NaNoWriMo - Cymru 3

This is actually taken from half-way through Saeran's bit, hence no proper set-up at the start there. It's set earlier in the same day of Dylan's bit, which is the day before Awen's bit. The next thing I write will either be before or after these three, and everything after that will be in normal order. This is largely because I is retard megalolz!!! and have now written twelve and a half thousand words in five days. It's not enough...




SAERAN

"Hello Sioned," Saeran grinned, hugging the blonde girl tightly. "And haven't you all grown? Working the fields, I see."

Twenty faces beamed up at her.

"And I helped with the lambs this year," Morgan said, sticking his hand in the air. "And last winter we all helped pick the leaves for the animals."

"Did you really?" Saeran asked. "How lovely! I suppose you're all too old for songs, now, then."

There was a slightly deafening chorus of 'no', and then Saeran's hands were both seized by at least five children each and she was pulled forwards towards the village. As they arrived at the houses Saeran looked up and smiled to see Mari, leaning against the doorframe with three-year-old Ceri on her hip and looking almost exactly the same as when Saeran had seen her last almost two years ago. As they neared Mari put Ceri down and waded her way through the children, shooing them out of the way.

"Oi! Sion, let go of her, she'll lose her hand like that. You too, Morgan. Now come here, you," and Saeran was enveloped in a hug that left her lightly dusted with the flour from Mari's trousers to add to the muddy fingerprints on both arms. "There's well you're looking, Saeran!"

"You too," Saeran grinned. "Didn't have the heart to cut off your hair after all, then?"

"Ach, no." Mari flicked said long hair over one shoulder, a small cloud of flour flying away as she did, and Saeran noted that she'd actually grown it; it came down to her elbows now. "I couldn't, I'm a coward. Anyway, I'm glad you're here. There's work to be done."

"Of course," Saeran grinned, and they walked back up to the fields together, the children flocking around excitedly as they begged plaintively for a song. Mari snorted, and shooed them away.

"Later," she told them. "If, and only if, we finish this particular field, and at present it's only half done; so get going." The children dispersed faster than Saeran could blink.

"So how's Twm?" Saeran asked as she got to work, the rough handle of the hoe digging into her palms. Her callouses were only on her fingertips; she could already foresee the blisters. Mari sighed, jabbing the hoe slightly more viciously into the ground than she'd intended.

"Worse," she said glumly. "And gods he's hard now. Some days he thinks I'm Mam; those are the worst. Especially when he then thinks Sioned is me."

"I'm sorry," Saeran said quietly. Mari shook her head, hair cascading into her face.

"It's not your fault," she said. "And he has good days still. He'll just suddenly be lucid and clear, and everything's lovely. He has triggers that do it, you know? Things that remind him of stuff, and suddenly he's not lost anymore."

"Well, that's good," Saeran said positively. "Have you tried talking to any druids about it?"

"Aye. Had one come through the other week." Mari paused, leaning on her hoe. "Nothing he could do, but he did say he's been seeing a few cases like it this Half."

"Really?" Saeran tried to keep her voice casual. "Just this Half?"

"Well," Mari waved a hand, "obviously Tad isn't the first who's had their mind go. But this druid said it was going in a different way to normal. A few people have; but just this Half."

"So they can't do anything," Saeran said, her heart aching for Mari. Mari shook her head.

"No," she said. "I mean, it would have been difficult anyway, since there aren't many as can use the right energies, but with it being different and all..."

"The chances become slim to none," Saeran finished. "From a druidic perspective anyway. If he still has triggers, though, where his mind returns, maybe he'll get better."

"Well, I'll be thankful if he does," Mari nodded. "But I'm not hopeful, Saeran. It's easier to accept this way. And it's not so bad," she shrugged. "Iago and Gwen take him for me sometimes, give me a bit of a break. He's fine with it."

"I can try some older poems on him," Saeran said carefully. "Things he'd know from his own youth. If nothing else he might like the music."

"Please," Mari said, looking up and meeting Saeran's eye. "Please do. The one constant is that he still loves music. I like to see him smile."

****

The house was in mild disarray, the evidence of Mari's bread-making earlier still sprawled across the kitchen table and unbaked. The milk in the pail stood waiting to become cheese; the dried bunches of herbs hung slightly tattered from the ceiling; a pile of linen, possibly made from last year's flax crop, was roughly folded into a corner, ready to become clothes. The hearth was burning low but brightly, not to hot while what smelled like hare-meat drifted out of a pot set over it. A large, woven willow chair, covered in plump cusions and a thick woolen blanket, revealed the grey-haired figure of Twm, snoozing in the warmth.

Saeran pulled the harp out of its case, and sat in the chair opposite. Even in his fullest mind Twm had never liked to be woken abruptly, so she simply started playing the chords delicately, her fingers light and gentle on the strings in pleasant counterpoint to the calling of the field martins drifting in from outside. She didn't sing yet.

He smiled first, but didn't open his eyes. Carefully, Saeran led the melody away from the absent-minded country tune and into the relevant area; still no minor chords, not yet, so transposing as she went into major, a graceful, elegant tune. It didn't sound half bad in major, actually. Twm sighed contentedly, so Saeran began humming a harmony softly to herself.

Outwardly, it was a love song, one of many that had been all but lost during the Wars for its sad end; it had only been sung by people in their darker moments, when the fighting had become especially bleak, and peace a long-forgotten pipe dream. Afterwards no one had sung it anymore. In times of new hope and laughter no one wanted to remember the despair. It had taken Saeran a while to find even as much of it as she now knew.

Twm opened his eyes, staring into the fire as it quietly cracked and spat, throwing orange light across the woolen blanket over his legs. Saeran debated throwing the song into minor key to help jog his memory, but decided against it. She couldn't risk it. If Mari was right and his mind got stuck places sometimes, the last thing Saeran could do was leave his mind in the Wars. No one should have to see that again.

So she left it, and sang the words in major.

"A pair of doves, they fell in love,
And nestled in that golden glove
They sought a life for both of them entwining;
But Pedr's father wore the crown
And laughing he beat Pedr down
For dreaming he could be with Mair, shining."

Twm's eyes almost misted over, a slow focus appearing in his eyes as his mind sharpened. If she hadn't been singing Saeran would have held her breath. This was such a long shot; she wasn't even sure she had the words right, the ones she did have.

"It mattered not though; for what
Pedr's father had forgot
Was the glamour of an action now forbidden;
So Mair dreamed and Pedr planned
To seize their bonding by its hand
And flee the king for lands where they'd be hidden."

And suddenly, Twm was humming along, his voice carefully forming around certain words, slowly growing in strength. This was it, then. Saeran only had three lines left to sing. She crossed her toes.

"But Pedr knew the nest he flew;
He knew but still he would be true"

And Twm sang, joing in properly.

"To Mair and that golden love still kindling,"

Saeran switched to simply humming an easy descant, listening carefully and praying he'd keep singing. It was a risk; there was every chance he'd stop without her, although hopefully the presense of the harmony would be enough to keep him going. He raised his chin, and his volume.

"They fled, they ran and they were gone;
But so wrong had flowed their Rubicon
And suddenly that magic light was dwindling."

Saeran beamed, and Twm sighed as she played out the final instrumental.

"You play that well, girl," he said, staring at the fire. "We used to sing that in the Wars. Never did after, which was a shame, because I liked it. It sounds better when you play it."

"I put it into major," Saeran said gently. "It's surprising the difference it can make."

"That it is." Twm stared a few moments more, and then turned, looking back at the doorway. "Mari! Is the bread done? We'll be wanting it tonight."

"Not quite yet, Tad," Mari said, entering the house. Saeran hadn't noticed her; although now she could see the tears Mari was pushing aside, an oddly proud expression on her face as she moved to the fire and hugged Twm. "I'll do it with you now, if you'd like."

"That would be nice," Twm agreed. "If Saeran accompanies us."

"I'd be honoured," Saeran smiled, and she sat quietly in the corner playing the songs as Twm hummed along and Mari chattered to no one in particular. It took little thought to do, for which Saeran was grateful; it gave her time to ponder Twm's final lines.

They fled, they ran and they were gone;
But so wrong had flowed their Rubicon
And suddenly that magic light was dwindling.

A poor decision leading to... what, exactly? Suddenly that magic light was dwindling. Was the use of the word 'magic' metaphorical? If so then the light itself would have been the important element in the sentence, but Saeran doubted it. The light was probably metaphorical, but it also featured elsewhere in the song, in 'shining' and 'glamour' and the multiple 'golds'. The magic didn't, though. The magic was only used at the end, only after the tell-tale bad decision that Saeran had come to be able to identify in her sleep, and only in conjunction with the light actually -

Failing.

The magic failing.

Saeran's fingers nearly caught in the strings; she managed to catch herself just in time. Twm didn't notice, singing softly to himself. Mari chattered on.

Saeran hoped she was wrong.