Hey ppl! Glad you happened to stumble upon my first fanfic ever, featuring the totally awesome Prydain Chronicles! Anyways, I couple of things to say before I get on with it: for those who have read the books (and I sincerly hope you have, otherwise this won't make much sense at all), this story features Gwydion and Achren, focusing on their lives both before and during the Chronicles. And yes, like I said in my bio, I think this will eventually be a Gwydion/Achren pairing. Now, after reading the books, I understand that this might make people freak out - but I got the idea from lots of clues in the books (which I'll try to sneak in here and there), as well as references in the Mabinogion. So, please bear with me! And reviews would be totally awesome!
DISCLAIMER: Gwydion, Achren, and the Chronicles of Prydain belong to Lloyd Alexander (although I wouldn't mind stealing Gwydion. Just for a while, you understand). Original characters (Matron, captain of the guard, etc.) are mine.
Black Shadow, Golden Sun
Chapter 1: A Morning Adventure
The white city of Caer Dathyl gleamed in the morning sun, light catching in drops of dew amongst the hemlock groves. Guards lined the city's walls, leaning on tall spears as they gnawed on hunks of soft bread, laughing and guffawing cheerfully in small groups. It was early enough that not many people walked in the wide streets - only the snapping of the golden banners could be heard throughout the city's fortress.
In a small room near the back of the citadel, and old man, his back hunched over like a sagging tree branch, mumbled endlessly through his thick white beard, his drooping eyes blearily focused on a large book in his lap. Every so often, he would turn a page and then drone on, sneezing through clouds of dust which rose from the tome's pages. Several feet in front of the old man, sitting on a wooden bench, was a boy. He crouched over a small wooden table, a quill scratching quietly on a piece of parchment before him.
The boy was only eleven or twelve years old - but he seemed much older because of his unusual height. His slender body was encased in soft leather pants, high laced boots, and a large white shirt with spacious sleeves, hanging bunched up below his elbows. His long light-brown hair was gathered in a loose ponytail at the base of his head, allowing several pieces of hair to fall into his startlingly green eyes. Those eyes were deep and filled with a knowing wisdom - a stranger would have seen an adult in their depths. He moved with a certain air of strength and grace - his thin limbs were merely bunches of corded muscles, and not a drop of ink fell from his quill to mar the neat lines of writing on his paper as he wrote, brow furrowed in deep concentration.
The scratching of the boy's quill paused as a deep, grunting sound filled the small room. Looking up, the boy saw the old man slumped over the enormous book, peaceful snores escaping his bushy mouth. The boy glanced unhurriedly at the room's handsome wooden door, longing evident in his gaze. He looked furtively back at the teacher, then quietly put down his quill and stood, sliding his feet quickly and silently towards the door. Glancing back just once more, the lad lifted the latch and slipped out, closing the door carefully behind him. Emerging out into a long corridor, he lifted a long sheathed dagger that had been resting neatly against the wall and buckled it to his broad belt. Then the boy set off into the castle.
He made his way down several narrow, winding stone staircases, heading deeper into the fortress, moving with the grace of a forest wolf. Finally, his sharp green eyes peeked around a doorway into a large, warm room filled with clouds of moist steam. Several women bustled around tables and domed earthen ovens, unloading warm loaves of bread, as well as slices of cooked fish and meat. Piles of fruit lay in finely woven baskets on the tables. The fresh loaves of bread made the boy's stomach grumble, for he had not eaten that morning, having gone straight to his lesson with the old bard as soon as he had woken. Not that he had needed to go to the lesson in the first place - he had memorized the great history volume long ago.
Suddenly, a plump woman with dark hair and wearing an apron, sweating slightly in the warm kitchen, looked up and saw the boy in the doorway. She wiped her brow with a large, capable hand and chuckled heartily, revealing a deep, broad voice. "Now then, don'tcha goo doin' tha', young prince," she admonished, waggling a thick finger. "One dae I shall look up and yon sneakin' about of yourn'll fair put me away."
The boy - the prince - stepped down into the room with a small grin on his face, giving a short bow of respect to the much older woman. "I'm very sorry, Matron. I shall refrain from sneaking in the future."
"Ooh, no, ye shall not," the Matron laughed. "I know you and yourn clever ways." Her eyes narrowed playfully, and she put her hands on her wide hips as the prince walked further into the kitchen, deftly dodging other scurrying women. "Wha does the prince want in 'ere, anyhoo?" she asked.
"Nothing," the boy replied innocently, green eyes wide and fixed on the Matron, even as his feet shuffled him closer to the piles of warm bread.
Quick as a flash, his hand shot out and grabbed the nearest loaf, and just as quickly he spun about and rushed back to the doorway. There he stopped and turned back, a huge grin on his face, and gave a deep bow to the bellowing Matron, flourishing his arms about in a most theatrical manner. "My thanks!" he called out gaily - and then he turned and ran.
"You run your litt' legs righ' back 'ere, Prince Gwydion!" the Matron yelled - but even as her voice faded, the boy could hear the laughter in her voice.
Chuckling fondly to himself, the young Gwydion made his way out of the castle and through the city, past the hemlock groves and the Hall of Bards to the city walls. There, he climbed a flight a stone stairs and greeted the company of guards above the gate, each of whom gave him a deep bow - although it was not strictly necessary, for they had all been friends with the prince since Gwydion had been an infant. He could converse and tell jokes just as well as any of them, and they all shared the loaf of bread he had brought under the warm sun. About an hour passed in this pleasurable manner, until the sudden, terribly loud whinny of a horse exploded in the city below.
Gwydion sat straight upright from where he had been leaning against the wall. "What was that?" he asked loudly - he had to almost shout to be heard above the bellowing of the unseen animal, which only grew in volume. Several guards, looking slightly unnerved themselves, leaned cautiously over the wall to look down at the city below them, where other, terrified human shrieks began to join in the din.
One of the guards, the gruff, forty-year-old captain of the small troop, grunted in disgust. "That fool Morgrint," he growled. "Thinks he can tame a wild mare from the mountains, can he? Well," he said, pointing down into the streets, "There's the proof he can't. The poor beast's gone mad." The captain sighed, then hefted his spear and started towards the descending stone stairs. "We'll have to take care of it."
Something in the heaviness of the captain's tone made Gwydion scramble to his feet. "Are you going to kill her?" he asked tremulously.
"It's the only way to deal with a wild animal like that."
Gwydion bit his lip, then suddenly rushed past the captain and down the stairs. "Wait here!" he called back over his shoulder, ignoring the startled protests behind him. Once he reached the bottom, Gwydion dashed down the street towards the castle. He didn't have to go very far, for a wooden door from a building looking onto the street suddenly flew outwards and landed with a huge crash in the street, sending several women and their children scattering in all directions, crying out in shock. Gwydion skidded to a halt, almost tumbling over his own feet - and an instant later, the mare stood over him.
She was beautiful - that was the first and everlasting impression the crouching boy had. Her white coat was marred with dirt and blood from the marks of numerous beatings, but it still shone brightly, and her mane gleamed the color of solid gold. The mare was still young - barely a year old, her legs under her full-grown body still thin and slightly knock-kneed. In contrast to her beauty, however, her chocolate brown eyes burned with a feverish madness. Foam was gathered along her neck, and her yellow-white teeth were fiercely bared.
Gwydion had but a moment to stare at her, wide-eyed, before he had to dive out of the way of the mare's flying hooves, rolling in the dirt as they plunged to the ground, shaking his teeth in his mouth. The mare's frenzied bellowing filled his ears. Once he had rolled far enough away, Gwydion scrambled to his feet and faced the nervously prancing horse, breathing heavily as he held out his thin hands in front of him. He never once even contemplated taking out the dagger at his hip, for it would only make the animal more afraid. The boy slowly drew the back of one hand across his cheek to draw off some of the dirt smudged there, never taking his bright green eyes off the mare, his hair falling haphazardly into his face.
The mare seemed to quiet slightly under the prince's intense stare, her hooves lifting only slightly off the ground as she moved. Gwydion slowly opened his mouth. "It's all right," he murmured softly, still never shifting his gaze. The white horse stared at him. Very slowly, Gwydion took one step forward. It was the wrong thing to do.
The mare whinnied in sudden terror, then suddenly charged forward, snorting, eliciting screams from bystanding women. Gwydion had no time to think or react - a split second later, the horse's lowered head rammed into the boy's midriff, and he found himself flipped forward onto the mare's back, letting out a cry of shock. The mare then bucked, and the sudden movement threw Gwydion off her back entirely - he flew several feet through the air and landed heavily on his left side. Gwydion heard a few sharp, cracking noises, and gasped faintly as pain flared along his side. He was vaguely aware of the horrified cursing from the guards above him on the wall as he dazedly stumbled to his feet, left arm clenched protectively across his chest. The bystanders in the street, having grown in number, watched him anxiously, but still none of them dared come near.
Gwydion wavered slightly on his feet, but he did not cease to stare at the bucking mare, green eyes determined. The prince glanced quickly about him for a moment, and suddenly saw a basket of fruit pieces clutched in the arms of one of the young mothers clustered at the edge of the street. Gwydion glanced at the white horse cautiously, then strode away, over to the woman with the basket. Murmuring a swift apology, the prince grabbed two pieces of apple with his free arm and then turned back to the white horse, shaking his hair out of his eyes. Several other men in the street had, meanwhile, tried to catch the mare of pin her into a corner, but she had driven all of them away with small charges and loud bellows.
Once again, as if feeling Gwydion's gaze, the mare turned to regard the boy - but this time, she was distracted by the sight of a piece of apple reached towards her in Gwydion's hand. Arm outstretched to its fullest extent with the apple on the flat palm of his hand, Gwydion came slowly towards her, his shuffling feet making hardly a sound. The mare gazed at him nervously, then her eyes shifted to the apple. She took a few short steps forward - Gwydion stopped moving - and then she stretched out her neck and snatched the apple piece from Gwydion's hand, dancing away as she chomped at it ravenously. Gwydion smiled, then held out the other piece for her to see in his right hand. As soon as the horse's eyes were fixed upon it, the boy closed his fist, hiding the fruit from view.
The mare nickered quietly, then took a few hesitant steps forward and nudged the boy's closed fist. Frustrated when Gwydion did not open his hand, her eyes narrowed. Lunging forward viciously, her teeth bit down hard on Gwydion's knuckle. Gwydion struggled to not flinch as the white mare turned her head away and a thick stream of blood began to drip from his hand. Several in the large watching crowd gasped. Swallowing his pain, Gwydion once again opened his fist, allowed the mare to see the fruit, and then closed his hand again.
Slowly and nervously, the horse once again walked up and nudged his hand. This time, Gwydion slowly drew his hand towards himself - and the mare followed. Soon, his hand was only a few inches from the arm folded across his burning chest. Gwydion saw, which a great surge of joy, that the mare's brown eyes were calm. She gazed at him a moment, then lightly nudged the boy's hand, nibbling at his fingers with her velvety lips. Gwydion grinned, sweat beading his forehead from his exertions, and then gladly opened his hand. The mare daintily took the fruit piece from his palm, and then nudged Gwydion's face with her own. Laughing, Gwydion reached up with his good arm and stroked her glistening white neck. She snorted and leaned her head against him, her legs trembling with fatigue.
It was then, with the added weight suddenly pressed on him, that Gwydion's chest erupted and he was overwhelmed by the pain coursing through his body. He cried out and fell backwards, both hands now clutching his left side, as the white horse whinnied in panic above him. The last thing he was aware of before the pain engulfed him completely was the gruff, anxious face of the captain of the guard staring down at him.
"Well, m'lud," a warm, friendly man's voice said, swimming eerily in Gwydion's ears. "That was quite some adventure you had, eh?"
Gwydion opened his hazy eyes to see a ceiling of white stone, and a wrinkled old face staring at him from the collar of a richly embroidered tunic. It was the healer of the castle, he realized. Why would he need a healer? As if to answer his question, a sharp stab of pain prickled his left side. Groaning and reaching for it, he found his chest was swathed in thick white bandages. "What's wrong?" he asked raspily, voice harsh from thirst.
"Well, it seems you broke a few ribs when that mare threw you, my Lord," came the gruff, warm voice of the captain of the guard - a moment later, his face swam into view as well. "Poor animal was quite distraught when you went out and we tried to take ye up to the castle. Followed us all the way, she did."
"Where is she?"
"In the royal stables, awaiting the pleasure of your next 'trainin' session'," the captain chuckled.
Gwydion felt very tired. His exhaustion made his yawn, and his eyes drooped contentedly with the news that the beautiful white horse was safe. He was so tired, he didn't even see the swooping black shapes outside the window, small specks in the bright blue sky. "What's her name?" he whispered.
"Who, my Lord?"
"The mare."
The captain smiled. He, too, did not see the black, twisted forms in the sky. "Hear tell from a lady in the street the mare's name is Melyngar."
Whee! End of first chapter! R&R svp!