The Naming of Rhindon Wolfsbane, Part Three
Apparently no one thought Rhiainwyn was too much of a Mary Sue last chapter, which is good, because I was going for Arthurian romance type female lead, and that's dangerously close to MS territory. There's a bit of what some would consider dodgy implications in this chapter, but that's only if you read the religious undertones in Lewis. Otherwise you've got nothing to worry about.
Hopefully this chapter won't be too confusing; a few different people are telling the story again now.
"So Peter stayed in the hall of the Mountain Queen for forty days and forty nights, eating and feasting and enjoying the company of the Lady of the Gilded Horn. But the lady had many secrets, and she did not share all of them with Peter. Every night, before the last of the wine had been drunk and the company went to sleep, Rhiainwyn would leave the hall by a small side door which only she could open, and from which she would emerge on the following night when her mother returned to begin the feasting." Caspian said to his grandson, Tarian.
"And what happened after that, Grandfather?" Tarian, a rosy cheeked boy of ten, asked eagerly.
"Then Tarian stopped asking so many questions and let his grandfather rest a little while," Grynne, his daughter-in-law and Tarian's mother, said.
"But I want to hear how the story ends, grandfather!" Tarian complained.
Caspian smiled at his enthusiasm. "Then Parcecleux will tell it to you; I'm sure he knows this better than I do."
The troubadour Parcecleux came over and bowed deeply and theatrically for the king. "As it was King Peter himself who told it to you, your majesty, I doubt there are none who remember it as well as you."
Caspian shook his head. "I may remember it well, Parcecleux, but you tell it better. Now don't leave the child waiting for the ending."
Parcecleux bowed respectfully and strummed his lute, thinking as he sat down at the foot of the steps leading to Caspian's throne. "Ah, now…Peter was in the hall of the Mountain Queen, with the Fair Rhiainwyn and all the company of the Mountain Folk. Every night was filled with laughter and dancing, but Peter never saw the end of the parties- he would fall asleep before the last wine had been drunk and was woken by Rhiainwyn when her mother returned to begin the feasting anew the next night." The troubadour's eyes grew wide for suspense, and Tarian leaned in closer. "For there was powerful magic in the Mountain Queen's wine, and since Peter was only a son of Adam, and not a Child of the Mountain or the Sky or of the Emperor-across-the-Sea himself, as the Mountain Queen was, too much of the wine made him sleepy while it made the others still more joyful and merry. So he slept away forty days in the Mountain Queen's domain. On the fortieth night, however, Aslan himself came and graced the hall.
Now Peter loved and respected Aslan very much, and did not deign to drink while the Son of the Emperor of all Narnia himself was present, so that when Rhiainwyn left the hall by her secret door, Peter saw her. Peter also saw that when the last of the wine was drunk, all the company fell into a deep sleep. The Mountain Queen looked about at her company, making sure all were asleep, and Peter pretended, closing his eyes and lying down on the rush strewn floor. When she was sure that no one stirred, the Mountain Queen left the hall with Aslan at her side.
Peter waited for a long time before stirring, and went to the little chamber on the side of the hall where Rhiainwyn had made her exit, but he found it locked, with no handle to open it, and only a tiny golden keyhole which was impossible to peer through.
Suddenly, Peter heard footsteps coming, and fell again to the floor, pretending to be asleep again. But who should return this time but Rhiainwyn, more beautiful than ever, still glowing from her morning's work pronouncing the arrival of her mother to the rest of Narnia. In her hand was a cunning little dagger made of gold and as she approached him with it Peter was suddenly very frightened; did she mean to kill him with it?"
Tarian gasped in shock and horror. "The Lady of the Gilded Horn wouldn't do that!" he defended valiantly, struck that Parcecleux would even suggest such a thing.
The troubadour nodded wisely. "No, indeed, little prince, she would not kill him; nevertheless, that is what Peter thought. Rhiainwyn did not want to kill Peter with her little knife: rather, she knelt down near him and, unbuttoning his tunic so that his chest was bare, took the blade and quickly pricked the skin," he plucked a quick little note on his lute, "—like this—near Peter's heart, and drawing a small crystal vial out of her robes, let the drop of blood fall into it. Then she hid the vial in her robes again and went away to her own rooms deep within the mountain."
Tarian was very curious. "Why would she do that?" he asked Parcecleux, very much bewildered by all of this.
"Well, little prince, if Peter had cared to notice, (and let us not forget the wine would not let him) for forty days the Lady of the Gilded Horn had been doing much the same thing every morning- taking a drop of his blood and putting it in a vial, leaving a tiny cut that made very much healed come the night time. But now Peter had noticed, and he was very alert for what would happen that night. Again he drank no wine, but this time, when the party had reached its highest point, Rhiainwyn beckoned him to her little chamber, placing into the tiny golden key hole an equally tiny golden key, just the size of a young princeling's smallest finger," Parcecleux said mischievously, watching Tarian hold up his hand to marvel at how small the key must have been. "And inside the room there was- Guess, Tarian. What do you think?"
"Treasure!" Tarian said happily. Parcecleux shook his head. "Sweets?" Tarian asked, thinking through everything he might keep under lock and key.
"No, my prince, it was Peter's sword!" Tarian's mouth made a wide and amazed O, and Parcecleux went on. "Yes, the same blade that Aslan had given him, remade just as good as new. Yes, Peter was amazed as well, for he had never thought of seeing the sword again, and he reached forward to pick it up. It was warm under his touch, and seemed to shimmer in the light with a little glow."
"Like Rhiainwyn glowed?" Tarian asked.
"Exactly," the bard affirmed. "Rhiainwyn pulled out the tiny vial, and let the blood drip onto the blade, where it hissed and steam came from it. Peter was again very frightened, for he knew the High and the Deep magic when he saw it, and this was something very High and Deep indeed.
'There is a spell upon the sword , Peter called Wolfsbane,'Rhiainwyn said, 'and when it is finished, none but you may take hold of it without death. It knows your blood now, and neither friend nor foe may use it against you.'
Peter smiled and looked at the Lady. 'That is a princely gift, Lady Rhiainwyn, and too good for me,' he said." Parcecleux paused. " You see, Tarian, Peter was in love with the Lady, as many men before him had been, and many after were still to be. It is hard not to love the sunrise, especially when she is a woman in flesh before you."
Tarian wrinkled his nose; the old tales of love and romance hold little of value for a child of ten. Parcecleux remembered this, and quickly went on.
"However, Rhiainwyn said, 'There is one thing more that needs to be done.' And saying this, she brought from the corner a little white lamb, without blemish or mark upon it, with its front feet hobbled together. 'Forty days I've taken your blood, Peter, and forty days the sword has grown stronger in the knowing of it. But it must kill before it truly knows its purpose. It needs only this sacrifice to bind it to you forever," Rhiainwyn reasoned with him, unwavering.
Peter was appalled, the spell of Rhiainwyn's beauty broken. 'You cannot ask me to do this thing-This sword must not spill innocent blood!' Peter asserted, turning away from the bound lamb at his feet. 'It is a fighting tool, not a butcher's knife!' He turned away from her, intending to leave the room, leave all of this before it completely poisoned him!
'The magic must be closed!' Rhiainwyn repeated.
'No!' Shouted Peter, turning around to face the Dawn Bringer. 'I will not harm it for a spell's sake!'
Rhiainwyn looked at him for the briefest moment, her eyes sad, and suddenly ran at him. Peter hadn't realized that the sword was pointing towards her, but he felt the blade slide into flesh, the sword pushing back against his arm. Her body lingered there on the blade, blood spilling onto the metal, running down to the hilts to drip onto Peter's hand, warm and unforgiving. She smiled at him, her eyes still sad, and then she faded away, turning into a jet of flame that soon burned itself to ash.
Peter was in shock, looking at the sword where lovely Rhiainwyn had just…died. Hateful word!" Parcecleux said passionately, the poet in his soul revealing itself. "And now the blade read, where the blood had spilled and turned to dust,
I am Rhindon, Rhinnan made me in the forges of the sun
Blade once broken, now renewed; what was many now is one."
Parcecleux stopped speaking and looked, not at Tarian, who was safe near his grandfather's chair, but at Caspian himself, who looked very sad. "My king, if it pains you, I will stop," the troubadour ventured.
Caspian shook his head. "No, Parcecleux, continue. It is a good story, if a painful one sometimes to hear. The boy should hear it."
The troubadour nodded, and took a few minutes to compose himself.
"Did Rhiainwyn really die?" Tarian asked; the ten year old was still a little bit in shock at that ending. Parcecleux, seeing no reason to withhold the truth, shook his head.
"No, little prince, she did not. Remember that she was the Lady of the Gilded Horn, and the Dawn herself, and like the Dawn, she died every night, when the feasting was over, and was reborn again in the morning as beautiful as before. But Peter had not known this, and he was stricken grievously by what he had just done. Fortunate for him, then, that the Mountain Queen found him, and set his mind at ease.
'Do not fear, Peter Wolfsbane,' she said, 'She has not left you entirely. Wait again for morning, and she will return, reborn again to be as beautiful as you remember her. All strong magic must be sealed in blood- thus it has always been, and thus will it always be. Sacrifice is required in all of life, King Peter – you would do well to remember that. Now go- take your sword and head for your home; now is not yet the hour for forsaking it entirely."
Peter turned back to look at her, and feeling very childish, admitted, "But I do not know the way."
The Mountain Queen smiled, and laid a hand on his shoulder; her touch, like her daughter's was warm and full of comfort. 'It will not always be thus, King Peter; the way home is always the easiest way of all.'
And without another pause, there he was, back in the hall at Cair Paravel, where he had been when he left with the Lady of the Gilded Horn. Right where we are now," Parcecleux said.
"And there's Rhindon!" Tarian said, pointing above the great fireplace where the sword was hung alongside other weapons of great repute- a hunting horn, a silver shield, a great white bow, and a pair of daggers with cherry red handles and lions in their pommels.
"Yes, that is Rhindon," Caspian said, getting out of his chair to gaze at them with his grandson. "Rhinnan's Bane, it means in the Old Tongue, after the lady whose blood etched the name, but it may also be simply Ringed One in the common tongue, or Ruler of the World, as others read it. And all the
other weapons of the High Kings and Queens there with it. Which one do you like best, Tarian?" he asked the little boy, and Tarian thought about this for a moment.
"The daggers are nice," he said after a while, "But I still like Rhindon best." He looked up at his grandfather, something troubling him. "Is that where Papa is, Grandfather? Feasting with the Mountain Queen?"
At this, Caspian looked sadder than ever. "I hope so, Tarian. There are far worse places to be and under far worse enchantments than hers."
The little boy nodded, thinking about his father and Caspian's only son, the prince Rilian. Then, thinking of another question, Tarian asked Caspian, "Grandfather, if the Lady made the sword so no one but King Peter could hold Rhindon, then how do you have it?"
"Peter gave it to me, as a present when he left Narnia again. The Mountain Queen reforged the sword so that it could not be taken from Peter by force of arms; only by giving can the power be transferred. When you are old enough, your father will give it to you, and you and all your sons must keep it for him when he comes again. Peter never returned to the Castle under the Mountain, but he will, someday." Caspian said. "He must."
Tarian nodded very seriously. "I will, Grandfather. I will."