Chapter One: The Golden Hour
Cassandra Cillian rolled off of the top of Jenkins and snuggled up to him in the huge, antique bed that they shared more nights than not. It had been a bit chilly in the room when they first climbed into bed, but, as so often happened now, the two lovebirds soon ended up generating plenty of heat on their own.
"My god, woman," panted the older man as he wrapped his arm around her affectionately. "Why is it I can't seem to get enough of you?" He gently kissed her forehead as his breathing returned to normal. "If I didn't know better, I would swear that you're a sorceress and you've cast some sort of enchantment on me!"
Cassandra snickered and said playfully, "Remember what Eve told us about those alternate universes she saw when the Loom of Fate was damaged? I WAS a sorceress in one of them!" She pursed her lips in thought for a moment. "Though Eve never mentioned anything about seeing any Jenkinses…"
The Caretaker sighed dramatically. "Ah, doubtless that poor Jenkins is chained—naked—to Sorceress Librarian Cassandra's bed, and spends his days as nothing more than her sexual plaything."
"You make that sound like a BAD thing!" pouted the redhead.
Jenkins chuckled. "Well, I CAN certainly think of worse fates."
They lay together quietly for several minutes, just being with each other. The time after they finished making love was Cassandra's favorite with Jenkins (outside of the sex itself, of course); she privately thought of it as 'The Golden Hour'. After their physical relationship began, the Librarian quickly learned that a post-coital Jenkins was a much more talkative Jenkins, willing to answer questions and to tell her things about himself that he would be reluctant to do any other time. He was always relaxed and happy after sex, and she wasted not a single minute in taking advantage of The Golden Hour.
This evening she ran her fingers idly over the immortal's chest and stomach. As she followed her fingers with her eyes, they fell on the tattoo of a highly-stylized bird in flight, done in dark blue, on the front of his lower left abdomen, just inside the hipbone. It looked vaguely celtic-ish to her, and she had always wondered about it. She decided now was as good a time as any to ask.
Moving her hand to the tattoo, she began to trace its outlines with her finger. "What's this a tattoo of?"
Jenkins smiled to himself. So this is tonight's topic, he thought. The astute Caretaker had long ago guessed what Cassandra was up to with her flurry of after-sex questions, but he kept the knowledge to himself. He was genuinely happy to answer her queries and talk about his past. It was understood that whatever was said in the privacy of this time would stay between them. For Jenkins, it was his opportunity to bond with his Librarian in a special, intimate way (outside of the sex itself, of course).
He took the hand tracing his tattoo and kissed it. "It's a falcon."
"Why a falcon?" asked the redhead curiously.
"Two reasons," began the immortal. "Though one reason is a little dark."
"Now I'm REALLY curious!" Cassandra laughed.
"Very well, then," Jenkins said indulgently. "I received it just after I was knighted. It's for the purpose of identification, rather like dog tags today in the military. Many of the ancient Celtic tribes had the habit of taking the heads of those they killed in battle. King Arthur wanted a way to identify any of his men who were killed, but whose heads had been taken."
Cassandra stared at him in disbelief. "You're making that up!" she accused.
"It's all true, I'm sorry to say," he said somberly. She was quiet for a bit, letting the gruesome bit of information sink in before speaking again
"So you chose a falcon, or was it assigned to you?"
Jenkins leaned over and murmured into her ear. "Shall I tell you a secret?" he asked mysteriously.
"What secret?" she asked eagerly.
"My real name."
Cassandra blinked in surprise, leaned back so she could see his face. "Your name isn't really 'Galahad'?"
"Oh, yes, that IS my name," he said. "At least, that's how it's pronounced NOW." He adjusted his position so that Cassandra could comfortably rest her head on his right shoulder.
"So how is it supposed to be pronounced?" she asked inquisitively.
"Gwalchafad."
"What?!" Cassandra squeaked as she craned her neck to look up into Jenkins's face, trying to see if he was teasing her. But he only repeated the strange-sounding name.
She tried to pronounce it, but mangled it badly. The 'ch' was like the gutteral 'ch' sound in German, and she had difficulty reproducing it. The awkward name kept coming out sounding like 'GWALK-huh-fahd' rather than the lilting "Gu-alch-HA-vad" as Jenkins pronounced it. He coached her through it several times before she finally had it.
"Ugh, no wonder it got changed to 'Galahad'! That's a mouthful!" she said.
"Only to your clumsy, American tongue, my dear," Jenkins teased. "If you spoke a civilized Celtic language, it wouldn't be difficult for you at all."
""You didn't think my tongue was so clumsy a little while ago," Cassandra shot back, poking him in the stomach.
Jenkins smiled as he remembered just how nimble and titillating her tongue HAD been just a little while ago. "Ah, touché!"
"So what civilized Celtic language should I be speaking?"
"A very old dialect of what is now called Welsh. 'Gwalchafad' means 'summer falcon'," Jenkins replied. "Hence the falcon tattoo."
Cassandra detected the familiar note of sorrow in his voice. Jenkins often became melancholy when he spoke of the past, and her heart always filled with pity for him. She was usually surprised by what caused his sadness, things she would never think of as being a cause for mourning. Like outliving EVERYONE who speaks your native language. She was quiet for a moment as she thought of a way to lighten his mood.
"Those words that you scream while in the throes of passion," she asked lightheartedly. "Are they the same language?"
"I do NOT 'scream'," he countered, distracted momentarily from his memories, his tone offended. "I 'call out'. And yes, they are the same language."
The Librarian giggled. "They better not be the names of old girlfriends!"
The Caretaker sighed loudly in mock irritation. "No, Miss Cillian, they are NOT the names of old girlfriends. They are terms of endearment. Uttered for you. And expressions of appreciation for your various…'talents'…while we're….being intimate."
Cassandra laughed at his discomfiture. It was amusing to her how someone as worldly wise as Jenkins could still be so prim about sex.
"So what do the words mean?"
"Things like 'my love', 'my precious one'. 'For the love of god, woman, don't stop now'. Things like that."
Cassandra debated whether or not to ask her next question, but curiosity got the better of her.
"Do you miss it? The language, I mean?"
Jenkins, caught off guard, paused, then sighed deeply.
"Yes, I do. I miss speaking it, hearing it. I've lived in America for a very long time, and it's my home now, but it's not where I was born, not where I grew up; I am, essentially, an immigrant. I learned to speak English centuries ago, but it's not my native language. When I was alone in the Annex—before you noisy lot showed up—I would often talk to myself out loud in it, just to hear it again."
The Caretaker fell quiet for a moment at the memory, then said thoughtfully, "Even though it's been over a 1,000 years, there are still days when I miss my home, my people, my language, the customs I grew up with. None of those things really exists anymore, not the way I knew them. I suppose I'll always miss them."
Cassandra propped herself on her elbow so she could see the knight's face. "You could teach me how to speak it," she offered. "Then you wouldn't be alone anymore."
Jenkins smiled and gently caressed her cheek as he gazed into her lovely blue eyes. "That's very generous and kind of you, my dear, but I think you already have more than enough to do as a Librarian without adding 'learn the extinct dialect of an obscure language' to your agenda."
The young woman met his gaze for a moment. She then reached out her own hand, stroked his face, and smiled. God, he thought, how beautiful she is.
"Dw i'n dy garu ti, Gwalchafad, fy marchog dewr, fy nghariad aur," she whispered.
Jenkins stared at her in astonishment. "What…what did you just say?"
Smiling mischievously now, she repeated the words, almost flawlessly. As she watched his face closely for his reaction to her little surprise, she was horrorstruck to see his dark eyes shine with welling tears.
"Oh, Jenkins, I'm sorry!" she said hurriedly, throwing her arms around him and burying her face in his warm neck. "I didn't mean to upset you! I just wanted to surprise you! Some of the words I've heard you say, I repeated them to Jake and he told me they were Welsh but he didn't know how to speak that dialect but he said it was close enough to modern Welsh that he could understand it and that you would probably be able to understand modern Welsh and so I asked him to help me learn something romantic in Welsh that I could say back to you the next time I heard you say your words but now I've just completely screwed it all up and I'm just SO sorry!" Her own eyes began to fill with tears as she babbled on, angry with herself for having hurt the man she loved so much.
Jenkins wrapped his arms around the distraught woman. His shock wearing off, he began trying to comfort her.
"Shhhh, shhhh, my love," he murmured reassuringly. He gently pushed her away so he could look at her.
"Did Mr. Stone tell you what those words mean?" he asked. The Librarian nodded.
"'I love you, my knight in shining armor, my golden love.' I added your name at the last minute. I…I've been planning it for a while, as a surprise. I thought it would be nice for you to hear…" she trailed off uncertainly, then her eyes widened in apprehension. "Did Jake trick me into saying something bad?"
The immortal's eyes shone again with tears, and he had to drop his gaze. "No, my love. That's essentially what they mean. They're words that a lady speaks to her knight. And after all these centuries alone, I NEVER expected to hear a lady speak such words to me, and in my own tongue." He brought her and to his lips and kissed the backs of her fingers in the courtly manner.
"Perhaps it was only a small gesture to you, but it means the world to me, my love, because I know it comes from your heart." He managed to master his tears, but he couldn't keep the emotion out of his voice. Jenkins leaned forward and gently kissed her soft, red lips. "Thank you, Cassandra."
"You're welcome, fy selsig," she said quietly, smiling. Jenkins looked up, perplexed.
"Do you know what 'fy selsig' means?" he quizzed, amusement tinging his voice now.
"Jacob said it means 'my sausage'," she answered saucily. She looked at her lover pointedly as she slipped her hand beneath the covers. A delicious thrill shot through Jenkins as Cassandra's wandering hand firmly took possession of the 'sausage' she was referring to.
"Indeed," Jenkins sighed blissfully as he closed his eyes and gave himself over to his sorceress again. "I think I WILL teach you some new words and phrases, my dear. Some that not even Mr. Stone knows…."