Authors: Holly Taylor
“But mine first,” Regan said with a laugh, and the crowd laughed with her as Talorcan flushed to the roots of his hair.
Arthur, taking pity on Talorcan, moved on. “I declare that Morrigan ur Uthyr is now restored as Queen of Gwynedd.”
Morrigan stepped forward. The silver and sapphire torque of Gwynedd caught the golden light and shimmered. Arthur noticed that Prince Lludd could not take his eyes off of her.
“Cai of Gwynedd, step forward,” Morrigan called.
Cai came to stand next to Morrigan. “High King Arthur,” Morrigan went on, “you have asked for the services of my captain, and both he and I freely give them.”
“Cai ap Cynyr, I declare you captain of the High King’s teulu,” Arthur said. “You who so faithfully have served my family. Who helped to conceal my whereabouts when I was a child and never breathed a word of that knowledge, who fought by my father’s side, who ensured the safety of my mother and sister. We are more grateful than we can say.”
Cai bowed tears in his eyes. “I am grateful, High King, for your faith in me. I will not ever give you cause to feel otherwise.”
“I don’t doubt it, Cai,” Arthur said solemnly. “Therefore, since the post of Captain of Gwynedd is not filled—”
“That’s my part, Arthur,” Morrigan said reprovingly. “I didn’t get this dressed up for nothing.”
A ripple of good-natured laughter ran through the hall and Arthur laughed. “I beg your pardon, sister,” he said and gestured for her to continue.
“Since the post of PenGwernan is now vacant, I have appointed my lieutenant, Bedwyr ap Bedrawd as captain.”
Under Morrigan’s, Ygraine’s, and Tangwen’s steady gazes Bedwyr bowed and did not dispute Morrigan’s statement.
“Very wise,” Gwydion murmured to Arthur.
“Yes, in the end Bedwyr knew better than to take on those three.”
“Very, very wise.”
Arthur nodded at Bedwyr and then turned to gaze at Owein. “It is my pleasure to confirm King Owein and Queen Sanon in their rightful places as King and Queen of Rheged.”
Owein, the gold and opal torque of Rheged clasped around his strong neck led Sanon forward and the two of them bowed.
“High King,” Owein said, “I wish to confirm that my captain is Trystan ap Naf, the PenDraenenwen of Rheged.”
Sabrina started to move away from Trystan so that he could join Owein and Sanon, but he refused to let go of her hand and moved to stand before Arthur with her in tow.
“High King, may I present to you my new wife,” Trystan said with great pride.
“Congratulations, Trystan,” Arthur said, carefully not looking over at Gwen. For some reason he did not feel equal to meeting her eyes just now.
Esyllt, Trystan’s longtime lover, stood rooted to the spot, her face shocked. Arthur made a mental note to have Cynfar recall her to Neuadd Gorsedd. The last thing the new couple needed was to have Esyllt hanging about. But then he saw that Cynfar did not need telling, for the new Master Bard caught Arthur’s eye and nodded almost imperceptibly.
“Lastly, I declare that King Rhoram and Queen Achren are—”
“Well, we’re not, actually,” Rhoram said, moving forward with Achren through the crowd.
“Not?” Arthur asked, confused.
“Certainly not,” Achren declared. “I’d rather die.”
“Or kill me,” Rhoram said.
“Whatever it takes,” Achren said, baring her teeth at her husband.
“That’s my girl,” Rhoram said with a grin.
“Perhaps you would care to explain, Rhoram,” Arthur said pointedly.
“Not that much to explain, High King. I find that I don’t really want to be king anymore. And I think I deserve a rest. And Achren—well, Achren finds that being queen doesn’t appeal to her.”
“And so?” Arthur asked.
“And so, I abdicate the throne of Prydyn in favor of my son, Geriant.” With that Rhoram unclasped the gold and emerald torque of Prydyn from his neck and gestured for Geriant to come forward.
Geriant, his blue eyes wide with surprise, came to stand before his father. “My son,” Rhoram said with a smile, “take this torque from my hands and know that you are King of Prydyn.”
As if in a dream, Geriant reached out and slowly took the torque and clasped it around his neck. Then he turned to face Arthur and bowed low.
Arthur said, “Then I declare Geriant ap Rhoram to be King of Prydyn.”
“Not quite,” Geriant said, finding his tongue at last.
Arthur raised a brow. “And what else did the contingent from Prydyn forget to tell me?”
“I have no idea,” Rhoram said, looking with interest at his son.
“Well I do!” Princess Enid called as she moved forward to stand next to Geriant. She clasped his hand and turned to Rhoram. “Father.”
After a moment of silence, Rhoram whooped with glee. “Married!”
“Once she decided we couldn’t wait,” Geriant said proudly.
“Ellywen did it, didn’t she?” Achren demanded.
“I most certainly did,” Ellywen, Rhoram’s Druid, said defiantly.
Achren, her hand on her dagger, came to stand before Rhoram’s formerly traitorous Druid. Then she grinned. “Good for you!” Achren said.
“Then I declare that Geriant and Enid are the King and Queen of Prydyn,” Arthur said proudly. “But what will you do, Rhoram?”
“Well, as you know, my brother-in-law, Erfin, recently lost his life through a most unfortunate accident.”
“The way he ran into your knife, you mean?” Arthur asked pointedly.
“He was always clumsy,” Achren said helpfully.
“A shame,” Geriant murmured.
“And, before he planted his backside in my hall and declared himself king, he was the Lord of Ceredigion. Since I feel responsible for the fact that Ceredigion is now without a Lord, I thought I would take his place.”
“As he so graciously took yours,” Arthur said.
“Indeed,” Rhoram grinned.
“Elegant,” Arthur went on.
“And my wife is looking forward to rebuilding the teulu of that cantref. She will be very busy. And therefore, I hope, too busy to goad me too hard.”
“A forlorn hope,” Achren said, her eyes glinting. “I will never allow you to get lazy.”
“Is that a promise or a threat?” Rhoram said, his eyes full of laughter.
“Both, my husband. Both.”
Arthur grinned and then proceeded. He gestured for his Steward to come forward. “I further declare that Tybion, descendent of Iltydd, the Steward of Lleu Silver-Hand who lost his life defending his High King, is now my Steward.”
Tybion, his son Lucan with him, bowed with tears in his eyes.
“And now I call my Great Ones to me.”
Sinend Archdruid, Cynfar Master Bard, Llywelyn Ardewin, and Cariadas the Dreamer came to stand before him at the bottom of the steps. At that moment Gwydion and Rhiannon moved to step down.
“No,” Arthur said, putting his hand out to stop them. “To you two I owe everything. Without you both none of this would ever have happened.”
“We had our part in it,” Gwydion said fairly. “But so did many, many others. And our time is over. My daughter stands as Dreamer. You have your other Great Ones to work with you and to guide Kymru. I am no longer needed here.”
“I will always need you, Uncle. I will always need both of you.”
“Well, if you truly do find that you need us, my wife and I won’t be far away,” Gwydion said, glancing over at Rhiannon.
The crowd gasped.
“Not again!” Arthur said with mock ferociousness. “Just how many marriages were going on here this morning?”
“Oh, we’re not married yet,” Rhiannon said. “Do you think that I would marry quietly? Having accomplished such a difficult task as catching Gwydion ap Awst?”
“Difficult!” Myrrdin called out. “I would have said impossible!”
“So would we all,” Arthur declared.
“Such a feat should not go unrecognized,” Rhiannon went on. “We are going to have a huge wedding.”
Gwydion paled. “We are?”
“Oh, my, yes,” Rhiannon said.
“I will perform the ceremony,” Sinend said.
“And I will stand with my mother,” Gwen put in.
“Of course I will stand with Gwydion,” Arthur said firmly.
“Oh, the songs the Bards will sing,” Dudod said enthusiastically, rubbing his hands together.
“And the stewards will ensure that the feast is more than ample,” Tybion said.
“For of course you will be married here at Cadair Idris,” Ygraine declared.
Gwydion raised his hands in mock surrender. “Enough!” he cried. “You can all do what you want, as long as Rhiannon’s happy.”
“The perfect goal,” Cariadas said with a smile.
“You said you would be close by,” Arthur said curiously. “In Rhiannon’s cave?”
“No,” Gwydion said as he took Rhiannon’s hand. “We will live on Afalon.”
“Afalon!” Arthur exclaimed as everyone gave a gasp. “No one lives there. No one has ever lived there.”
“We know,” Gwydion said quietly. “But we have reason to believe that Annwyn and Aertan will welcome us there.”
“We will build a cottage, right next to the well where Amatheon lost his life,” Rhiannon went on.
“It is right. We know it in our hearts,” Gwydion finished.
“Then there is no more to be said,” Arthur declared. “Except that your cottage is sure to be as comfortable as Kymru can make it.”
“Stocked with the wines of Prydyn,” Geriant said.
“With rugs from Gwynedd on the floor,” Morrigan put in.
“And glassware from Ederynion,” Elen called out.
“And fine honey and ale from Rheged,” Owein insisted.
“We thank you all,” Gwydion said, putting a halt to the generosity. “And accept the help offered by our friends.” At that Gwydion and Rhiannon made their way down to the bottom of the steps, motioning for Arthur’s Great Ones to ascend.
Llywelyn, Cynfar, and Sinend went up the steps. Cariadas, after a quick hug for Gwydion and Rhiannon, followed.
“There is one more service you two can do for me,” Arthur said as Gwydion and Rhiannon turned to take their places with the rest of the crowd.
“Anything,” Gwydion said sincerely.
“The death song of Havgan. Do you have it?”
Gwydion bowed with sudden tears in his silvery eyes. “We do,” he said quietly.
“Then sing it,” Arthur said simply. “Sing it for us. Sing it for him.”
In a clear, rich voice, Rhiannon began,
“Havgan the night-bringer came,
Bringing sorrow,
Bringing death.
Havgan the Cruel caused
Treacheries to Kymru.
The earth quaking,
And the elements darkening,
Bringing a shadow to the world.”
Then Gwydion sang his voice full of sorrow.
“The last step
Was taken by fierce Havgan.
Going in the course of things
Among the spirits of the dead
Reunited at last
With those who loved him.
I sing farewell to
Havgan ap Brychan var Arianllyn
And what he might have been.”
They were silent for a moment, all of them thinking their own thoughts, all of them offering their silence to the memory of one of their own, even if he had not known it until the very end.
“He is at peace, now,” Arthur said with certainty.
“At last,” Gwydion said.
“Yes,” Arthur agreed. “At last.”
T
HE FULL MOON
was riding high in the sky when Arthur drifted away from the celebration in Calan Llachar. He made his way through the trees easily. He would have been able to do so even if the moon had not lit his path, for this was his forest; Cadair Idris and its environs were his home. And neither the forest nor the plain, neither the trees nor the rocks, neither the bushes nor the grass would allow him to fall.
He stepped out of the forest and moved east, past the glowing, jeweled doors to the mountain. Then he turned north to Galar Carreg, the burial mound of the High Kings.
The plain stretched out before him, moonbeams creating silvery paths through the long grasses and wildflowers. A slight breeze danced before him and he heard the faint sound of hunting horns echoing across the sky. The fierce, free cry of an eagle carried to his heart, borne to him on the wings of the clean, wild wind.
He stood in front of the mound, lost in wonder. The brooding rocks stood silently, tall and dark, reaching up to the sky. There was no sadness to this place, and he had no fear of the dead. He was welcome here among those who had gone before him. And he was proud to be here, for Kymru was free, and the price was not so very high after all.
He had given up his freedom so that Kymru could be free, and he did not mind it as much as he had thought he would. It didn’t matter, really, that he was bound here as High King. No, he had never wanted it. Yes, he would rather, even now, be sitting quietly by the fire in Myrrdin’s hut, having watched the sheep all day and brought them safely home at night. Yes, he would rather have worn rough homespun than the golden cloak he was wearing now.
But there were rewards. Such as how he felt right now, standing before the place where Idris, Macsen, and Lleu were buried. He felt a kinship with them he had not expected to feel. If they could do it—and they had—so could he. He thought that reward would be enough and did not think he should ask for more.
Until he heard her voice. And he knew he did want more. Much, much more.
“Tired of dancing?” she asked as she came to stand beside him.
He turned to look down at her and found he could not banter with her. He found that he had to tell her the truth. And risk everything.
“I love you, Gwenhwyfar ur Rhoram var Rhiannon. I have loved you for a long, long time. Is there any hope that one day you will feel the same?”
She did not answer at first, merely studying his face in the moonlight, searching, perhaps, for the truth in his eyes. At last, having seen what she needed to see, she lifted her face for his kiss.
And that was answer enough.
S
OME TIME LATER
they returned to the Doors of Cadair Idris, their arms around each other. They mounted the white, shining steps and the Doors slowly opened.
“Greetings, High King,” the Doors said quietly as they passed through.