'A sword's credit is its idleness'

- Welsh Proverb

'I have never been able to master the stem stitch,' Iola said, setting aside her embroidery. She adjusted her chaise so it was closer to the blazing fire.

This spring had been unusually cold and damp; everyone at Caer Dathyl was eagerly awaiting the first warm afternoon of the year as the days stretched longer. The mood around the keep seemed to have improved slightly with glimpses of blue sky and bright afternoon sunlight. Queen Teleria, in a fit of optimism, had ordered that the curtains be pulled aside and windows opened. Despite her best efforts, the March wind set a chill on the court ladies.

Matilda pulled tightly on a light blue thread, grateful they had procured spots by the hearth. 'See?' she said, holding out her handiwork to her companion.

Iola only shrugged. 'I am not suited to these things.'

'Oh, all it takes is a little practice,' Matilda replied. They had been playing this game for over ten years now. Iola would point out how she was inept at anything having to do with being a young lady and Matilda would pretend it was not true.

As soon as Queen Teleria was snoring softly in a chair, one of the ladies shut and bolted the glass pane. The air was making Matilda's fingers sore. Eventually she also set aside her embroidery hoop and pulled her wool shawl tighter around her shoulders.

'I dreamed of you last night,' Iola whispered, leaning in closer to Matilda.

Matilda bit the inside of her cheek, suppressing a grimace. Iola's dreams often had the uncanny habit of coming true. Matilda wasn't sure she wanted to hear whatever it was the princess had to say, with one exception.

'Was it about my family?' Matilda tried not to sound too eager.

The pity in Iola's bright blue eyes made Matilda feel suddenly waspish. 'Not that I have been counting down the days, mind you. But given the circumstances, I expect the King should be hearing from my relatives any day now.'

'I'm sorry, Tilly, no.' Iola turned her gaze back into the fire, and her eyes took on a glazed look as she spoke. 'No… I saw a great red dragon digging its claws into the Earth. And then there was Rhys and he was riding Melynwyn across the ground, going to slay it. Though he had no sword.'

Matilda chuckled. 'It seems that you did not dream of me at all.'

'Oh Llyr, of course I did. You were standing in a glade. And I saw a white mare come up to you, and put her head in your hands.'

Matilda wrinkled her nose. 'You know how I feel about horses.'

Iola laughed. 'True enough.' Then she added, a little wistfully: 'It must have only been a dream.'

There was a sharp wrap at the door. Iola and Matilda watched as one of their tittering companions went to answer it. She clucked in laughter as she exchanged low words with the visitor. Matilda rolled her eyes at Iola, who only chuckled.

'Gwendolyn, who is it?' Matilda asked pointedly, annoyed by the shrillness in the woman's voice. She stood and walked toward the heavy wood doors.

'Prince Rhys,' Gwendolyn answered. There was a flurry of excited whispers. 'Oh do come in-'

Matilda was already pressing back on the hinge as Rhys pushed against it. 'You know that only the Queen can give permission for a man to enter her rooms.'

Gwendolyn rolled her eyes. 'Oh we don't stand on much ceremony when the Queen is at council.'

'Yes, why the need for so much ceremony?' Came a muffled reply from behind the door. 'What are you getting up to in there?'

'Surely nothing that would be of interest to you, Your Highness.' The harder she was pushing back against the door, the harder Rhys shoved against it. Matilda had the distinct impression he was only using a thimbleful of his strength.

'Or perhaps you could come see for yourself, your Highness?' Gwendolyn's voice was soaked in honey.

'That's a bold statement from the daughter of a petty lord,' Matilda snapped.

'And that's a bold insult from the ransomed daughter of a foreign traitor.'

The ladies suddenly stopped their excited murmurs to stare at Matilda. The words stung more than she wanted to admit. Matilda sucked in a breath, the colour high in her cheeks as she readied an appropriate insult, but the hand pulling her into the hallway ruined the opportunity. With a smile, Gwendolyn slammed the door in her face.

'It always amazes me how you've been here for ten years and have only made friends with my sister.'

Rhys was already pulling her down the hall into a shaded alcove. A few servants exchanged looks as they hurried down the corridor.

'Let go of me!' she said, swatting Rhys' hand away. Matilda paused to smile at an attendant carrying a stack of bed linens who stopped to stare at them.

'Then walk faster,' Rhys replied, his voice in good humour. His shining blue eyes glittered as he turned to look at her.

Matilda deliberately pulled back on him, digging her slippered heels into the flagstone. 'I am not going anywhere with you until you greet me properly and tell me what's going on.'

Rhys stopped so suddenly she was nearly flung into his chest.

'Oh I am sorry, Lady Proper,' he said, bending down to lay a kiss on the back of her hand.

Matilda fought down a blush as his grip slackened. She hadn't seen so much of Rhys these past years, when the King was insisting he take on more roles involving the ruling of Prydain. The sight of him now; tall with windblown hair and a heavy sword girded at his side was in stark contrast to the unkempt boy who used to leave toads in her bed.

'Will that suffice? Now, come on.' The buckles on his sword belt jingled as he started down a winding staircase.

'What have you got planned this time?' Matilda demanded.

'I'll answer your questions from the back of Melynwyn,' Rhys said. 'There's no time to explain.'

'Rhys,' Matilda protested. 'I refuse to ride that infernal beast of yours.'

He paused, cocking his head to the side. 'I saw a letter from your father grace the High King's table.'

Matilda's throat went dry. Before she could speak Rhys interjected: 'I'll let you read it-'

Matilda started. 'You will?'

'On my honour,' Rhys said. He flashed her a crooked smile and Matilda suddenly felt as though she had custard where her knee joints should have been.

'Fine. Let's go.'

Taran of Caer Dallben, Assistant Pig Keeper, High King of all Prydain, drummed his fingers on the arm of his throne and tried not to think about the empty chair seated to his left. The High Queen was doing an excellent job of ignoring it, nodding enthusiastically along to the chief steward's report on an excess grain harvest from the lowlands. Taran clenched his jaw, his eyes flicking to the door.

'Yes and we are very impressed with this last year's yields, are we not, my love?'

The edge in Eilonwy's voice snapped Taran out of his reverie. He glanced over to the Queen, who narrowed her sharp blue eyes at him, as though she were trying to telepathically communicate something. After twenty years reigning together, he reckoned he should have been better at that by now.

'Oh, ah, yes. Highly impressed.'

One of the old lords harrumphed and offered a thin smile. 'I would also like to add, if I may, Your Majesty…'

Taran gripped the arm of the ridiculously large chair to stay his restless fingers. Beside the empty seat sat a youth, with red gold hair and green eyes. He looked utterly bored as he scratched something onto a length of parchment. Taran felt his thinning patience waning further. He drew a sharp inhale through his nostrils, feeling a long scolding working its way from his thoughts to his mouth.

I asked you both here today so you can understand that ruling is more than glory. When I was your age, having the opportunity to sit on a council was all I ever wanted…

'Thank you again, for making the journey Lord Aled.' Eilonwy said, with the loud scrape of her chair as she stood. 'We will look over the figures, but as I see it, storing the excess grain at Caer Emyr makes the most sense, as you've been doing since last year. Doesn't it, Taran?'

'Yes,' Taran said, attempting to salvage the council. 'Yes, and keep some of it for yourself. We will make a visit this autumn to do a full inventory.'

'Your Majesty,' Lord Aled'a bushy eyebrows shot up. 'You honour my humble house with such a promise.'

Eilonwy's smile tightened as she turned back to Taran.

'Indeed, he does.'

The chief steward, Aeron, led the lord out, their conversation continuing out into the hall.

'We've already promised another cantrev lord a visit at that time,' Eilonwy said. 'And it's on the other side of Prydain! Unless you invent a contraption that will allow us to travel long distances in half the time, Lord Aled is going to be sorely disappointed, which is less than ideal given-'

'Owain,' Taran said, interrupting his wife. 'Where is Rhys?'

Owain looked up from his parchment, his fingers ink stained. His lips were pursed into a grimace. 'Well I-' he began.

'Taran,' Eilonwy's hand gripped his shoulder. 'There's not time for this-'

'Don't give me some story about how he promised you his mare's first colt. I asked him to be here today and-'

The creaking of door hinges silenced everyone.

'Sire,' Aeron said. 'I am sorry to interrupt. It seems that a white palfrey was seen galloping out of the keep just a few moments ago.'

'Foolish boy,' Taran muttered.

'Whatever does he think he's doing?' Eilonwy asked, an edge of humour in her exasperation.

'He'll be mucking out the stables for a week,' Taran said.

'A scouting party announced that some raiders had been captured not far from here; they were stealing from a farmer.'

Taran gritted his teeth. 'Make that a month.'

Rhys reigned up Melywyn in front of the small cottage. Two men's hands had been bound and they were kneeling in the muck of a freshly ploughed field. A tall guardsman with a sword at the ready stood watch over them.

Rhys slipped off Melynwyn easily, who was still pawing the ground, ready for another gallop. Matilda, her face nearly green, leaned forward and wound her fingers in the mare's mane. Her honey coloured hair was askew from its usually impeccable coif. It amused him for a moment to think that it was possible she could even look rumpled, when she'd never normally allow a stitch out of place.

She looked well, Rhys thought. Very well.

'Oh I might be sick,' she complained.

'You can be sick after you translate for us,' Rhys said, helping her down off the white palfrey.

'What, these men?' She appeared to be thoroughly rankled. 'You drag me out here… to do what exactly? Knight them? Cut off their heads?'

'They're from your country,' Rhys replied.

Matilda blinked, the colour returning to her cheeks.

'We need you to translate. Why are they here, and what are they looking for?'

Matilda walked over to the bandits. They murmured something to each other as she approached. Rhys watched as she spoke, hand on his sword hilt.

'It's true, they are from my country,' she replied. 'But not my father's lands. They are further south.'

'What are they doing here?' Rhys asked once more.

Matilda resumed the line of questioning. The guardsman and Rhys exchanged a glance. He walked over, shaking his head.

'How do you know she'll be telling the truth?' he asked.

Gareth was a year older than Rhys and had been loyal to the High King since he was found on the steps of the castle in a basket. He was wry and gruff and true hearted, which made him his father's prized champion, and Rhys' good friend.

Rhys only lifted an eyebrow.

'I only ask because we both know the ten years of her ransom is coming to an end,' he said in a low voice.

Gareth had always been suspicious of Matilda. Rhys was under the impression that the only thing she'd ever coordinated an attack on was an ill-woven tapestry. To fix it, of course.

'They were part of a larger group that were separated and they are now lost,' Matilda interjected. 'They said they were seeking food and shelter.'

'If that's all they wanted, why not come up to Caer Dathyl? Why steal from a local farmer?' Rhys asked.

'Because they are lying,' Matilda hissed. 'Do you not think I know that?'

'Then ask them-'

'Get down!'

Rhys found himself shoved into the mud as an arrow whistled past his head. Heart pounding, he found his footing as he stood to his full height. He drew his sword just in time for another arrow to glance off it. Matilda screamed.

'Down!' he shouted.

Gareth, sword drawn, ran in the direction of a small copse of trees. Another arrow landed near Melynwyn's hoof. The mare reared, flattening her ears. In the commotion, the two men, hands still bound behind them, ran into the forest.

Rhys swore, ready to run after them, when something caught his eye. A bit of gold winked up at him, and he knelt to retrieve the strange artefact. He was distracted by a figure teetering in the corner of his eye. It was Matilda; or at least, he assumed it was. Mud was covering nearly every inch of her.

'Are you well?' he asked, gripping onto one of her slippery hands to right her.

'My dress!' Matilda yelped. 'I'll never be able to wash this out.'

'Calm yourself,' Rhys said. Once she had settled he brushed some muck from the pendant. It hung on along length of rope, and there were strange markings on it. He held it out, trying to decipher the strange letters.

'I should have never agreed to this.' Matilda had begun marching back to the keep, her arms covered in fresh mud. She threw a few globs off as she flung an arm toward the thatched farmer's cottage. He had come out to see what all of the fuss was about. Gareth and the other guards were nowhere to be found. Rhys was not keen for word of this to reach his father before he did. Shoving the pendant in the pocket of his tunic, he strode toward Matilda.

'Here,' Rhys said, gathering her up in his arms.

'This is highly improper!' she shouted, her brown eyes blazing with fury. 'You just wait until your father hears about this.'

Rhys had probably heard that threat from her lips a hundred times before. The pendant felt heavy in his pocket. What were they meaning to do? Reckless of them... he wondered as he placed Matilda in the saddle and then swung up behind her.

He must have spoken the thought aloud, because Matilda added: 'They're reckless? You're the one who's reckless! I have half a mind to…'

Her words died in the wind as Rhys squeezed his calves against Melynwyn's sides, urging her into a gallop.

Author's Note: Okay so obviously I'll only continue this if there is interest. If you think the idea is absolutely preposterous feel free to let me know. I was always interested in what kind of children these two would have, and what kind of scrapes they'd get into. This is a fun project I'm working on in between editing my real-life novels. Hopefully will be posting a chapter weekly or so!