NaNoWriMo - Cymru 8

So, I forgot to post this excerpt because I'm sadly very stupid. Therefore, we all get bonus Awen today, and hopefully one more Saeran before the end. Enjoy, bitches.

Also, this one just ends. Actually, it just starts as well. I don't care.


AWEN

As promised, it wasn't long before Awen was found. On Elin's recommendations after she'd conferred with the other stable hands Awen had made her way to the Orangery, a vast converted merchant trading hall made of domed glass, with strange fruit trees growing inside. Awen was fascinated by them; she'd never seen a tree growing inside before. The owner, a dark man who apparently had been a trader for years before settling in Cymru to raise a family ("Call me Dai! No one can say my name so I have new name!"), happily explained the process to Awen; the sunlight filtered through the glass to keep the trees warm, and he fetched water for them. It was both bizarre and outstandingly fantastic; especially when he plucked a ripe specimen from one of the trees, a globe in a bright vibrant orange that gave rise to the name, and carefully sliced it into quarters with a knife.

"Be careful," he warned merrily, beetle-black eyes crinkling at the corners. "It's a very sharp flavour if you've not tried it before. There is much juice inside, also."

"Do you eat the skin?" Awen asked, peering at the chunk he handed her. It was thick, with a white pith between it and the flesh. Dai shook his head.

"No no!" he said. "It is very bitter, and not for eating. Only the flesh; not like your apples."

Cautiously Awen bit into it. It was a bit like an explosion in her mouth; an acid so sharp it actually brought tears to her eyes, and yet it was so sweet she didn't want to stop. It made her think of sunshine and sand, imagine some alien country - the texture was like biting into hundreds of tiny, juice-filled vessels that burst under her teeth, totally different to apples or pears. There was no core, either, which was an entirely new experience. In spite of the warning, the sheer quantity of juice came as a shock, some escaping her mouth and forcing her hand up to her chin, laughing to wipe it clean. Dai laughed with her.

"Wow," Awen said, wiping the tears the orange had brought to her eyes at the same time. "That's incredible."

"Very different, I think," Dai said happily. "I'm glad you like! Next year we may have enough for a harvest if we have luck. For now, we have only a few dozens. Lunch?"

The lunch was a plate of venison cuts with pork sausage, a few slices of cheese and some onion chutney from the biggest glass jar Awen had ever seen. It was beautiful, and she was just finishing it off when the apparently predictable arrival of Alaw occured.

Straight away Awen could see that something was slightly weird about Alaw; probably the barely-concealed hostility in her too-pale eyes as she looked at Awen, sizing her up from the Orangery's doorway and wearing her full Rider uniform, all insignias and status symbols on show. She was quite short, possibly a head below Awen, her chin-length hair such a dark blonde that 'brown' became a better description around a heart-shaped face and wide-set eyes. A pair of curved swords, her weapons of choice, were strapped to her back, but not into their sheathes. It sent out a bad message, and Awen briefly wondered how she'd ever made Alpha Wingleader.

"Rider," Awen said from her seat at the counter, throwing out the Rider-to-Rider Salute. Alaw gave her what was probably meant to be a smile and Saluted back.

"Welcome to Aberystwyth," Alaw said, coming closer. "Are you here to see Lord Gwilym?"

"Oh, no," Awen lied easily. "I'm on a message run, and I thought I'd give my meraden a rest along the way. I haven't been to Aberystwyth in a few years, so it seemed like a good choice."

"I see," Alaw said, leaning against the counter. For some odd reason the gesture made Awen want to double-check on the wristblades. "Well, intentions to do so or not, my Lord has humbly requested you see him. He likes meeting visiting Riders."

It was tiny, but Awen saw the flash, the spark of bitterness, in Alaw's eyes. Awen smiled.

"Well, I'm in no real hurry," she said, handing her clean plate to a beaming Dai, who actually bowed to her before whisking it away. "I could spare an hour or so. Would that be sufficient?"

"Yes," Alaw said, her smile just the right side of sour. "That would be fine. Shall we?"

Awen rose and laid her money on the counter.

"Don't protest, Dai," she called. "I'm paying you." She ignored his protests from the backroom and left the shop, Alaw trailing closely behind her.

The Sovereign's Residence was much as Awen remembered it from Lord Alun's day; the only real changes were the tapestries, obviously put up for the festival the day before, and the sheer number of aides scurrying quietly about. Alaw led them imperiously through the industrious civil servants and up an incredibly grand flight of stairs to a long corridor of audience chambers, each fitted with solid oaken doors and a clerk. Occasionally another Alpha Wingrider would watch them pass, an odd expression as they did, and Awen wondered if it was intended for her or Alaw. Alaw was definitely odd.

They reached the final door of the corridor, still bedecked in hawthorn boughs from the day before and Alaw knocked. A man with a nose that looked remarkably like a spout opened it, saw Alaw and with spectacular self-control didn't cringe before pulling the door open to allow them access. A fanfare blared from somewhere, almost making Awen extend a wristblade. Gods she needed a holiday.

"Leader Alaw of the Aberystwyth Alpha Wing, and Leader Awen of the Casnewydd Alpha Wing," he intoned. His voice was remarkably boring, oximoronically. It was impressive; he must work at it. Awen stepped into the room, best hospitable smile in place.

Somehow, although later she couldn't for the life of her work out how, Awen noticed Price Lorcan before Lord Gwilym. He was young, about eighteen to twenty years old maybe; Awen would have suspected the latter given the slightly lanky look to him, like he'd reached his final height but would naturally be broader in the shoulder by the time he was done. His features were classically Erinnish, from the black hair and green eyes to the broad cheekbones and slightly aquiline nose. He stood as they entered - six feet, thereabouts? - and bowed in an unfamiliar style Awen guessed was Erinnish. The cut of his tunic was different, too; although he wore a golden torque at his throat much like Cymric Sovereigns. His eyes showed wonder over weariness. Awen wondered what was happening in Erinn as she bowed back the Cymric way, standard Rider-to-Sovereign.

"Prince Lorcan," she smiled, the unfamiliar title almost tripping on her tongue. She turned to Lord Gwilym, also now on his feet, and with the most heroic effort she'd ever produced managed not to react.

"Whose face is that?"

"Providence."

The face she'd been shown on the road to her family's house; the Erinnish-Cymric mix of colouring and build, the hairstyle and beard, right down to the Caerleuad green brocade and the long waxed boots. He'd shown her Lord Gwilym. Mentally, Awen exercised the full lexicon of swear words she'd amassed as a fighter and some creative new ones she invented herself on the spot. Outwardly, Awen bowed.

"Sovereign," she said pleasantly.

"Rider," he smiled back. It was a smile that animated his features. "Welcome to Aberystwyth. Sorry about the fanfare; I've been trying to find whoever's doing it, but no such luck. I think they're hiding as a statue."

"Threaten to redecorate with a mad gleam in your eye and a large blunt object," Awen said. "The moving ones are your culprits."

"My mad eye gleam still needs work," Gwilym said morosely. "People just think I'm crying, I suspect. I hope you had a good flight?"

"Superb, thank you, Sovereign," Awen said as he waved her to an armchair. "It's been a while since I've had the chance to just fly without having a battle on the end."