Disclaimer: I own none of these characters, which belong to
themselves and/or the various people who have written about them. My deepest thanks to Alica Tylon for her
help in getting this fanfic up, kudos to her and Airelle for initiating me into
this website, and apologies to the readers if things seem out of place or the
grammar is horrible.
It was not
a bright and sunny morn and neither was it the thunder and lightning of a
stormy night. It was merely the light
rain common to the isle known as Britannia.
Outside the
castle stood a man, swearing as he slid off his horse and ignored the groom who
came to lead his weary mount to the stables.
Inside the
castle, silence pervaded the air like the mist that reigned outdoors, save for
some faint noises from the kitchen. The
great hall was empty and the man met no one along the corridors to his
chamber. Either the servants knew of
his mood and deemed it wise to stay away or they were all asleep. It was the season when the days grew longer
and the night stayed its hand and when knights were off on a new quest and
princes returned to their native lands to check that their stewards had kept
good accounts.
Inside his
chamber, the hearth was cold though tapestries covered the walls and a carpet
from Persia lay beside his bed of wood, wool and linen. He turned to the slit that served as a
window and took a moment to scowl at the weather.
Muttering
words that were similar to the ones he used outside, he used the flints he
always had in his pouch to light the remains of the wood before he piled on
some beech boughs.
Moving to
the chest near the bed, he stubbed his toe on an errant chair and nearly yelped
in pain. Biting back the sound, he
demonstrated his frustration by kicking the chair halfway across the room. Built of solid mahogany, it did not break
but merely resounded with a dull thud when it landed.
Smoldering
but his emotions under control, he threw off his garments for a fresh tunic the
color of the sea with a thin band of gold around the hem and the edge of the
sleeves and breeches as dark as soot.
His boots were sodden as well and he set them by the door, ignoring the
feeling of cold stone against his toes.
He ran his fingers through his hair as he tried to recall if there was
anything he should be doing right now and when his memory failed him, he
shrugged to himself and pulled his sword out of his scabbard. Glancing at the bright sheen upon the runes
that were upon the blade, he momentarily wished the sword was like any other
and needed to be polished and sharpened just so he might have a task at hand.
Suddenly,
he heard the sound of clanking armor approaching his way. He went to the doorway, sword in hand only
to meet the look of his foster brother.
" No need
for cold iron, my lord, " Cei said formally, though his tone was wry.
Arthur
sighed and reversed the direction of the blade so that it was facing downwards.
" By fire
and water, man, could you maybe call out your presence rather than leave me to
assume the worst? "
" I present
to you, " Cei said, his eyes flashing warningly, " Leodegrance, lord of the
Summer Country, and his daughter, Gwenhwyfar. " Saying this, he brought forth an elderly man, who displayed an
air of power about him despite his age, and a young woman of the same age as
Arthur. Both their riding cloaks were
gleaming from the droplets of rain studding the wool.
Stunned but
only briefly, Arthur quickly recovered and said, " My greetings to you, Lord
Leodegrance and to your daughter, Gwenhwyfar.
This castle which you have come to may be your dwelling for so long as
you should desire to remain and may it serve you as well as your own. I shall have Cei show you to your quarters
unless there is something you need? "
" My thanks
to you, my liege, " Leodegrance said gruffly.
He genuflected to Arthur despite his great age and the sickness that had
taken his strength for he had been a formidable warrior in his day. " The hospitality of Caerleon is famed
throughout the land. Gwenhwyfar- "
" My lord,
I would beg a boon of you if I may, " Gwenhwyfar said, by way of answer to her
father and Arthur.
" Daughter,
this is- "
" Lord
Leodegrance, I find it fitting that she should speak her mind if she is as good
counsel as her father. "
Leodegrance
flushed at this praise and said nothing.
" My King,
I would ask that I might speak with you this afternoon. " Arthur was stunned for the second time that
day.
"
Gwenhwyfar! You have overstepped your
bounds and forgotten your- "
" No, let
her…if she wishes, " Arthur interrupted Leodegrance's outburst. " With your permission as her father, of
course. "
" If you so
desire it, my King, who am I to gainsay your will? " Leodegrance answered
quietly and with a bow towards Arthur and a slight jerk of his head towards
Cei, both left the room, leaving Arthur and Gwenhwyfar to their pursuits.
" Would you
like some mulled wine? " Arthur asked, recalling his duties as a host. Luckily for him, some servant must have
brought in a jug shortly before he came, for it was still warm. He poured some into a goblet and handed it
to her before serving himself.
" Was your
journey here safe? " he asked, as he hastened to pull out a chair from the
table.
" My Lord,
you need not dance attendance upon me like a slave if you do not wish it. "
He
stiffened at the tone of hidden laughter in her voice, although admitting to
himself that her voice was quite pleasant.
Fortunately not the high soprano the ladies of his court seemed to
favor, yet neither was it the hoarse voices of the cooks that could often be
heard shouting at some scullery boy or another through the day. It was somewhere in between and he was
surprised at how soothing he found it.
Seeing as her head was turned to
him expectantly, he answered hastily, yet somewhat annoyed, " I would not wish
to be appear discourteous to a lady. "
He moved to pick up the chair from
across the room and while he did so, the lady removed the hood from her
traveling cloak. As he placed the chair
across from hers, he glanced her way and nearly dropped the accursed thing upon
his thumb.
If her voice was lovely, her face
was lovelier still. Her hair was as
golden as the sun, that is, when the sun actually deemed to show itself, and it
appeared as smooth and fine as the cloth from the lands of Chin. Her face was pale but had a rather healthy
glow to it, unlike the sallow features of some women of his station who never
went outside castle walls. Her nose and cheekbones would have delighted the
Romans and Greeks and her ears appeared as fragile as eggshells. Her lips would have outshone the finest rose
or wine and upon noticing his gaze, she blushed and turned a most appealing
shade of pink.
But the moment he saw her eyes, that was when he
nearly fell over. They were of so dark
a green that he had mistaken them for brown or black. A man could drown looking into them and certainly it felt like he
was. Either that or lightning had
struck his heart, rather than other regions.
" Do you always look so at girls,
King Arthur? " her voice mocked him.
" What? " he asked, his reverie broken.
She laughed and it reminded him of
the trill of a songbird.
" You show great honesty in your
opinion, Lady Gwenhwyfar, " he said, adopting a formal tone while smiling to
show he was amused.
" Please,
may we dispense with the honorifics? " she asked, raising one eybrow.
" As you
wish, " he agreed. " Tell me, what
brings you to Caerleon? " He had his
suspicions but waited for her to confirm them.
" My father
has come to pay homage to you and to do some horse trading, " she answered
blandly.
" I understand
the homage but should he not have someone to do the trading for him? " Arthur
blurted out, without thinking.
" He loves
the horses, as I do, " she replied evenly.
" Having no sons, he allows me to come with him that I might have a good
eye for such things, which may in turn aid the man I marry.
" I am not
yet betrothed. "
The blunt
admission startled him a third time and deciding to move on to safer talk, he
asked her, " How do you find Caerleon? "
" Is it
always this wet? " she asked and they both laughed at that.
" At this
time, yes, but it is beautiful during Samhain, " he said. " Ah, are you a believer in the Romans'
Christ? "
" I find
myself open to the old religion and the new although my mother preferred the
priests. "
" As did mine,
upon the death of my father, anyway. "
" She
wanted to send me to a convent. "
" Did you
go? "
" It was of
a sort. I trained in Avalon. "
At this, a
strange look entered her eyes, one of someone who is far away from where that
body sits. Although it only
strengthened his immediate fondness for her, the look also frightened him.
" Do you
want to go back? " he asked, brushing back his uneasiness. He did not deal with fear easily.
"
Sometimes, I want to, " she admitted. "
But I want to help people and I believe that would be easier if I was out here
rather than in Avalon. Nowadays, people
tend to disbelieve the Goddess. "
" That is
true, " he said. " I wonder at
that. True, there is something a man to
has to fear from a woman, the very difference that marks them as man and
woman. But I would like to believe I
could overcome that since there is so much in women that men need. I do not mean only their bodies. "
Gwenhwyfar
looked at him in astonishment.
He understood the reason why, and said simply, "
Even a king understands what a cage is like. "
She nodded and a look of
understanding passed between them.
" I see you have a harp there. "
At first, her statement confused him
and then he looked at the wall and smiled and went over to take it down.
" Myrddin made this for me when I
was a boy. Sir Ector insisted Cei and I
have some inkling of music. Sir Ector
always wanted to sing but claimed that he had absolutely no ear for music. That did not stop him from throwing us into
Merlin's training, however. "
His affection for his foster
father, who had died this past winter of old age, was clear in his voice.
" So, Myrddin attempted to teach
Cei and I the finer rudiments of song, " he continued. " Neither of us would be bards, even if we
were able to be, but Cei turned out to have a fair hand for picking up a
tune. He inherited it from his mother perhaps;
she loved singing and had a lovely voice.
As it is, he still sings now and then.
If you and your father decide to tarry longer, I will try to convince
him so you may hear and judge for yourself.
I, however, have no voice worth speaking of. "
" But you can play the harp? " Her voice was soft, almost reverent, as she
asked.
" Aye, I can, " he conceded. " But not nearly as well as the lowliest
minstrel… "
She looked at him and he at her and
of their own volition, his hands settled in familiar positions along the frame
and strings and he ran his hand down the strings, lowered his head and began to
sing.
Whither hast the lady gone,
From bower, field or home,
She hath left, left me forlorn,
To weep my tears and roam.
Through distant lands, I go,
To see her face once more,
Beyond yon hills, I do not know,
Save the wounded heart most sore.
Yet my quest will never end,
Nor will these tears dry,
Until the day I meet her 'gain,
Until the day I die.
" A song I
heard on the path to Gwynedd, before I became King, " he said.
" It is
beautiful, " she said.
" Not half
as beautiful as you, " he murmured unthinkingly.
She blushed
once more and he smiled slightly when she hastily asked, " If I may see it? "
" Of
course, " he said, handing it carefully to her. She held it with the familiarity of personages used to their
craft.
" You have
been trained as well, I see? "
" Surely
not as well as you, my Lord, " she answered demurely, her hands absently
brushing the bear carved into the sounding-board.
" Please,
if you would. "
Her hands passed
over the strings lightly, producing a wistful strain of music so faint that he
nearly had to strain his ears to hear it.
Hesitantly at first, then more strongly, she began to sing and he forgot
about everything except for her. Even
the words of the song, though beautiful, appeared to have no impact on him at
all.
He has gone, gone on a quest,
A quest where I have no place,
Such is the fire that has no rest,
And burns within him fierce.
He will search by land and sea,
With the aid of sun and moon,
But when will he come back to me,
Will he return very soon?
Up on the castle walls 'til late,
For him to come riding back,
For him I will always wait,
Though my heart would crack.
As though
she feared what he might do, she looked up slowly and he returned the look, he
hoped, with all the wonder and awe that was in him right then.
" More
finer than I by far, " he rasped, his throat aching suddenly from the strength
of the feeling running through his veins.
He wondered then, at what she saw when she looked at him. Did she see a vain and arrogant king? Did she see a man fumbling to impress
her? More importantly, did she like what
she saw? Women had come to him before
and women he had known. Many came for
his looks before he attained the truth of his birthright. He had occasionally seen himself reflected
in the mirror his foster mother had used and in the still woodland pools. All he had seen of himself was a boy, then a
young man with black hair and eyes and the hawk-like nose of his Roman ancestry
and a frown between his eyebrows.
" My Lord?
" she asked uncertainly, breaking this reverie as well.
" I-the sun
is out, " he said, turning towards the window.
The thin shaft of light spilled onto the floor, illuminating her in its
path. It made her more beautiful but
when he looked at her, using the eyes of an objective judge of man, he saw that
her hands were tanned and there were the calluses of some labor upon them, most
likely with herbs and healing, a reminder of her days in Avalon. Her shoulders were straight and she sat tall
but there was no arrogance to her, just some calm sort of confidence, as she
looked him in the eye.
Then, he
realized she was watching him as well and in the same manner, no less. The air around them felt thick with tension
and it appeared that something was about to happen. Then, almost at the same time, they broke out laughing.
" Would you
like to see Caerleon when it is not wet? " he asked, standing up and holding
out his hand to her. She looked at his
hand for a moment, then slowly stood up and placed her hand in his. Their fingers entwined at once. For a moment, time stood still.
The spell
was broken as quickly as it had begun and he was pulling her down the stairs
towards the front hall and the great doors of oak and iron.
The stable
boy was waiting and struggling to hold onto the reins of two horses, a black
stallion and a solid gray mare, both whinnying to be free to run. He helped her astride and she accepted his
aid graciously and they were galloping across the meadows in two flicks of a
horse's tail while the stable boy hurried back to his cronies and began
entrancing them with how the King was running off with this fair maiden. He exaggerated the tale, of course.
Later on
would come the deep love and the even deeper betrayal. Later on would come lies, loss and
loneliness. Later on would come the
fall of a kingdom and the beginning of a legend.
For now,
there were just two people, a young man and a young woman riding out among the
hills, laughing and talking about nothing in particular, just celebrating the
sun after the rain in all the splendor of springtide.
