Lydia found herself standing in the middle of a deep green field, surrounded by sheep. In the distance were more fields, and more sheep, and then finally, mountains. Their rounded tops were dusted with snow, and dark stormclouds rolled around them. She inhaled the cool, wet air, and the smell of sheep and manure and the ozone of a thunderstorm mixed languidly in her head. She raised her hands, and the damp breeze strengthened, lifted up her arms. The slow wail of a hunting horn tugged at her ears. What had Juno said? That all she had to do was look?
They came into the corners of her hearing first. The sharp yapping of dogs and the delicate tapping of hooves on the densely-packed loam melted into flashes of white and red, brilliant against the deep green of the fields and dark of the sky. Sheep scattered away from the rushing storm now, but Lydia stood still in the center of it, and forced open her eyes.
A massive white stag stood only a few feet away from her, but it took up the whole of her vision. It had bright red eyes and a red muzzle, as if it had taken a long drink of fresh blood from a bucket. It's antlers swept upward like mountains, and the tips of each branch gleamed red against the white bone. It's eyes were focused on her, and she felt a deep-seated menace radiating outward. Around her, slender hunting dogs were yapping and crying. Their short coats were as white as the stag's, but their ears were deep crimson and their muzzles were spattered red. She realized she was surrounded, and as they crept towards her, she felt their hunger.
A sharp whistle brought everything to a standstill. The stag had a rider, and he jumped down to the ground, his boots making a dull thump on the loam that echoed all around her. She looked up at him, and her whole body fell to stillness. No heartbeat, no breath, not a thought in her head but to look at him.
His face was black, like a mask of charcoal had been rubbed into white skin. Wild silver-white hair fell in a wind-tangled mass across his shoulders, and long slender antlers sprouted from behind his ears. He wore a long black traveling cloak, thick leather boots, and rough linen pants and shirt, all worn and patched with heavy travel. A narrow bandolier crossed his thick chest, hung with feathers and tiny branches tied with cord, and a battered leather bag hung at his hip But what caught her most was his face. Where the animals exuded menace, his expression was solemn. Dark eyes slanted slightly upward, and his narrow nose and protruding cheekbones gave him the look of a starving man. Those disturbing eyes were on her now, unblinking.
"You have the taint of the Netherworld already upon you. Have you come to Ride?"
Lydia's body unfroze, and but her mind went blank. "Um, no thank you."
He shifted his weight to one hip. "What then? You catch me on my Return. It's going to storm tonight, and I'd like to be home for a beer before the sky opens up." His voice was all around her and inside her, so intimate all at once that her hands clutched at her shirt, trying to cover herself up. He quirked an eyebrow, and the expression reminded her of her purpose, even if it didn't lessen her embarrassment.
"I came on behalf of your son.." She jumped as he barked a laugh. At this, all the dogs began howling again. It was a terrible din. She tried again. "He's in trouble! He needs-"
"When is he NOT in trouble?" Gwyn's voice was scornful. The stag at pawed the loam. "I am done with him. Run away, girl, and leave him where he lies- you will be better for it." He made to remount, and she had to do something. So she reached out and grabbed him by the arm. He looked down at her, a growing thunderous impatience in his brow.
"Please! I know it's stupid but I love him. I don't even know what that means. I don't know if he loves me, but I came all this way for him, even so." And she did love him, despite even her own doubts. "What can I do?" He looked down at her, and then shook off her grip. His eyes softened. For a long moment, she felt he was weighing her.
"You can do nothing." But I will listen to you, because I also loved him once." With that, he grabbed her waist and lifted her up onto the stag, and then mounted up behind her. "Over beer. Just talking about him gives me a headache." He spurred the stag, and lifted a great horn made of white bone to his lips. The sound of it jarred her all the way through to the cellular level. The stag leapt forward, and the baying of the hounds, and his arm pressed her back against his body so that she wouldn't fall off. Daring to look down , she couldn't see earth- only stormclouds laced with lightening underneath them.
She shut her eyes, but she could still feel them traveling- the world washing by as the storm fell all around them.
They arrived in a small stone courtyard, and he immediately dismounted, waved her toward a small door in the wall, and strode off with his stag and dogs. Happy barking trailed after him until she couldn't hear anything but the rain. The king of Annwn lived in a dilapidated castle, and it needed a deep cleaning, possibly involving dynamite and a backhoe. She walked quickly into shelter, and found herself in a small room with a good fire. The maid must have given up. She brushed off the table as best as she could, feeling like nothing as simple as teeth and small fingerbones could weird her out, having now ridden on a flying stag with the Welsh incarnation of Death. A small female ghost brought in a tray with two chipped, unmatched mugs and an iron pitcher with a broken handle. Lydia smiled at her in thanks, but the ghost only gazed at her a moment and then turned away, a hint of upraised, disapproving eyebrow at the last. It didn't leave a good feeling. She tried to wring out her hair, and rainwater trickled down the collar of her shirt. so she just scooted closer to the fire.
Gwyn strode in a few moments later, swung his traveling cape into a hook by the door, and hung his bag over the top of it. Without a word of welcome, he poured full both mugs without ceremony. She took hers and took a hesitant sip, for something to do. It was both bright and bitter, and she could taste honey and peaches. She drank another swallow, and a wave of dizziness washed over her. She put the cup unsteadily down, and Gwyn chuckled at her, the first pleasant sound he had made. "Good?"
"Amazing. Thank you." She smiled at him, for a moment forgetting why she was there, and who he was. He sat down near her and poured himself another mug, for he had finished off the first. Then he studied her for a moment, and she was embarrassed and took up her beer again.
"So I can see why he likes you, but what do you see in him?" He seemed genuinely curious, so Lydia marshaled her thoughts.
"Well, he haunted my family when I was young, and nearly killed my father, and then, he, um, tried to force me to marry him, but got sent back before he could finish the ceremony." She showed Gwyn the ring. "And then, well, I called him because I was getting attacked by this horrible poltergeist, and he came and helped me, and almost died...um, again... and then we just ended up spending a lot of time together. And I got to know him, and... I guess that's it." She thought over her own words in her mind. "Wow, I must be insane." She fingered the ring nervously.
Gwyn nodded slowly, a mild look of amusement in his deep eyes, and then poured her another beer. "And now what? You love him, you have doubts about your sanity, you are here...?"
She nodded. "He was kidnapped because this Barnabas guy found out his name from that awful poltergeist? And now Barnabas is going to use him to bust through the Wall. And Juno said that you could rename him, so Barnabas couldn't use him anymore." She finished off the mug again, liking the numbing feeling of it. This was beer that wanted to be drunk.
The king of Annwn was still for a moment. He pursed his lips. " I could indeed rename him. I am his adoptive father, after all." At Lydia's curious look, he continued, an edge to his voice. "He was taken by the Hunt- he gave up his living soul by looking at me. We Rode together for a century or so, and I became so fond of him, I set him free of the Hunt, and gave him the title of my son. And it wasn't long after that that he stole my finest mount, and we haven't spoken since." He sighed. "I always wondered if he just wanted his freedom, and that he only pretended to love me. And now you want me to take him back as a son, to Rechristen him into my family. This is a lot to ask."
She nodded, feeling drunk, and unusually frank. "I just wanted to be able to tell him off to his face, if he was planning to ditch me." She looked straight into Gwyn's dark eyes. "Otherwise I would feel cheated."
"Well." Gwyn gazed back at her, and the world came back into focus. "That sounds like the best reason of all." He touched her mug with his, and grinned at her- a smile at once so wicked and so beautiful that she was momentarily taken with him. They both knocked back the last of the beer.
Betelgeuse needed a beer. This was not going according to plan. Technically he didn't have a plan, but he certainly didn't have a beer, and that seemed more important right now. He stared at the ceiling, his arms and legs bound, and listened to Barnabas chatter away while he sharpened the sacrificial knife.
"..got this from Tezcatlipoca himself...he wasn't using it. No one does human sacrifice anymore and it was just laying on his mantle collecting dust. I think it rather depressed him, seeing it like that. Much better with the glint of sunlight and fresh blood, don't you think?"
No, thought Betelguese. I don't. He sighed. At least a final death would mean he wouldn't have to listen to this moron anymore.
"...had to kill Clara. She was pathetic, you know, just in tatters from her encounter with you, and she wanted to be some kind of conquering queen...enter triumphant into the land of the Living, probably go shopping on Rodeo Drive or something equally gimcrack. I put her out of her misery, really."
Betelgeuse tested his bonds again, but no dice there. The only glimmer of hope he had was this mirror embedded in his bowels. And he had no clue, beyond the fact that Juno had given it to him, what the hell good it was going to do him. He supposed that in times like these, one's life was supposed to flash before one's eyes. He tried to think about his life. He remembered... Lydia. Demanding that he remove himself from her shower... and their first trip through the leys, and when they danced together in the library. He thought of her delighted smile-morphing-suspicion when he brought her this or that trinket. He thought of being with her, and how warm she made him, and how he would often stare out of her window, and wonder what she saw in a schmuck like him.
"Well, we were hoping to have Lydia come and watch, but sadly, she has still not been collected. It will only be a matter of time, but frankly I don't want to wait." Barnabas beamed at him, looking positively giddy. "Shall we?"