognized her as the fairy maid who embarrassed him all those years ago.
Then, without warning, he sprang into the field crying, "Fairy maid, upon you I see a spot of mud! Let me bring you to the river to wash it!" He ran as fast as a deer to the fire, his face flushed red.
There he scooped up Serenllygad into his arms, much to her protests. Gwyliwr then jumped to the nearby river and promptly dropped her in before she could use any of her fairy art to do him harm. Serenllygad sputtered in the water while her sisters laughed at the actions of Gwyliwr. Gwyliwr stood tall over the river, for he was proud of his work and that vengeance had been served. Soon the joy passed and Gwyliwr seemed to regain control of himself; he blushed when he saw at he had done and knelt to help her up.. However, as he reached and grabbed her arm to help her up, she smacked his hand away. He tried a second time and again his hand was smacked away.
At the third try, Gwyliwr grabbed her by the hem of her sleeve and pulled her up; but since she thrashed as he grabbed her, the robe ripped. Serenllygad blushed and stared hard at Gwyliwr as she rose out of the water and onto the land herself. Everything was quiet, as if some great catastrophe had been made. Gwyliwr looked around and saw that the fire was out and that the other two sisters were gone. "What has happened? Where are your sisters?" asked Gwyliwr.
"They have fled and returned home to tell my father of what has come to pass. Come, we must go to your boat and leave this land." Gwyliwr protested, saying he had no intention of taking her home with him and that she had no right to tell him so. Serenllygad made it clear that she was coming home with him. Gwyliwr, seeing that it was hopeless, consented and let her come with him. They arrived at his boat and climbed in. Gwyliwr was going to paddle the boat back to the shore, but Serenllygad took her foot and pushed it into the land, propelling the boat off the shore, into the water, and across the lake.
When Gwyliwr climbed out of the boat, he looked down and saw that it had very nearly been crushed when it hit the shore. He stared in awe at Serenllygad, who ignored him and walked straight towards his house, which she knew by magical means. Gwyliwr blinked and stumbled after her, his once swift feet seeming like a drunken man's. When they reached his house, Serenllygad set about cleaning the house as though she had lived there all her life, all the while mocking Gwyliwr for the unkempt house he kept.
Gwyliwr once more stood still, his face twisted and his eyes brows raised to his for head, but soon he regained his senses and began to question about what she was doing with him. Serenllygad said, "You must have been hit to hard by your father when young if you do not know what I am doing here. Since you have torn my robe, I am now to be your wife as the fairy tradition of old says. You will do well to accept this, or trouble I will see to your door and hearth."
Gwyliwr blushed and averted his eyes, saying, "Then my wife you will be, for I have no wish for more trouble than what I already have." So it came to pass that they were married in the custom of Gwyliwr's people, but Serenllygad would not allow him into the bedroom on the wedding night, nor the nights after, forcing Gwyliwr to sleep on the table. Several years passed since their marriage and still Serenllygad prevented him from entering the bedroom. Gwyliwr became frustrated and spent most of his time at an inn nearby, where the owner would provide a room for him in exchange for a catch of fish and a tale for the patrons of the inn. One evening in the spring, Gwyliwr had a strange dream.
In that dream, there was a swan on the roof, she stood directly over the door way. The swan was as white as sea-foam and her eyes were as swift as a hawks'. The wings were of a great size and they spanned the width of the sky. Gwyliwr loved the bird and felt it should be on the ground, where he could care for it. Several times he tried to coax it down, but each time it refused his advances. Finally, he lost hope and moved to enter his house, but the swan hissed and would not let him enter his house.
Gwyliwr retreated and sat dejected, exiled from his own house. Then a great eagle came and perched on his shoulder. He was a large and strong eagle, though he seemed to be well traveled. His feathers were as grey as an old mans' beard and there were no eyes in his head. There were strange symbols carved on the back of his wings, which were as large as the swans'. Seeing the eagle sit at his shoulder, Gwyliwr's hope renewed and one more he tried to coax down the swan.
This time, the swan gave a cry and flew down to his feet, where she sat in comfort. Gwyliwr was pleased, and took no notice of the eagle, who had flown off after the swan came to him. Thus ended the dream, and Gwyliwr awoke, confused by the meaning of the dream. That night, Gwyliwr was sitting by the lake near the inn, tossing rocks and thinking about what he should do to earn his wife's favour, as well as the bed he once rested his head on. He found no answer, and his thoughts soon turned to his dream and its meaning, for it was a strange dream and seemed to him that it held a special meaning in it. As his thoughts turned to the dream, an old man, who was staying at the inn, walked out and toward the young man.
The old man was short and somewhat frail, dressed in a light grey cloak and robe. He carried a staff in one hand, which he heavily leaned on as though weary from travel. He had a great beard on his face and a hood covered his head. Bound about his eyes was a fine silk band, woven with symbols of the Traveling God, Viacrus. The old man hobbled to where Gwyliwr sat and smoked silently on a pipe. "Tell me, young man, what bothers you this evening? You seem even deeper in thought than a priest writing Mass for Saint Elimine's Day."
Gwyliwr opened his mouth to decline opening his mind, but he suddenly started to tell the man his troubles, his tongue moving on its own, "A wife at home I have, several years we have been bound. Her kin are fairies, and by means of magic has she kept me from my bed and no gratitude does she give to me for my toil. Tell me, old man, how I can please this woman so that I might sleep in my bed and earn her favour."
"The answer to that is easy, for I am a traveler and know how to solve the troubles of this land to the very simplest of them. Here is what you must do." Then the old man bent down and spoke to Gwyliwr's ear, telling him how to end his troubles with his fairy wife. The voice of the old man enchanted Gwyliwr and as the last of the man's advice reached him he fell asleep by the lake. The old man than rose and stretched, and then it seemed as though a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He now stood tall and it seemed as though he had the strength of ten men. He did nothing though and simple turned, walked to the nearby road that lead to the west, and strode down it, humming a tune he had learned long ago.
Dawn came and Gwyliwr rose, his tired eyes flickering away the enchanted sleep and the strength flowed back into his limbs. He made way to his boat by his house and put out to the lake. It was a clear day, with no fog and the sun rising brilliantly over the faraway mountains. He soon reached the center of the lake; there he casted off his nets into the lake, humming the tune the old man had hummed the night before, though he himself had not heard it. In a short while, his nets grew heavy and he hauled them up.
In the net was a large fish, cover in gold scales and with eyes of silver. The fins were large and were as yellow as the sun, while the tail was as pale as the moon. It flopped about in the boat, and for each thrash it gave, three nails in the boat would shake loose. In order to save himself and his boat from capsizing, Gwyliwr clubbed the fish with a piece of wood and thus ended its struggle. Gwyliwr than rowed back to shore; there he made a fire and cleaned the fish to prepare for cooking. He placed a stick in the fishes' mouth and speared the stick into the ground near the fire, in this manner was the fish cooked.
Gwyliwr waited for the fish to cook and as the sun was setting, he stuck his thumb into the fish to see if it was finished. His thumb burned in the flesh and he withdrew it, sticking it in his mouth to cool it. As his thumb touched his tongue, his mind grew in wisdom and Gwyliwr fancied he knew the song of birds. However, there was one thing Gwyliwr knew which he favoured above all; he knew how to please his wife and thus earn the mastery in his house once more. He laughed and said to the open air in a voice full of pride, " Songs I have sung and tales I have told to my kinsfolk and lords, but now I must find a new patron if I am to sleep; a great king shall hear a tale and from his hands will I have a bed."
It was a night full of dew, so the mist that led to the Fairy Realm had covered the lake. The moon was full and was rising in the sky, though it was veiled by clouds. The lake was dark in the lack of light, and some might have fancied hearing the cry of a dead soul from the lake. However, Gwyliwr remained stout and feared not, for in his new found wisdom he knew the cry was but fairy women seeking to frighten the souls of men. Gwyliwr grabbed his crimson cloak and strode along the shore to where his boat was moored. He jumped in his boat, and in one stroke from his oar, he was half-way to the Fairy Realm and in another his boat beached upon the shore.
Gwyliwr placed his feet open the enchanted ground, his eyes scanning the forest edge for any fairy folk with mischief in their hearts. Seeing none, he dashed across the small beach into the trees. He moved swifter than a deer in flight from a hunter; no man save Gwalchmei and Roland were as swift as he was that night. Gwyliwr soon came to the a great dwelling, its walls forged from the wood and the hall fashioned of twigs and leaves, but in all of Elibe, no one would find a hall more beautiful or well defended, for it was where the throne of the fairy king rested.
Gwyliwr knew he could not force his way in, so he took the hood from his cloak and covered his head with it and spoke enchanted words so that his face would be hidden, for when he had stuck his thumb in his mouth, he also became versed in magic and knew several spells that even Athos Archsage knew nothing of. He knocked on the gate and cried to the gatekeeper, "Let me in, Master of the Gate, I am weary of traveling and would sit by the hearth of your lord."
"You are indeed a traveler, and a foolish one at that," replied the gatekeeper. "This is the house of the fairy king, Lleu is his name and he is stern to strangers at night who might be thieves. No man is let in when the gate is closed at night, unless he can tell a tale which will gain his entrance, for no thief knows a tale that can please him." Gwyliwr smiled and his eyes flashed, for he indeed knew what sort of tale he could tell, a short one, which would gain the lords favour.
"Call you lord to the gate then, and I will tell him a tale." Word was sent to Lleu and he came from his oak throne and passed to the gate. Lleu was a great lord, tall as a tree and as strong as a bear. No eye was as swift or bright as his, nor was there any who was wiser in speech. His hair was like silver and his tunic was always scarlet linen. He wore one ring on his finger, but it was the fairest ring in any realm and from it came the light which danced in the winter sky. His crown was forged of a mans milk, a dogs disloyalty, and an eagles death. With him came his queen, Creiddylad, who was fairer than any women and often called a goddess, for such was her beauty and regality.
Her hair was as gold as the grain in the field and her golden eyes were like the flacons. Her robes were a fine violet and her crown was twisted from silver. Her feet were swifter upon the ground than fish in the water and her voice fairer than a birds' song. Upon each hand were three rings, each forged by dwarves by the mountains root. Her hand clasped that of Lleu's; in this manner they came to the wall.
Lleu looked down on Gwyliwr and thought him a pleasant looking fellow, though he could not see his face and though he sensed a aura of magic around him. "Here I am, Lord Traveler. Tell me a tale and gain entrance to my hall, where the meat is never ending and where the wine horn is ever full." His voice was sweet and it could enchant any man, for that was where his true power lay. "However, if you fail me and this tale proves little more than a child's story, I shall have your head and set it above my halls' door, for then I will know you are a thief."
"I thank you lord, and you as well lady," said Gwyliwr, his eyes shining in the moon light, his feet solid on the ground, he did not fear to lose, he knew the outcome already. "I will not keep you long; my tale is short, though your favor I believe it will win, my head will still rest on my shoulders for some time. I will prove I am no thief.
"In my country, long ago, lived a man named Pryderi, a noble and wise man, but he was lame in one foot, so he was scorned by the other chieftains. Since they scorned him, the chieftains never sent word to him when the time for their gatherings came, at which there was an exchange of information, servants, and kinsmen. At one of these gatherings, a dispute arouse about which of the chieftains was the greatest, for each man was proud and claimed he was the noblest chieftain.
"And since they were all proud, they would not leave until all agreed that who was the greatest chieftain. The lords would have brought only strife to the land if they stayed, but thankfully, on the third day of the encampment, an old man with a staff and grey cloak appear. He was blind, for there was a cloth bound about his eyes, but he walked like a normal man and this seemed wondrous to the chieftains. He approached the center of the encampment, where a great pale stone was set; this was called the Maen-am-y-Lloer.
"The old man climbed atop the stone and told the chieftains to gather around him. The chieftains at first ignored the summons, but later they all found themselves gathered at the rock, as thought guided by some divine hand. The old man asked why there were so many chieftains gathered in one spot, when there lands grew more in turmoil. They told the old man the reason for their strife and asked for him to judge who was the noblest lord there, for they felt he was wise. The old replied that he had not come to judge, but to give them a judge.
"The chieftains asked who should be there judge and the old man told them it was Pryderi the Lame. Many men spoke against this, for he was lame, but some kept silent, for they saw wisdom in the old mans' words. They talked and eventually agreed to go to Pryderi, for it was reasoned that since he was lame, he could not name himself greatest chieftain. Some went to tell the old man they had accepted his consul and wished he would journey with them to Pryderi's land, but the man was already gone.
"So it came to pass that the lords journeyed to the land of Pryderi, where he received them gladly, for though they had been spiteful to him, he was an upright man and was patient when others were not. After he had given them meat and drink, Pryderi asked why they had come to him. They told him all that had happened and Pryderi found it odd, but saw the wisdom in the old mans' words. So Pryderi called all the chieftains to him and told them to ride out into the woods with him. They did so and soon came to a glen; all the chieftains were alone and unarmed. Pryderi had the chieftains gather around him, and their number was eleven plus Pryderi.
"He asked them what was the noblest thing a man could give, and each said many things. One said it was gold, another said it would be a wife. Each answered differently from the other and none could agree on what the noblest thing to give was. Now, there was another chieftain, young and new to his seat; he was late to come to both the chieftain gathering and to Pryderi's House. He had stayed in his lands, making sure that each problem of strife was dealt with and that no quarrel would happen while he was gone. His name was Pwyll, which means judgment or sense.
"Pwyll heard of Pryderi being selected judge of the contest and road to his realm. At the hall he was told where the chieftains went, and he followed as swift as he could. In time he came to the glen and saw the lords. He rode up to them and asked what was going on. When they told him of Pryderi's question, he remained silent and thought. Little time passed and he said fealty would be the noblest gift.
"Pryderi waited for the chieftains to finish speaking their thoughts before he continued the judgment. Then he asked if any of the lords would be willing to give him what they offered. Each man drew back and said that they would not give him their gold, for it was precious and few to them, nor their daughters, for they were young and not meant for a man as aged as him, nor whatever else they had pledged as the noblest gift, each with an excuse to his refusal. Pwyll, however, strode forward, kneeled before Pryderi, kissed the ring on his finger, and called him his lord. Pryderi then decreed that since Pwyll was the only one to give him his greatest gift, that he was the noblest chieftain.
"Each chieftain became angered and demanded for a new judgment and some even threaten Pwyll. However, before any of the chieftains could seize him, Pryderi let out three shouts, each one causing the hills to roll and the trees to grow. He placed them under bounds to never lay a hand on the line of Pwyll if they wished to keep their gold and daughters. Each chieftain grew frightened, for they knew then Pryderi to be a man of magical arts. So the chieftains left Pwyll alone and taught each one of their line to fear that line, for the curse placed upon them by Pryderi was passed down the line with the title.
As for Pryderi, he returned home and died that night. Pwyll buried the dead chieftain himself and returned to his own lands. Time passed and a son was born to him from his wife. He took the babe and named him Pryderi, after the dead lord he had sworn fealty to. Time passed and Pryderi came to his throne and he too had a son, whom he named Gerontios in the style of the noble dukes in the west. Gerontios also had a son, whom he gave a noble name, Roland, a child destined for greatness and honour. Here ends my tale."
Lleu sat there for a moment, his mind taking in the tale. Finally, he spoke, "That is without a doubt a tale of worth, Master Traveler. Come into my hall now, there I will let you drink wine from my own horn of pearl and wear a cloak from my own trunk."
Gwyliwr shifted his feet and spoke, "My lord, your wine is better than any lords and a cloak of yours' is worth ten rich kingdoms, but now my time for rest has past and the road now calls. I ask only for one payment for my tale, a ring from the finger of your wife would be most noble." Many were taken aback from the request and there were whispers of how ill minded this cloaked wanderer was; the whispers were chilled by the shining eyes from under the hood.
Creiddylad only laughed, which seemed like that of birds singing, and spoke, "Choose any ring from my finger, Master Traveler, I will hold none from you, save only the ring given to me by Lleu when we meet under the Silver Tree in my fathers' kingdom." Gwyliwr glanced at her hand and choose a ring; it was forged of gold and encrusted with rubies from fairy forges. It would fit any finger and would only be removed by its' master; it was the ring of the many queens, greatest of whom was Olwen, Queen of Three Kingdoms and Husbands. Gwyliwr gave his thanks, bowed, and wished well to the King and Queen. Then he was gone, flying through the woods to his boat. He arrived, and left the fairy shore, never to return.
Gwyliwr returned to the shores of his home. Night had passed and the sun was rising; he knew not how many years had passed or if any had passed. He was tired and rested his feet by the shore, the ring in his hand. He pulled back his hood and looked at the ring, and thought it fair. He sighed, closed his eyes, rose, and walked to his house; he looked about and saw that it was summer, for the sun was hot and the flowers were in full bloom. Gwyliwr entered his house and found Serenllygad awake and tending to the chores. Yet when he entered, he felt no chill in the room and no stillness in the air.
When his wife turned and saw him, she gave a gasp and her eyes shown in the light. Serenllygad embraced him and spoke, "Here now is my husband, whom I have not treated well in a long time. Joyless I have been to him and yet he returns still." Her tone was soft and Gwyliwr found himself confused, for she had changed. He remembered his thumb and chewed on it from the flesh to the bone, from the bone to the marrow.
This is what Gwyliwr learned. While he was gone for the ring, an old man with a large hood and bounded eyes had come to his house. His wife had reluctantly let him and he spoke to her as she tended to him, though she remained cold and distant; it seemed as though there was no change. However, when the meal was set and she had eaten, the words from the man sank in and Serenllygad's heart burst in her breast, for the old man was telling her of how a foolish man had run off to go earn his wife's favour by trying to please the high king of the fairies.
The night passed and she grew worried for her husband, the shield around her heart disappeared. In the end, she wept for sending the man to his death. The old man left in the morning, and Serenllygad spent the weeks in a daze, moving from task and task without thought. Now her had returned, and her heart was glad for his safety. He showed her the ring, but when she saw it, she scolded him for risking himself for it. He blushed and gave it to her still, though the favour was won in his brashness and not from the ring.
That night he slept in his bed with his wife, no quarrel was there any more. The years passed and everything was at it should have been. Serenllygad bore him a son, who went off to travel the lands at a young age. And though the years passed, they aged not, such was the magic in them. Finally, when all had changed and the very stars in the sky were not known to them, they passed away west into the hills. Some say they found a boat and sailed west, to another land to find peace with other ever-living folk. Others say that they still roam the land, and that they can be identified by the ring on the woman's finger. If any of this is true, I do not know and will speak no more of it, for here ends the Tale of Gwyliwr as I know it.
Sain gave a small huff from speaking so long, but he smiled in spite of his tired voice. The tavern was filled with cheer; men from Caelin were known for their love of tales, no matter how simple or complex the tale was. Sain laughed and called to Bedwyr to bring him a pint to quell his thirst.
Kent remained seated at the stool, his pint long empty and his face smiling slightly; Sain's tales seemed to have that sort of effect on men. The men seated around Sain called for another tale, for the evening was young and there was plenty of time to waste. He laughed and searched his mind for another one.
So passed the night, with tales being told in the tavern, each one of them being of great entertainment to the patrons and workers. Some songs were sung, and the night ended with Sain telling of Brân and an adventure of his dealing with the Cauldron of the Dragons.
Morning came, the sun rose in the east and bathed the land in red and orange; the walls of Castle Caelin seemed to be stained in crimson blood, a token maybe to the sieges of wars long past. As for the tavern, most of the men had left by then, with the exception of Kent, Sain, Bedwyr, a barmaid, and five young brothers who had a love of the old stories. Bedwyr chased the boys out and started to close his bar; he needed his rest for the evening. The hearth had long been burned out; they needed to save the fire wood for the long winter ahead. Sain's eyes were blood shot and he kept opening his mouth to yawn; his eyelids drooped over his eyes like rags. Kent looked the same from the evening before, tall and clean, it was almost as if he had not spent an entire night up, with the exception of a weary look in his eyes.
Sain was escorting Kent out, their leather boots thumping against the wooden floor of the tavern. The staff had long been returned to Bedwyr, who had fallen asleep on his bar like some warrior in Sacae on the bench in his lords' hall after chasing the brothers out. As the two knights left, the old man grumbled and rolled off the bar, landing with a heavy thump on the floor.
Outside, the two men clasped their arms in farewell. Sain frowned as he looked at Kent. "I wish I could go with you, but my heart remains in Caelin for now. Make sure you laugh a little while we are apart, otherwise that face of yours will never move again, not even for your bride." Though his tone was jovial, his eyes were depressed, his good friend was leaving him for the North.
Kent's face remained stern; his time of laughter had long passed. "Be sure to keep your mind with you and don't let your heart control your every action, otherwise I fear there will be trouble that I won't be here to clear you of." Sain laughed.
"Trouble will always find me, dear Kent. Worry not, I have lived before I meet you." Kent sighed and shook his head as he readied his horse for the days ride. His hands stopped for a moment as he closed his eyes in thought. Then he turned to Sain. "Sain, make me a promise." Kent's face never changed, no smile passed over his lips or any signs of jester.
"Promise me that you will not be a bother to women like you have in the past. Remember that fair words will not win you favour if they are not true." Sain laughed and smiled.
"You worry to much my friend. To put a stop to my ways now will be like trying to stop the rain." He looked at Kent and made a shallow bow, his hand spread across his chest. "But if will ease your mind, I promise not to be such a bother to the ladies from this hour onward." Kent released a sigh and it seemed as though he might smile, but his face remained stern.
Kent slowly rose himself into the saddle, shaking his head as he looked down at Sain. "Good, that will ease my heart." The moment passed and whatever smile there might have been passed. "Take care of yourself, Sain. Let us hope that we will meet again before our life spans wane and we can no longer ride like kings in this land." He gave a brief nod and turned to leave, his heals digging into the horses' side, forcing the charger to move.
He then heard a shout behind him, "A boon, good Kent!" Kent pulled on the reins to stop the horse, then slowly turned. Sain stood behind him, his feet finally holding him steady as he faced his friend. "A boon! I place you under bonds that when you and your wife conceive your first son, you will name him after me."
Kent frowned; he had little time for Sain's pestering. "I have no wife yet, Sain, and I do not believe she would be pleased if I named our son 'tone', my friend." He sighed and shook his head. "None the less, if I ever have a son, your name he will have." Kent did not move yet, his horse remained seated in front of his friend on the stone road as the sun continued to rise into the clear sky.
Sain then strode up to the horse and clasped the arm of his friend once more. "Farewell, dear Kent. May the road be short and the rest after long. May we meet again in the fields of Ilia."
Kent nodded in response. "We will meet again." He then pulled on his reins and turned his horse back onto the road to his winter home. He passed down the road, through the open gate, and into the land of Caelin, soon to be a territory of Ostia, never to return.
Sain sighed as he watched his friend leave. His heart was heavy at the parting and he gave no fake smile. He heard the sound of a door opening behind him. Sain turned and saw that it was the barmaid he was speaking poetry to the other day. He grinned and walked up behind her. She turned and gasped when she saw him there. She remained still, afraid he was going to burst into verse in front of her again.
Sain locked his eyes onto her green ones and gave a small smile. "May I have the honour to walk you home, milady?" She blushed and nodded, not knowing what else to do. Sain's smile widened and waved his hand in front him, inviting her to lead the way. She quickly moved forward, Sain walking beside her, the autumn wind playing with his cloak as it flied over the land of great heroes.
Endian
Author's End Notes: Nothing or real note, aside from the fact that Sain's name does mean 'tone'. As for the name of Sain's lady love in Etruria, I will keep that to myself for now.