Tuesday 23 June 2009

Cymru - Chapter 16

The dip in writing quality to this from the rest is laughable. Sorry, guys. It's a fact.


GWILYM

"Bloody Marged," Madog muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. Dylan grinned, eyes scanning the room in a constant frenzy of motion that was starting to make Gwilym wonder if the man was hearing voices. "Off the record, of course."

"Of course!" Gwilym agreed, partly because he was damned if he was going to be the one to report an Alpha Wingleader for such anti-Sovereign sentiments and partly because he agreed. Bloody Marged.

"It's such a shame," Aerona said wistfully, stirring her tea. The tea was rather good, actually; although Watkins had brought it, and Gwilym was fighting a wave of hysteria at the thought that a man who looked like a kettle made good tea. "I mean; it's the skeleton of such a good plan, but she's given Flyn the perfect chance to implement his own nasty plans."

"Yes," Madog said. "Yes, she has. Which will now be infinitely worse. Why couldn't she have just suggested this at the Archwiliad like a normal person?"

"Because it's Marged, you retard," Dylan chimed in. He seemed to be scanning the skyline out of the window for evil birds or something. "That's a big gate."

That was a big conversation shift. People in the streets below had probably seen it.

"It kept out the Northlanders back in the wars," Gwilym nodded, and then belatedly realised he was talking to a pair of Northlanders. "Now it's a tourist attraction. You'd be surprised how many Phoenicians come to visit it."

"I think my real father was Phoenician," Aerona said thoughtfully. Gwilym could believe it. It explained her colouring, at any rate.

"Be that as it may," Madog said drily, "if I could ask you all to ignore my Deputy and stay on topic?"

"Must we?" Gwilym sighed. "I'd rather talk about the gate. It hasn't tried to kill me."

Nor had it tried to suggest any nefarious political goings-on, nor had it casually told him his family had, in fact, been murdered. It was simply a gate. Gwilym rather liked the gate.

"Perhaps not, Sovereign," Madog began, his lips quirked slightly in the apparently barely-suppressed amusement of someone who didn't have an albeit invisible target ring on their forehead and therefore could afford to find humour in someone else's traumatic ordeal. Although, as a border Rider, he'd probably dodged many more arrows than Gwilym. Maybe he thought Gwilym was over-reacting. "However, I want to know what - "

The fanfare blared. Gwilym shuddered. Sledgehammer, he reminded himself. Must get a -

"Leader Awen of the Casnewydd Alpha Wing," Watkins intoned.

Gwilym stood, full of foreboding at the oncoming conversation. He almost didn't want to know who desired his demise; it was nice thinking it was just an act of teenage rebellion from the boy in the cells who could be simply slapped on the wrists and returned to his parents. Although thinking about slapping him on the wrists brought him uncomfortably close to thinking about the fact that he'd probably just been tortured. In spite of himself, Gwilym glanced at Awen's hands. They were reassuringly blood-free, although that could just have meant that she had some sort of unnatural hand-washing talent. You heard stories about Riders.

"Sovereign," Awen bowed as the door clicked shut behind her, and he noticed the scary bird was on her shoulder. That was a shame. Gwilym smiled. The bird glared.

"Rider," he returned. "We have tea, if you want. Also Madog and Dylan here, whom you've probably met before, I'd have thought, but are now here to help us shed further light on Lord Flyn and to talk about gates."

It was fascinating watching them acknowledge each other. In their respective home districts, Awen and Madog were the highest authorities possible, technically including their Sovereigns and all other Nobles, and both came from the border where fighting was a weekly if not daily occurance. It was like watching two pack leaders coming together, on neutral ground, sizing each other up without hostility. And yet, clearly, Gwilym had been right; they'd definitely met before.

Madog stood up and they Saluted, both standing perfectly straight, and then both smiled slightly.

"Good to see you again," Awen said, and there was an edge of something deeper there that Gwilym hadn't expected to find; a sort of warmth and respect under the neutral tone. Madog inclined his head.

"And you," he answered, his tone matching hers. It was an Alpha Wingleader thing, Gwilym concluded. It couldn't be an easy job.

"Is he okay?" Aerona asked anxiosly, breaking the odd stand-off. "The boy? You didn't cripple him or anything?"

All eyes turned to Awen, who merely glanced at Aerona, face impassive.

"No," she said. "He's fine. I did tell you, it's rare I actually have to hurt someone. His name's Gareth, by the way. And he was forced into trying to kill you, Sovereign," she added to Gwilym, the beads in her long hair swaying as she turned to look back at him. "It's up to you as to whether you want to punish him or not, but my official recommendation is to release him into Union custody. Quickly."

Well, it wasn't like he hadn't known there'd be someone behind it. Privately, Gwilym was hoping it would be Watkins. You were probably allowed to fire advisors who hired assassins to kill you. Or at least demote them.

"Happily," Gwilym said, sinking back into his chair and motioning the others to do the same. "He's all yours. Why quickly? Who forced him?"

"I don't know," Awen said, sliding into the nearest chair. She looked into the middle distance and stroked the scar on her palm absent-mindedly. "I mean, the evidence all points to Lord Flyn, but something doesn't add up."

"What did he tell you?" Aerona asked, leaning forward interestedly. She seemed rather more animated again now than she had a minute ago, Gwilym thought; apparently, news of his would-be assassin's positive well-being had cheered her up. Everyone seemed to care about his would-be assassin more than him, like it was an abused puppy rather than an attempted murderer. It was a rather morose thought.

"He saw..." Awen hesitated, and glanced at Madog and Dylan. Gwilym didn't know what she was looking for, but Dylan shook his shaggy mane of hair and beads out of his eyes and Awen seemed to relax slightly. Maybe Dylan had magic hair. "He saw Lord Flyn a week or so ago in a wood on the border, talking to a Saxon."

"What?" Madog sat bolt upright, staring at her. Awen nodded.

"In Saxonic," she said wearily. "And it gets worse. They saw him, he ran, he got away. Flyn clearly found out who he was, though, because the next day he got summoned to the Residence to speak on behalf of his mother and grandmother, both of whom got suddenly arrested for liaising with Saxons."

Aerona looked traumatised, one hand covering her mouth. Gwilym sympathised. If Casnewydd's cells were anything like Aberystwyth's, the idea of an old woman in them was profoundly disturbing. As, indeed, was the miscarriage of justice, he supposed, but right now Gwilym was quite happy imagining Flyn capable of every crime he'd ever heard of. Including funny ones. Like bestiality. And stealing curtains. And probably both at once, the kinky bastard.

"Anyway," Awen continued, running a hand through her hair and causing it to briefly shimmer gold in the sunlight, "Flyn told him to come to Aberystwyth and wait for further instructions. Then when we arrived..."

She trailed off bitterly for a second, and Gwilym had to resist the sudden urge to hug her. It wasn't acceptable between a Sovereign and a Rider, and she was fully trained to kill him if he overstepped his social or political boundaries, and that wasn't even counting the extra three Riders and a bird who'd help her. Particularly the bird, which was still glaring at him. Madog leaned forward.

"What happened when you arrived?" he asked. Gwilym wondered if he could kick himself without anyone noticing. They really should have explained that part before.

"Oh," Awen sighed, "the usual, you know? My Deputy tried to stop me from catching the assassin and then tried to kill me when I refused."

"Good gods." Madog looked thunderstruck for a second, his eyes filled with horror, and even Dylan actually looked at Awen for what had to be a good three seconds. Then, very gently, Madog leaned forward and laid a calloused hand over one of Awen's. Their eyes met, understanding flashing between them. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, it's alright," Awen said, her tone suddenly lightly indifferent. "I should have seen it coming really, you know what Deputies are like."

"Yes," Madog nodded solemnly, sitting back. "Stab you in the back as soon as look at you. It's why I keep Dylan, you know, I can always tell where he is by his hair."

"Hey!" Dylan said indignantly as Aerona giggled. "You don't keep me, you slag. And you begged me to be your Deputy."

"And it worked?" Gwilym asked, interested. "Maybe I could beg someone to be Sovereign for me. No one would want to kill me then."

"They might still." Awen gave him a sideways look, the original humour back in her eyes. Apparently, all she'd needed was someone who could truly understand her loss, and she was bouncing back, all personal strife pushed aside. Riders had such a creepy 'we-don't-actually-matter' mentality. "Apparently when Owain found Gareth here, he told him to kill you because you're a pervasive influence."

"Ah." Gwilym slumped in his chair. "That's it, then. Time to replace my advisers with nubile food tasters and dancing ninjas and sing while my kingdom crumbles around me. I can think of nothing less pervasively influential, although maybe not from the point of view of my subjects."

"Oh, only if you remember the birds," Awen grinned. "The mutant ones. And the all natural living willow statues, but make them of naked Lady Blodwen."

He was about to make a comment about Awen torturing Sovereigns without fair reason, but Aerona spoke first.

"Guys," she said, shaking her head, "other people would like to understand this conversation too, you know."

"And we'd all like to not think of naked Lady Blodwen," Gwilym nodded solemnly, which made Dylan laugh.

The fanfare blared again suddenly, making Aerona spill her tea and Madog shift abruptly and momentarily into Creepy Rider Fighting Mode. Awen smirked as Gwilym shuddered. Sledgehammer, he reminded himself sternly. Remember the bloody -

"Rider Adara of the Casnewydd Alpha Wing," Watkins intoned as the doors swung open. As Adara stepped in she gave Watkins a look that was more expressive than all the bards of Cymru could ever hope to be and opened her mouth to say something. Without even looking up Awen knocked on the table once, and Adara instantly closed her mouth and stepped into the room, pulling the door shut behind her. It was a display of incredible obedience, actually, and Gwilym found himself slightly jealous. None of his advisors did that with him. In fact, it was the other way around; Watkins coughed and Gwilym stood straighter, or stopped interrogating his guests about their negative social policies or whatever. He'd have to get Awen to give him some pointers.

"Wow," Madog said mildly. "I wish I could get Dylan to be that well-trained. As it is I can barely even let him inside."

"Oh, you say that," Awen said mock-darkly, looking at Madog. "Not two hours ago I told Adara to go to Milford Haven with the rest of the Wing. So far her progress has been to move herself slightly nearer to the door."

"I'm very slowly obeying," Adara nodded, accepting her scary bird back from Awen. It promptly started chewing the beads in her hair. Gwilym didn't trust it. It wasn't as good as his duck. "Anyway, the other bards confirm Gareth's story; Owain ordered them all to do it, none of them wanted to do it, they're all very sad about doing it. And I've made provisions to get Gareth to the Union."

"On the face of it," Awen said delicately, "Flyn sent Owain to kill you, Sovereign."

"Yes," said Gwilym. Beside him Madog stood up and wandered to the window. "Which seems rather mean, actually. I mean, I don't like Flyn much either, but having only met him about twice I thought I'd withold judgement for a bit longer before having him killed."

"I don't think he did," Awen said. She was fingering the scar on her palm again, a gesture Gwilym was swiftly coming to recognise as meaning she was thinking about Owain.

"Leader," Madog said quietly. He was still facing the window, strong arms crossed over his chest as he watched Aberystwyth basking in the sun. "I have to ask you: are you sure you don't just... not want to believe it?"

Gwilym glanced at the others. Reassuringly, they looked as blank as he felt, so that presumably ruled out Secret Rider Codes or simple stupidity on his part. He looked back at Awen as she placed both hands, palms down and fingers spread, on the table in front of her.

"Quite the opposite, I think," she said, studying her hands intently. "I want to think that Owain just... sold out, and has simply become Flyn's personal hound. But objectively?" Awen shook her head and looked up at Madog clearly, her gaze strong. "Taking Owain out of the equation, I can't imagine any Rider turning against the Union. Not even him."

"Awen," Adara started doubtfully. "He was - "

"We're angry and emotional," Awen interrupted. "You've hated him since we were at least five anyway. And right now, we're looking back at every negative trait he had and twisting them to fit. But if I don't, I don't see it."

There was a pause, and then Madog nodded, turning back to face them. He looked remarkably suave. Gwilym wondered if he practised in a mirror.

"Nor can I," he said. "What are you thinking?"

"I think Flyn thought Owain was obeying him," Awen said, kneading at her left shoulder absent-mindedly. "I think Owain was meant to kill Gareth when he arrived in Aberystwyth, so they could say Gareth just vanished on the road. But he has his own agenda."

"One that involves Lord Gwilym dead," Aerona murmured thoughtfully and, Gwilym felt, somewhat insensitively. What was it with Riders and their blasé attitude to threats to his life? "I wonder why?"

"Because he's pervasively influential," Adara supplied. "Who have you been pervasively influencing recently, Sovereign, with your pervasively influencing ways? Be honest, now."

"I wish I could give any names at all," Gwilym said levelly. "I truly do. But even my advisors don't listen to me. And one of them looks like a kettle." He was aware that the last sentence sounded rather more aggrieved than it should have. Awen grinned.

"Goodness, so he does!" Aerona exclaimed. "I wondered why he made me want tea! Although I usually do want tea, so to be honest, that's not really a stable conclusion to draw."

"What appropriately good tea he made, though," Madog murmured thoughtfully. Aerona nodded.

"Yes! I thought so. I wonder if there's a link? Maybe people develop skills depending on their outward appearance."

"Hmm," Madog said mock-doubtfully, drawing his brows together. "Dylan looks like a bush, but he doesn't grow berries."

"Yeah, but Madog looks like a retard and he can't think," Dylan flashed back. "Why would your Deputy send a fourteen-year-old random to assassinate an incredibly well-guarded Sovereign?"

"Not that well-guarded," Gwilym said with feeling. "I've still got the arrow."

"I've still got the scar," Awen stated, looking at her palm. "I beat you in the souvenier stakes. Both good points, though." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "No Alpha Wing here at the moment, and the Beta Wing wasn't there. Obviously Owain got him through every other security check, or he wouldn't have made it to the hall with a bow. And I didn't know I'd be on the top table until I came in."

"You were on the top table?" Aerona asked happily. "How lovely!"

And oh, how Watkins had been horrified by that little seating instruction. It wasn't the done thing for Sovereigns to acknowledge Riders even as equals, certainly not as the superiors they were; it was the done thing to pretend they were mere underlings, messengers and mercenaries, worthy of respect maybe but no more thought than that. The top table was only for sworn Riders and honoured guests. Visiting Riders weren't meant to be honoured.

It was an honour that had paid off, though, since Gwilym was still alive to muse upon it. Maybe next time he should give Awen his chair instead. It might make Watkins whistle, though, so best not.

"And if you hadn't been, Lord Gwilym would probably now be dead," Madog stated matter-of-factly. It was like they were commenting on the weather or something, Gwilym thought. Bastards. "What was the plan for afterwards, though? Surely this Gareth wouldn't have made it out alive?"

"Owain would have killed him," Adara said. Now that it had been pointed out, Gwilym was starting to really pick up the vibe that Adara had disliked Owain even before him trying to kill her Wingleader, and was now in no mood to stop judging him. She looked like she wanted to spit after every mention of his name. Her bird seemed to glare all the more. "That way he'd have done as Lord Flyn asked, with no trail back to him."

"So Flyn wanted you to join him," Awen murmured, her eyes fixed on the middle distance, "but Owain wanted you dead. But why? What's he playing at?"

And there it was again; although, as the person who spared him his early demise, Gwilym decided to let Awen have that one. Especially since it had nearly killed her, too.

Which, actually, was a good point too.

"Would he really have killed you?" Gwilym asked abruptly. All eyes turned to him. "I mean, if you'd been sitting with the others and so hadn't seen the arrow, what would have happened?"

"I didn't see it," Awen said mildly. "I was watching for it. The music was going wrong, I couldn't work out why. The same thing would have happened if I'd been anywhere else in the hall."

"The music was going wrong, so you were looking for an assassin?" Gwilym repeated. "Damn, I wouldn't like to see how jumpy you get in a bardic school. Some of those kids can really murder the Ballads."

"Oh, I'm terrible," Awen grinned. "Taverns as well; the bards get drunk and I start felling the patrons. I'm not allowed to drink outside of my quarters anymore."

"Nor is Dylan," Madog deadpanned. "But that's just on principle."

"I'd show you up otherwise," Dylan nodded. Aerona giggled. Riders were a strange bunch, Gwilym reflected. Conspiracies threatened to crumble the country and one of their own had gone rogue, yet they were constantly looking for a chance to inject banter into the proceedings. Laughing in the face of death really, he supposed; they were probably used to it.

"I don't think he wanted to kill me," Awen said suddenly. The fingertips of her right hand brushed across the wound on the throat. "I don't think he would have."

"I think he would have," Adara said belligerently. "He was a big oily freak with the morals of a bear."

"Yes," Awen said patiently, "but if he just wanted me dead he didn't need to try to convince me to let Gareth run. All he had to do was cut my throat and have done with it."

"He tried!" Adara threw back. "But he was a big oily freak with the morals of a bear and the competence of a slug."

"You know that's not true," Awen sighed. This had the ring of 'Please be nice to your brother, dear,' stamped all over it. Gwilym wondered how many others in the Wing had disliked Owain as well. "He wouldn't have been Deputy otherwise. He's actually very good at killing people."

"I think you're being too objective now," Madog broke in. "You're - you were - his Wingleader. That's a complicated relationship."

"I could kill you," Dylan supplied helpfully. Madog ignored him.

"Very few people could just kill a family member outright either, and it's analogous."

"Although, my sister..." Gwilym muttered. Aerona giggled again, and poured herself more tea.

"Also he liked to narrate everything," Adara shrugged. "He was a farce of a person. I think if you hadn't stopped him he'd have killed you when you told him where to go and now you'd be dead too."

"Hey!" Gwilym protested. "I'm still alive!"

"Oh yes," Adara mused. "Sorry, Sovereign, I forgot it was you for a minute."

"Don't worry," Gwilym told her. "That's what my advisors say every day."

And finally, she laughed at him, and the bird stopped glaring at him. Mentally Gwilym cheered himself. How was that for pervasive influence, he thought; the Rider in the room who was most willing to kill everyone right now just on principle had laughed at his joke. He'd probably best not do a little dance to celebrate, though. That would look weird.

"Also," Adara continued conversationally, eyes suddenly fixed on Awen, "Lord Flyn wanted Lord Gwilym to join him at what?"

Awen closed her eyes, and suddenly all of the other Riders were doing an excellent impression of Dylan and looking intently at the tapestries on the walls, except for Dylan, who already was Dylan but was being moreso. Gwilym sat incredibly still. This, he reflected, was an Awkward Situation. He hadn't realised Riders even had those. Somewhere in his hindbrain a little voice was telling him to make himself seem as small as possible so as not to be noticed.

"I'll explain it later," Awen said defeatedly. She was slumped in her chair, the fingers of her right hand wrapped about her left shoulder. She'd been to a druid that morning, Gwilym knew, so the muscles would be stiffening up fully by about now, an unfortunate side-effect to rapid muscular healing. He wished he could help her again, but in front of everyone it would be as bad as hugging her, and this time there were three extra Riders, a scary glaring bird and Adara, who was more terrifying than the others put together and already a bit miffed at being out of the loop.

She watched Awen for a few seconds, her face unreadable, and then nodded and approached her chair, dropping a hand onto Awen's undamaged shoulder.

"Leader," she acknowledged softly. Supurb obedience, Gwilym thought. He was going to have to demand that Awen wrote a book on the subject.

"So what next?" Aerona asked. She was twirling her Rider beads carefully in her fingers, a habit that reminded Gwilym of Awen from the night before. "I can very easily get someone else to take over with the children for a bit; if you do need anything I'm available."

"I'll take you up on that." Awen leaned forward, the sunlight gilting her hair. "We need Gareth taken to the Union and kept safe, because either Owain or Flyn could have him killed."

"I can do that!" Aerona agreed brightly. "It'll be great, we can sing songs together!"

"You think he'll want to sing songs with you?" Madog asked, his normal deadpan tone giving way to a slightly incredulous edge. "After the week he's had?"

"Music is healing," Aerona said decisively. "Which Awen, as a bard, will agree with me on."

"Certainly," Awen grinned. "Although possibly not when inflicted upon someone."

"After two minutes of Aerona's aggresive cheerfulness I daresay he'll cave," Madog shrugged, standing and stretching. "Right. Unfortunately, I have to get my Wing around the rest of the country before the Archwiliad and the bit where I tell Lord Iestyn to spit in Flyn's face. I suspect I'll be doing this while listening to various Sovereigns winking at me and hinting about what a dreadful influence Lady Marged is upon the pure soul of our nation. I may have to floor the first one who suggests that Wrecsam would be an excellent addition to their plan for a better Cymru."

"Ooh, really?" Aerona asked happily. "I think that'll be Gwenda!" She paused as they all stared at her. "Lady Gwenda," she added. "Whom I hope you don't floor, what with me having sworn fealty to her and all."

"We're seeing her next," Dylan said indifferently. "I'll punch her."

"You will not," Madog told him sternly. "Only I get to go punching Sovereigns."

"It's true," Awen murmured. "Wingleaders' rights. It's one of the privileges of rank. Adara, could you go and help Aerona with Gareth?"

"Leader." Adara stepped away from Awen and offered Aerona a half-smile as the other Rider drained her teacup and stood, general air of enthusiasm firmly in place. "I went for one of the small transport carriages. Less obtrusive, more easily defended from big oily freaks with the morals of a bear."

"Excellent!" Aerona giggled. "You can tell me all about his personal failings as we go. Sovereign."

She bowed to him, flashing him a genuinely warming smile. Gwilym stood hastily. He was pretty sure you were meant to stand for the bowing, otherwise you looked like an ingrate. Lord Flyn probably didn't. Bastard.

"It was a pleasure meeting you!" Aerona said merrily, and then she had bounced out of the door with Adara and the bird in tow, asking questions ten to the dozen. It was a shame to see her go; her happiness had been almost contagious, like a bizarrely welcome disease. And that was an odd analogy.

"And on that note," Madog said, "we'd best be off too. I'm looking forward to hearing what Lady Gwenda has to say to me. Go and tell the others to get ready, Dylan."

"Tell them yourself, you square."

"I think I might trade you in for a better Deputy," Madog said thoughtfully. "Certainly I'm going to ask Leader Awen for a manual on how to train underlings, since hers look to be so much better than mine."

Great minds thought alike. Gwilym grinned.

"You say that," Awen said, "but she really is meant to be in Milford Haven right now. With Acting Deputy status. I've got no control over her."

"Oh, well," Madog sighed. "It was worth a shot. Dylan, go and tell the others to get ready or I'm pushing you off the Landing Tower. Hurry up."

"You wish you could," Dylan sniffed, but he actually went. Gwilym wondered if the same tactic would work on Watkins. Probably not, unless he started actually pushing people off Landing Towers to show he meant business, and in that case big, angry Riders would come and take him away. Although that would free him of Watkins. Maybe he couldn't lose this situation.

"Right," Madog said as the door clicked shut behind Dylan's hair. He opened a pouch on his belt and pulled out a folded piece of paper, dropping it onto the tabletop and pushing it to Awen. "This is our schedule, including a timetable, for where we'll be for the next few days. If you need us at any point, Leader, just get a message out to us. If we happen across your Deputy we'll castrate him for you."

"Thank you," Awen said mildly, accepting the paper. "That's very kind of you."

"Bonds between Wingleaders," Madog shrugged indifferently, and then turned and bowed to Gwilym. "A pleasure to meet you, Sovereign," he said, and it actually sounded sincere. "Enjoy the Archwiliad."

"Thank you," Gwilym nodded. "I'm sure it'll be a right laugh, filled with meaningful looks and people nudging me under the table while I try not to be too pervasive or influencial."

"Sit by Lady Marged, then," Awen suggested. "Then it'll be full of socks, although you'll leave at least a foot taller from all of the knitwear piled onto you."

"It is a health hazard," Madog said gravely, striding to the door. He pulled it open and paused in the doorway, all suave again, looking back at Awen. "Leader," he said, Saluting. "Make sure you get that shoulder seen to." And then he was gone, leaving Gwilym alone with a wryly smiling Awen.

"Can all Riders do that?" Gwilym asked wonderingly. "Just look at each other and tell if you have injuries? It seems to be one of those supernatural Rider powers."

"What, like, seeing in the dark and breathing fire?" Awen grinned. "Yes, we can all do that. A valuable part of fighting someone is being able to tell where their body is weak. Hit that and half the job is done for you."

"That's remarkably efficient," Gwilym mused. "Also remarkably terrifying. Have I ever mentioned how terrifying I find you people?"

Awen laughed, that rich, sonorous sound Gwilym loved so much. "As it should be," she chuckled. "We work hard to be feared by all. Except bakers. We like bakers."

"Ah," Gwilym said. "The weakness of the Riders. I'll remember that. That shoulder, now," and Awen put her hand to it again, an apparently automatic movement. "Are you actually going to get it seen to, or are you still keeping shy of medics?"

"I'm -" She glanced at him and then broke off, looking away slightly guiltily. "Probably still keeping shy of medics," she admitted. "So yes, please, poke it better if you wish. The bruising's all but gone now."

He stepped behind her and drew the rich red of her hair, loose and braided, back over her shoulder, his fingers brushing the soft skin of her neck as he did so -

Something jolted in his stomach and suddenly, Gwilym was painfully aware that he was getting far too close. He forced his hand to stay relaxed as he went to her shoulder, heart thudding in his chest. Awen was a Rider. She was also in pain right now, and facing away from him, but the chances of her not noticing his reaction there were slim at best. And he was a Sovereign. He belonged to the only social class she could have nothing to do with.

And she was a Rider. They never paid very much attention to their own emotions anyway.

The stiff leather of her uniform was unhelpful to the massaging process, but Gwilym didn't dare ask her to take it off. Instead he just alternated which parts of his hands he used, knuckles and palms and heels as well as fingertips. After a few seconds Awen sighed, very quietly, and leaned slowly back against the chair. Gwilym let himself breathe again. If she'd noticed anything amiss she was apparently ignoring it, and that was fine by him, since it left him in possession of fully functioning kidneys.

"I'm sorry about your family," Awen murmured quietly after a while. She was running a thumb over the scar on her palm again. "It's looking increasingly likely that Flyn did it, and in that case... it was me who should have noticed and stopped it."

"Don't do that," Gwilym said firmly. "If they were murdered that's on Flyn's head, not yours. Supernatural night vision and flame breath aside you can't actually do everything, Awen, and you couldn't have known."

"I should have." She was swirling the beads on her hair over her right shoulder now, a sort of frenzied movement. "That's my job, Sovereign. That's what I'm for. It shouldn't have mattered that Flyn tried to kill them; I was meant to stop him."

"Don't." He moved his hands to both of her shoulders, his thumbs pressing against the nape of her neck, and ignored the tingling sensation that immediately followed. "Of course it matters that he tried to kill them. I can think of so many other Sovereigns who manage to rule City-States without feeling the need to kill other people; it's not like it's an accidental hazard of the job that we need Riders to occasionally curb for us. It's murder, and he's clever, and he knew he'd have to get around you somehow. Probably he used Owain." Gwilym shook his head, stroking the tense neck muscles beneath his thumbs gently. "It's not -"

Awen caught her breath and went completely still under his hands, her right fist clenched around the beads. It was only a small change, but Gwilym was acutely aware of her, and mentally he swore as violently as he could.

"- your fault," he finished smoothly, sliding his hands back around to her left shoulder. She very nearly shivered, but Awen was incredibly highly-trained, and self-control had clearly been included on the syllabus from at least six months old if not birth; so she simply breathed out quietly and loosened her fist. "It's theirs. My father would have said the same. And my sister, although she'd probably have sworn more and used more volume."

"Angry, was she?" Awen asked. Her voice sounded normal, complete with wry smile. Gwilym wondered if the self-control lessons had actually begun in the womb.

"Immensely," he nodded. "I think even our Riders were scared of her. The merod certainly were."

She snorted, and swirled the beads. It was like rubbing the scar; a rare indicator of what Awen was probably thinking about. He remembered her doing it the night before as she berated herself for not noticing when something was wrong with Owain, and watched as she did so now. Apparently, it was how Awen displayed self-recrimination. Briefly Gwilym considered leaning over and taking hold of her hand to stop her from doing it, but he decided against it. His nerves couldn't take it. No one's nerves could take it. The aides in the corridor probably wouldn't be able to take it. And he really liked having functioning kidneys.

"I need to be going," Awen sighed, although she made no move to get up. Gwilym nodded.

"Yes," he agreed mildly. "I suppose you do. I need to start hunting down some trumpeters anyway."

"Yes," Awen said gloomily. "While I need to hunt down some Saxons, a Sovereign and a rogue Rider. We could swap if you want, I'm sure you'd like being a Rider."

"I think even Lord Flyn could take me, much less Owain."

"Fair." Awen grinned. "I'm not sure I could take on that kettle guy successfully, anyway."

"But nor can I," Gwilym said morosely. "I think perhaps I'm fated to fail in all endevours. Unless I can learn to influence people in a pervasive enough manner, but if I'm honest I don't think any amount of pervasion will move Watkins, and apparently it would speed up my untimely demise anyway."

Awen smiled and shook her head slightly. "You realise, Sovereign," she said quietly, "that you are the only thing getting in the way of making him shut up?"

Well, that sounded intriguingly hopeful. Maybe Awen had some management tips after all.

"How so?" Gwilym asked cautiously. She glanced up at him, dark green eyes oddly amused.

"You're the Sovereign," she stated. "All he can ever do is give you advice condescendingly. It's up to you entirely if you bow to that, or tell him where to go while loudly reminding him of who pays his wages. If you want to do something in your own City, you can damn well do it."

"Er," Gwilym said. "You realise I've got no clue at all what I'm doing as Sovereign, yes? I mean, I don't like Watkins, but he does at least have some experience of how this works."

"Out of interest, then, what was the last thing you wanted to do that he was opposed to?" Awen asked. Her shoulder twitched and relaxed under his hand, and she sighed contentedly.

"Sitting you on the top table yesterday," Gwilym admitted. Awen laughed her beautiful laugh.

"Well, that worked out," she grinned. "And I'm not surprised. Advisors generally hate Riders, we tend to undermine their advice. Is it his choice to not have the Beta Wing in there with you in the absence of the Alpha?"

"Presumably." Gwilym paused. He'd not checked that, actually. "I'd sort of assumed that was normal. I think I'm going to start filling every mealtime with as many Riders as will fit."

"Shame," Awen said wistfully. "Then there'll be no space for the dancing ninjas. But we digress. What else?"

"Oh gods, I don't know." Watkins never agreed with him; putting a timeline to it was an almost Sisyphean task. "When I started compiling my proposals for the Archwiliad was a pretty good example, I suppose. He didn't want anything I suggested."

"What did you want?" Awen shifted her shoulder under his stalled hand, and he carried on.

"Free clinics for the poor," Gwilym said, and then smiled at her snort. "Obviously. Watkins said that it would cost too much money, since the medics and druids and so on would have to be paid out of taxes or something."

"Ah." Awen nodded, looking thoughtful. "Which is a good point, and as your advisor he is meant to tell you that. But in that case get him to write up a budget of where every single coin of tax goes and find out what you can cut back on. Get him to help you work out a system, rather than simply tell you it can't be done."

"I did ask him for a budget," Gwilym mused. "He said it would be an impractical thing to draw up."

"Impractical? Tell him to do it or you'll fire him," Awen said firmly. "Who does he think he is? The budget is part of his bloody job."

"I'll tell him that," Gwilym nodded. "Also I'll tell him you said it. Otherwise he might start hiring adolescent bowmen to pretend to be bards in my hall, and I don't want a repeat of that."

"Oh, coerced," Awen corrected as she finally stood and stretched, rotating her shoulder. "'Hired' implies competency, in which case someone would probably have just dropped a foxglove in your soup or something."

"Nubile food tasters," Gwilym said, clicking his fingers. "Thanks for reminding me. I must get onto that."

"And the birds," Awen nodded. "Get Kettle Man to make a list. If he refuses have him killed. In some really ironic way, if possible, as a warning to the next guy. Also, I can smack him upside the head on the way out if you wish."

"Oh, that's tempting," Gwilym said darkly. "It really is. But I suppose you shouldn't. Responsible Sovereigning, that."

"You're a natural." Awen grinned, and then bowed to him. He wished she wouldn't. "Anyway, Sovereign; enjoy the Archwiliad."

"Happy hunting," Gwilym returned softly, and suddenly Awen's beautifully chiselled face was all dark and focused and terrifying, and she was every inch a Rider.

"Thank you," she said calmly.

Well, you learned something new every day. Gwilym hadn't realised it would be even possible to feel sorry for Owain.

2 comments:

Blossom said...

Just re-read this. It's brilliant. I miss it. Write more. I want to know what happens. I want to ead more. Write more.

Steffan said...

Absolutely superb. Loved the status quo here - hope to see more of these six together. Madog and Dylan have come on in leaps and bounds - really stealing the show here.

You say the quality's slipped, but it feels like you're at the top of your game here. I'm not sure where you think there are issues - plot or characters, maybe? - but the overall tone is superb. My dislike of fantasy worlds is well-documented, mostly because they're devoid of realistic humour, but this is brimming with it. And no-one writes characters like you do.

Loved it to little tiny bits. Rushed first draft or not, I think it's worth holding on to this to refer to it if you're struggling in the future, because this really does sum up why this world, this story, and these characters are so utterly, completely brilliant.