Cymru - Chapter 36

I swear this is the most boring chapter I've written yet. Fuck all happens. It's just lots of introductions with a loose approximation of story and no plot. And it just kind of ends. Sorry, guys.


GWILYM

The setting sunlight burnished the shining ornamentation in the hall, leaving Gwilym to feel as though he'd accidentally hibernated and woken up in time for autumn. A slightly harrassed-looking clerk showed him to his seat and bolted almost as soon as he'd touched it, the reason for which became apparent as soon as Gwilym looked at the name plates around him. For one thing, Marged was sitting to his left. For quite another, Flyn was opposite him. Clearly, someone at the Union had a sense of humour. Gwilym couldn't imagine two people it was less advisable to sit together. Hopefully there would be some Riders around, or the druids were going to be removing knitting needles from people's ears tonight.

"Well well, my lord Gwilym," Flyn's voice said smoothly, and Gwilym looked up. Flyn was sliding genteely into his chair, clad in a tunic that was indecently ornate and almost a quarter purple, the rest in turquoise and gold. His torque was so polished it gleamed, fully visible beneath the short-cropped sandy hair and permanently lifted chin, allowing the light flaring off it to blind the unwary. He smiled fluidly at Gwilym now, locking his long fingers together and resting said chin on them. "How delightful to see you at your first Archwiliad! And how is it treating you so far?"

"Surreally," Gwilym said, appropriately. Surely there should be failsafes in place to keep you from having to talk to people you knew were guilty of treason and murder and things? "I had to meet with all of the Alpha Wingleaders this morning. I don't think I've ever been in a room with that many people who could kill me without even standing up before."

Flyn laughed, the sound rich and charming, sipping from his glass.

"I know the feeling," he said, amused. "They can be intimidating, can't they? Particularly from the border, I find."

Oh, well, yours then, Gwilym thought, but managed not to roll his eyes because he was a Grown-Up now and Responsible and Knew Better.

"Madog," he nodded with private spite anyway. "The man is effortlessly suave, and thus is also socially intimidating. I feel like he could arrive at a dinner party looking better than me and then inhume me with my own pastry fork."

"Ha! Well put," Flyn said, swirling his wine. "Yes. While Llywelyn's size alone lends him an extra air of authority. Not to mention, of course, that he's rather thorough in his examination of a given topic."

"Yes, it was mostly him asking the questions this morning," Gwilym agreed. "Which I thought was impressive, given that he was clearly hung over. I'd have just lain there and twitched a bit."

"Ah, but they are trained to take pain," Flyn said, his eyes twinkling. He was such a politician; despite loathing the man, Gwilym was finding him oddly charming to talk to. It was like cleaning up the dismembered corpse of a bird and then finding an incredibly friendly and endearing cat climbing onto your lap; the connection between the two events seemed so distant. "More so than the rest of us mere mortals. So; Madog, Llywelyn... and then there's Awen."

His nonchalent look at his glass was fractionally too casual. Clearly someone was desperate to boast, as though Awen was some kind of status symbol along with his very purple tunic and painfully bright torque. But there again... it wasn't like Gwilym terribly minded discussing her. He let himself smile.

"And then there's Awen," he echoed carefully. "Almost terrifyingly likeable, I found."

"Hmm," Flyn smiled. "Oh, she's enchanting company, isn't she? Moreso than most Riders. And yet fights like a wolverine, I'm told. To the extent that she can defeat an entire Saxon raid almost single-handedly."

"Ah yes," Gwilym said graciously and moderately spitefully. "Another mark on Madog's resumé too, that. How on earth did they manage that?"

"An incredible amount of skill," Flyn smiled slightly. "Which - ah. My lady Ienifer."

"Lord Flyn!" Ienifer giggled, kissing the air in front of Flyn's cheeks as he rose to greet her. Judging by the vibrancy of her lips it was just as well, or Flyn would have been left looking like he'd caught a particularly strange skin disease. "How delightful to see you! You're looking well?"

"As I trust you are?" Flyn responded. His voice bore the tiniest edge of condescension. They both took their seats, Ienifer tossing her head far more than Gwilym thought she actually needed to in order to keep the impeccably styled blonde curls out of her face. "And have you met Lord Gwilym yet?"

"Not yet," Ienifer said, turning her attention to Gwilym, and her manner went from simperingly pleasant to vampishly sultry at a faster pace than a lightning strike. She actually batted her eyelashes. Gwilym swallowed, some sort of precognitive instinct screaming in horror inside. "But it's a pleasure, I assure you."

"Likewise," Gwilym said. Somehow, he managed to make his voice sound normal and not vaguely strangled. Flyn looked diplomatically into his glass, clearly hiding a smile, an act that made Gwilym hate him twice as much. "Are you enjoying the Archwiliad so far?"

"Oh, very much so," Ienifer purred, running a finger around the rim of her glass with practiced grace. "It's always a stimulating experience. And this is your first, of course. How are you finding it?"

She peered alluringly up at him through lowered lashes. Gwilym downed what was left in his wine glass.

"Basically terrifying," he said, to the faintest trace of wavering breath from Flyn indicating a stifled laugh, the bastard. He groped for a subject change that would sound sufficiently natural. "I met a lot of Riders earlier."

"Indeed," Flyn said jovially. "We were comparing the relative merits of Alpha Wingleaders."

"Tefion's rather dashing," Ienifer said, pressing a finger against her brightly-painted lips, considering. "In Milford Haven. It's those eyes, I think. So very suggestive. But, of course, from that perspective, one must consider all three from the border."

"Suggestive eyes?" Gwilym asked thoughtfully. He could see the point, actually; not suggestive in the sexual sense that Ienifer clearly liked, but there was something... different about the Riders from the border. Awen's analytical, watchful gaze hid depths that were never shown.

"There is that," Flyn smiled, pouring more wine into Gwilym's glass. "A stronger impression of hidden competence, would that be a fair description?"

"Alaw's like that, mind," Gwilym said morosely. "She has these eyes. It's like they look through you, as though she's just been painted. And she looks all neutral, but she sort of exudes disapproval."

"Oh, poor you!" Ienifer simpered, batting her eyelashes again. "That must be so hard!"

She put a distressing amount of innuendo onto the word 'hard'. Lord Flyn abrutly drank from his glass. Gwilym tried not to shudder.

"Unnerving," he said, strained, and followed Flyn's example and drank. Hopefully, someone else would arrive soon. Otherwise he was going to have to fake an injury of some kind and flee the hall.

"I imagine it must be," Flyn said carefully, throwing Gwilym into the bizarre position of being grateful to him. "I must say, she does seem - ah."

Flyn's grey eyes turned sharp, his face pasting itself into an otherwise bland smile of welcome. Gwilym looked up. Marged was happily making her way through the throng of people, her hair and make-up surprisingly stylishly done and therefore clearly done by someone else. She was wearing a long, corsetted tunic that was almost a dress over a pair of incredibly loose trousers, all in woven reds, oranges and blues, and all markedly more sophisticated than he was used to seeing her wear. Ordinarily Marged's dress-sense was far more similar to that of a strangely rich tramp, usually some sort of patchwork or hand-knitted ensemble designed to fit the description 'jolly comfortable'. She was talking enthusiastically to Councillor Rhydian who seemed to be wearing a fond smile, and belatedly the outdated Caerleuad liveries still on the man's shoulders waved a flag at Gwilym. He would have been Alpha Wingleader under Marged for most of the first half of her reign. Just after the Wars, too. They must have known each other well.

"And then it turned black and fell off!" Marged said merrily but alarmingly as they approached. "Such fun. Gwilym! Are we sitting together? Hooray!"

"Only if you make nothing of me turn black and fall off," Gwilym said mock-sternly. Marged almost hooted with laughter and hugged him, yanking him half out of his seat.

"Silly!" She giggled. "That's not for here, we'd need a druid to keep an eye out. Where are you, now, Rhydian?"

"Still on the Top Table," Rhydian told her as he pulled her seat out for her. It was an incredibly deferential gesture, especially considering that Rhydian was possibly the most important and powerful man in the country. "As I was the last three times you asked, Lady. Your promise of horrifying stories hasn't swayed me."

"You're not going to tell us them, are you?" Ienifer asked, alarmed, and Marged giggled.

"Bless you, no!" she said, taking the proffered chair with a squeeze of Rhydian's hand on the backrest. "Not the right disposition, really; I'll tell you them later, Gwilym. And you look as ravishing as ever, Ienifer!"

"Whoa, wait," Gwilym said, raising a hand. "Why do I have to be told? What have I done?"

"If you'd prefer, of course, I could tell you a few better stories later, Gwilym," Ienifer said, alluring smile fixed in place. She was raising her game, it seemed.

"It appears I'm pre-booked," Gwilym said weakly. Rhydian laughed.

"Well, enjoy the banquet," he said grandly. "Sovereigns! Lady."

He dropped to one knee in an elaborate version of the Rider-to-Liege bow, and Marged giggled and threw a napkin at him.

"Oh, you!" she said. "Behave!"

He rose with a grin and departed. Flyn smiled thinly.

"Still close, then," he said, completely neutrally, and Gwilym suppressed a sigh. Well, here they went. It was beginning so soon; like feeling the very first warning signs of a volcano and knowing you had to start gathering your possessions and going to visit some far-away relatives. Unfortunately, his only travelling companion would be Lady Ienifer, whom Gwilym would just as soon have left to the lava.

"Oh, he's a joker," Marged said affectionately. "Loves messing about, that one."

"And always did," Flyn nodded. Gwilym fought his jaw not to drop. "You must have had an enjoyable partnership."

"A pleasant thing to have," Ienifer said huskily, her eyes locked onto Gwilym. Marged snorted.

"Oh, Flyn," she said kindly. "It was wonderful. And who knows? You might manage it one day! Awen's still young."

Gwilym drank hastily. He'd had no idea - no idea - that Marged could be that cutting. Thank gods he'd only ever asked her for cheap dyes.

"That we are," Flyn agreed pleasantly, very slightly stressing the 'we'. In Gwilym's head a small crowd seemed to have gathered to cheer and boo at the relevant moments. "And she's highly skilled, as Gwilym and I were just discussing. I imagine we'll be around for a while yet."

"It's always good to meet someone skilled in a given field," Ienifer said, very deliberately stroking a finger down the stem of her wine glass. "You can learn such a lot."

"Yes, I remember when I felt I was going to live on forever," Marged said, dreamily reminiscent. "But we all have to grow up eventually."

"You look lovely, by the way, Marged!" Gwilym nearly shouted, desperate to halt Flyn from snidely remarking that Marged must be looking forward to growing up and Ienifer from commenting on the merits of growth. "Not your usual style?"

"A bit of a change!" Marged said merrily, apparently not in the least bit perturbed by the conversation shift or, indeed, Gwilym's sudden eagerness. And volume. "Rhydian's doing. It's an overlooked Rider skill you see, Gwilym. If you want to dress up and not look ridiculous, don't ask an aide; ask a Rider."

"Really?" Gwilym raised an eyebrow. "I'd have thought they'd be busy... I don't know, killing and that."

"Mostly," Flyn smiled. Apparently, he wanted to get to explain things too. "But it's an important part of Wing dynamics, to make each other look good. They are forbidden to see themselves, you'll recall?"

Gwilym nodded. His father had explained that once, when they were younger. A person who didn't know their own face thought of themselves far less as a person.

"Well, it means they rely on each other to look good, you see?" Marged said, pouring herself some wine. "Which has the knock-on effect of meaning that they display their affection for each other to the outside world by making each other look as good as possible. After all; if one Wing member is unpopular, the others can make them look daft and they'll never know, see?"

"At your meeting with the Alpha Wingleaders this morning," Flyn broke in, "you must have noticed how impeccably turned out they all were? It's a sign of their good standing. The Wings particularly want to display their respect for their Leaders, especially given that they're surrounded by each other. And after this business with our previous Alpha Deputy, Awen has certainly been looking twice as polished."

Which explained a lot. When he'd seen her this morning Gwilym had thought how staggeringly beautiful Awen had looked. And now that he thought of the others... Madog was a ruggedly handsome man anyway, but he'd looked particularly distinguished in that meeting given that he was recovering from extended physical trauma.

"They were glamorous," Gwilym nodded thoughtfully. Ienifer batted her eyelashes again.

"But surely you were Rider-styled tonight, Gwilym?" she asked sweetly. Marged saved him by planting a hand on his shoulder and turning him to face her.

"Ooh, it is a lovely tunic," she said approvingly. "Suits you; it makes your shoulders look lovely and broad. Probably why Ienifer has her eye on you."

"Amongst others," Ienifer said with a wink. Flyn smiled with his mouth.

"Yes, I'm sure you're also attracted to his superb sense of humour and all of the good work he does for charity," he said, fixing his gaze onto Gwilym. "A free clinic for the fishing sector, wasn't it? Most impressive."

There was a slight pause.

"It was," Gwilym said lightly. He was deeply unnerved. "Well, not just the fishers, but that was how it began."

"Your mother was very proud of you, you know," Marged said gently. "I remember her telling us about that. Of course, you weren't going to be Sovereign, then."

"I'm glad you are now," Ienifer inserted into the conversation, and Gwilym could only imagine it was her foot sliding up his shin and not Flyn's. Were you allowed to kick out wildly at another Sovereign? Probably not, unless you were a Rider. Again, Marged saved him, although this time more unintentionally.

"Ooh, Ieuan!" she squealed suddenly at another incoming Sovereign, and Gwilym 'jumped', withdrawing his legs. Ienifer looked disappointed. "You're over here! How are you dear?"

It became apparent in moments that Gwilym was not, however, saved by the newcomer. Girly Lord Ieuan minced over to their table joyfully, met by Marged's beam, Ienifer's narrowed eyes and Flyn's impassive mask.

"Marged!" he squealed, even more loudly than she had moments before. This time, Gwilym really did jump. Flyn met his eyes with a look that, despite showing no emotion whatsoever, somehow conveyed his feelings on the subject of Girly Lord Ieuan more completely than if he'd stood up and calmly poured his wine over the man's head. "Ooh, Archwiliad, so exciting! And - oh, hello."

He slid into his chair beside Gwilym, their thighs touching, and the reason for Ienifer's hostile look was suddenly abundantly clear.

"Lord Gwilym, I presume?" he asked, batting his eyelashes in the same way Ienifer had. It couldn't just be the tunic, Gwilym reflected. It had to be his age as well. He was twenty-six, which was a good ten years younger than the next Sovereign; but even so. Mentally, he vowed to burn the bloody tunic and dance upon its seductive ashes at his earliest convenience. "It's a delight to meet you."

"Just Gwilym," Gwilym said wearily. "And likewise."

"Ooh, careful, he's got his eye on you, too," Marged said in conspiratorial tone but oratory volume. "My advice is to take them both to bed. They aren't interested in each other, so it'd be a good night!"

"Good advice," Flyn said smoothly. "Lady Marged, of course, has experience with unusual pairings."

"Yes," Marged agreed. "It's a shame you missed your window, eh, Flyn? She's such a beautiful girl, too. Lovely singing voice."

Gwilym's jaw actually dropped that time. He didn't even notice the hand on his knee until it had reached mid-thigh, and then had to try not to panic. Well, screw it. Flyn could take one for the team here, he was a bastard anyway.

"His window?" he asked, deliberately sounding as confused as he could and twisting towards Marged, leaning forward. It dislodged Girly Lord Ieuan's hand. "What-?"

"Oh, it was all acceptable after the Wars," Marged said, waving a hand. "Different country still, see? The Alpha Wingleaders just had to make sure they kept an eye on us, and a lot of them found that regular sex worked rather well. Such fun! Not anymore, though."

"Really?" Gwilym asked, astonished. Well, that explained the casual affection between Rhydian and Marged, then. "And that worked out?"

"Oh yes," Marged said happily. "Stop pestering him, Ieuan, do. Yes, it was even a proper relationship for a while. Quite the strangest I've ever had, of course; they don't think like we do. It's always so hard to get on equal footing with someone convinced they're below you. They enter every situation with the viewpoint that you're better than them, see? Quite frustrating. Their priorities are different, too. Oh, and if it's an active Rider - and they all were back then, just after the Wars - then you have to get good at tying them down. They get fretful if they think they might hurt you. Can't bear the thought, bless them. Ienifer, dear, I can see your foot. Do leave him alone."

"That must have been a difficult relationship," Gwilym observed as Ienifer's foot mercifully withdrew from between his legs. Marged glanced up at the Top Table with a sad smile, where Rhydian was obliviously talking to Gwenllian.

"Yes," she said softly. "They crave affection - absolutely crave it - but they never ask for it. And you have to be prepared to be upset on their behalf, I found, because they won't be, see? They don't... file their emotions properly."

Awen, are you okay?

I'm just tired. It's been a long week.

"File their emotions?" Flyn asked calmly and fractionally disdainfully, one eyebrow raised. "And Ieuan, I imagine Lord Gwilym would appreciate having at least some sort of gap between his thigh and yours."

"Filing's a way of thinking of it," Marged said, watching Rhydian. Given how dappy she generally seemed she sparred remarkably well with Flyn. "They can feel positive emotions fine, see, but negative ones they file away in boxes and keep. They don't feel them properly. And then, when they fight, they take them out and use them as fuel. Very efficient for a warrior; terrible, though, terrible for a person. They don't really understand their own feelings. So you have to do it for them. And you have to do it knowing that they'll never change."

"Easier to go for a non-Rider, then," Ienifer purred, leaning forward onto her elbows. They were touching on the table top in front of her; the effect was to wildly exaggerate her cleavage. Girly Lord Ieuan sniffed.

"Yes, ultimately," Marged said, turning back towards the door. "But easier isn't necessarily - ooh, Erys! Are you over here, dear?"

It was funny how Marged seemed to just call everyone 'dear', regardless of age. Erys was presumably somewhere between her late forties and early fifties which wouldn't have made her much younger than Marged, but it seemed Marged was, as ever, a law unto herself. Erys smiled warmly as she approached them, the torque of Milford Haven an elaborate twist of gold at her throat.

"I'm told I am!" she said, a servant steering her to her seat on the other side of Flyn and then fleeing such an obvious timebomb. "Wonderful to see you all again. And a pleasure to have you here, Lord Gwilym. How have you found the experience so far?"

"Challenging," Gwilym said, managing a smile as two feet belonging to two separate people started a new attempt on his leg. "Er... just Gwilym's fine, too."

"I'm honoured," Erys smiled graciously. "Feel free to return the favour. So? Who else will be on this table?"

"Ooh, there's a question!" Girly Lord Ieuan said, clapping his hands excitedly and leaning to check the remaining place holders. Flyn watched him, his face completely impassive. "Mihangel and Iestyn, looks like. There's nice!"

"The whole border, then!" Gwilym grinned at Flyn, trying to shift his leg away. "Well, there we are. You can talk about your terrible experiences of Saxon attack while we all sit back and bitch about Phoenician trade rates and imagine it's the same."

"An evening to look forward to," Flyn laughed, swirling his glass. "Although, I must confess, not my normal chosen topic for dinner."

"Well, I'm certainly not discussing the Phoenician trade rates," Erys said emphatically. "I consider this a holiday from staring at rows of numbers. And I imagine Iestyn won't be up for much discussion of Saxons; I assume everyone's heard about the problems up in Wrecsam?"

"Oh, yes, poor things," Marged said, helping herself to more wine. "Almost five times a week, I heard. Madog was looking a bit stressed, I thought."

"You've not had that problem further south, then?" Gwilym asked Flyn casually. "Not unusually, anyway?"

"Not as of yet," Flyn said seriously. "And I'm praying it will continue, of course. We've three villages we're halfway through rebuilding at the moment. I shudder to think of the extra damage we could be facing."

Said with a perfectly straight face, sorrow tinging his features. From the man clearly responsible for the border warnings being delayed.

"Imagine the loss of life," Gwilym said. Flyn nodded, his grey eyes slightly haunted, no guilt, no shame.

"Indeed," he said. "And we lose enough. My fear, though, is that it is simply a matter of time for us. Clearly, something is making the Saxons restless."

"A rather grim prediction," Erys said thoughtfully. "Although I can't see the end being too catastrophic. The Union is rather good at - Iestyn! Mihangel! How wonderful to see you both again."

Particularly Iestyn, apparently, or so Gwilym's impression ran. Whereas Mihangel greeted everyone equally and amiably before settling down into his chair, Iestyn actually half-bowed to Erys specifically before claiming his own, earning himself a slightly shy smile from her. Gwilym wondered if they had some sort of history, too. They certainly seemed to be about the same age; Iestyn looked a bit like a slightly older Lord Flyn, the Saxon stamp to his features noticeable and with a similar colouring. Mihangel sort of had it too, although it was less obvious in his case by dint of him being about sixty, mostly grey and fairly wrinkled. He had the sort of wiry build that meant he was fairly strong despite his age, however, like someone's grandfather who still climbed a hill every day to tend the sheep before beating the village children at arm wrestling two at a time, but without the twinkly warmth.

And then their table was complete. Gwilym glanced around it. The assembled interests of Aberystwyth, Caerleuad, Llangefni, Wrecsam, Trallwng, Casnewydd, Caerdydd and Milford Haven floated intangibly in the air, unspoken and oddly oppressive, although admittedly the needs of Llangefni and Caerdydd promised to be sorted simply by him having sex with them, it seemed. Or, well, with Girly Lord Ieuan and Ienifer, at any rate. He was going to have to limber up considerably if he had to service the whole City-states. And now he was just thinking weird things.

"Sovereigns," Councillor Rhydian called from the raised Top Table, and the hall fell vaguely quiet. Rhydian smiled and spread his hands. "No, don't worry, the food is coming so I won't keep you long. But welcome to the Archwiliad! Thank you all for coming, it's greatly appreciated."

"I love that bit," Marged not-entirely-whispered to Gwilym. "As if we'd be allowed to not come, eh?"

"It's certainly a rule I like to enforce," Girly Lord Ieuan whispered distressingly sensuously into Gwilym's ear, making him jump. Marged considerately leaned around Gwilym and clipped Girly Lord Ieuan across the nose with a rolled-up napkin.

"Just a few announcements," Rhydian continued obliviously. "Firstly; you'll have all been told by now, but it's important, so I'll repeat it. Make sure you remain a metre away from Alpha Wingleader Awen at all times, especially if no other Rider is present. If you don't we accept no liability for you losing body parts or life."

There were a few nervous titters, the sort you got after deeply disturbing news delivered to a group of people who desperately wanted to lighten the mood and so latched onto tiny, incredibly unfunny jokes as though they were richly amusing. More than a few eyes turned to Lord Flyn, who simply sipped his wine serenely, watching Rhydian.

"Oh," Marged softly. "Well, never mind, Flyn."

"Secondly," Rhydian continued over Flyn's impassive glance, "there's been a short delay in selecting the Audiences this year, so we'll be a day or two late to get the Archwiliad proper underway. We'll be focusing on the smaller domestic requests first, therefore."

"Phoenicia and Erinn, it is," Marged not-whispered sagaciously. "Nubian Phoenicians this year, apparently."

"Really?" Ienifer whispered, perking up. Apparently, Gwilym was only an attractive prospect until the promise of large black men was made. Girly Lord Ieuan trailed his fingers over the back of Gwilym's hand on the table.

"Personally, I find home-grown is best," he purred.

"I'm half-Erinnish," Gwilym whispered back before he could stop himself. Erys made a choked noise into her wine-glass, shoulders shaking, while Marged smacked Girly Lord Ieuan's fingers off his arm. Iestyn smiled up at the ceiling, fixing his gaze studiously away.

"And finally," Rhydian said jovially, "I say it every Archwiliad; leave your Alpha Wingleaders alone as much as you can! They don't get holidays, remember. And... I think that's it. Enjoy yourselves!"

He sat down again to the assorted applause while the servants finally carried in the food and the bards in their corner started tuning up. Gwilym eyed them warily.

"How do they choose the bards?" he asked. None of them seemed to be wearing enormous cloaks, so that was a start. Marged gave one of her half-squeals.

"Oh, gracious!" she said, patting his arm. "I'd forgotten about that. Do you still have the arrow, dear? It's a cracking conversation piece!"

"I didn't think it would make for the best dinner topic," Gwilym admitted thoughtfully. Iestyn snorted.

"It's gossip," he said drily. "Politicians are worse than a whole fishing sector. Rest assured we all want details."

"The assassin was posing as a bard, I'm told?" Flyn asked casually, sipping his wine. "Do you know how they got in?"

"Ah, well," Gwilym said, just about managing to move his knee to block Ienifer's foot in time. "You know how your Alpha Deputy turned out to be evil?"

"Shocking state of affairs, that," Erys said quietly, shaking her head. "It took me a good ten minutes to fully explain it to Tefion after I got the message. I think he still sent off to the Union for confirmation."

"And it was him who got the assassin in?" Girly Lord Ieuan asked, his eyes wide. "How dreadful! What happened?"

"It was all a bit quick, really," Gwilym sighed. Which was true, but quick or not, he'd formed a perfect bloody memory of it. "We had the Casnewydd Wing at the time, and Awen was fortunately enough sitting next to me. Apparently the bards were playing the wrong notes, or something. She noticed, because she's also a bard, so when the one stood up and fired at me she was ready and caught the arrow."

"She caught it?" Mihangel asked, leaning forward. "Really?"

"Yes," Gwilym said. He was still frankly amazed by it. "It was barbed, too. Sliced her hand right open."

"I saw the scar," Flyn interjected. "It did a lot of damage."

"None lasting, I trust?" Erys asked, concerned. Three sentences and a stifled laugh probably wasn't enough data to make a properly informed decision on, but Gwilym decided he liked her anyway.

"It was healed by the time I saw it," Flyn nodded as a small bowl of soup was placed in front of him. "And she was then well enough to halt a full raid yesterday, so I imagine she's fully recovered."

"Although probably not after the raid now," Iestyn smiled, breaking a bread roll in half. "Madog was exhausted by the time he got back yesterday. Tomorrow they'll both be stiffer than ice, I should think."

"Usually how it works," Mihangel nodded gruffly. "Particularly if they needed full body healing. I assume they both did?"

"Oh, yes," Flyn said. Gwilym tried the soup. It was green, and surprisingly nice. "And treatment for blood poisoning."

"Nasty," Gwilym commented, mostly to himself, but it inadvertantly earned him attention anyway as Marged swung to look at him.

"Well, you're our resident medical expert!" she giggled. "So? How serious is that?"

"Blood poisoning?" Gwilym asked, his eyebrow raised. No one had ever asked him that before. Usually the title gave the game away somewhat. "Very, if it isn't cured almost instantly. It means the rest of your organs get infected and fail."

Flyn looked up and fixed him with a considering stare.

"I love a man who knows his way around the human body," Ienifer murmured salaciously. Girly Lord Ieuan giggled. Uncomfortably, Gwilym wondered if they were about to double team him; Marged probably didn't have a napkin big enough to keep them both at bay.

"Yes," he said as steadily as he could. "If you need your kidneys mapped out, I'm your man."

"Both recovered from the blood poisoning, though?" Erys said hastily. Gwilym definitely liked her. Flyn nodded.

"Certainly," he said, flashing her a quick smile. "They were treated quickly enough."

"I think Madog was rather glum about it all, though," Iestyn said. "He's been fighting almost daily for the last few months. I think he was hoping he might get a break while travelling."

"Yes, we heard about the increased raiding," Erys said, her face becoming grave. "Do you need any specific aid? Help with rebuilding, resources, anything like that?"

"I barely know where to begin." Iestyn rubbed a hand through his hair for a second, staring into the distance. "The Union are going to be rotating the Wings in from other Cities anyway, Gamma and down, so we'll have help rebuilding there. But... timber and stone, I think. We run low, obviously. And skilled thatchers, stone masons, builders, that sort of thing. The problem being, of course, that we can't guarentee their safety."

"Well, you can't anyway, surely?" Gwilym said, thinking it through. "And given the number of additional Wings you'll be having, I'd have thought they'd actually be safer in Wrecsam."

"He's right," Erys said, her glance at Iestyn compassionate. "We can arrange something. We often have too many skilled labourers and too little work for them in Milford Haven anyway; people congregate to the harbour."

"Thank you," Iestyn said, his smile tired. "But I doubt they'll be willing -"

"Incentives are all you need," Gwilym said, swirling his soup. "Although it would be best if it wasn't money, given that you need that to pay for things like food and houses."

"Yes." Erys leaned forward. "Jobs? A guarenteed placement somewhere afterwards? I'm not sure we could definitely find somewhere, though."

"Okay," Gwilym said slowly. "So, how about a country-wide scheme? Labourers who go to help Wrecsam at the moment get... er, a qualification? A shiny certificate? We'll come back to that - something to prove that they have, anyway. So then when they apply for jobs anywhere else they get priority over others."

There was a slight pause in which everyone stared at Gwilym, the wheels very clearly turning in Iestyn's head.

"Yes!" Marged said, clapping her hands. "Brilliant solution!"

"Very good!" Erys nodded approvingly. "Well, you've got the hang of the job."

"An elegant solution," Flyn smiled magnanimously. "It will, of course, require a contract for everyone to sign, and a fearsome amount of paperwork. The Council may well loathe you."

"Yes, I know," Gwilym said gloomily. "I'll keep a look-out for bards."

"Superb," Iestyn said quietly, shaking his head. "Thank you. It will be immeasurably helpful to us."

"It's only a shame we can't create some equally brilliant scheme to stop the raids," Flyn sighed. "As I say; something has clearly incited them. I think it's only a matter of time before we start seeing the same problem down south."

"We've increased our patrols to be on the safe side," Mihangel nodded. "Llywelyn tells me that we may have started getting more attacks just at the Northland border, although only for the last week and a half, so it's early to say."

Iestyn said nothing, his eyes hard, and Gwilym wondered how badly he was wanting to punch both men in the face. If their roles had been reversed he'd have been throwing soup by now, Responsible Grown-Up Behaviour be damned.

"If they do, though," Ienifer said uncertainly, in the first move to take part in the conversation rather than sexually harrass him thus far, "we'll ultimately be fine, won't we? The Union would put more Wings along the border."

"Certainly," Flyn said grimly. "But it depends on what's driving the Saxons, doesn't it? And ultimately, the Riders, for all their skills, are human. They can fall."

"There are more of them than us," Mihangel said, dropping his spoon into his now-empty bowl with a clatter. "The Saxons. Worth remembering. Imagine if they all chose to attack us. And imagine if they didn't just attack the border, eh? There's only a small channel they need to cross to get to the Southlands, and it's a short sail to the Northlands."

"Ooh, don't," Girly Lord Ieuan shuddered. "I can't bear the thought! Can't bear it!"

Gwilym could. Aberystwyth was the hardest place in Cymru for a Saxon to get to. It would have been mean to say so, though.

"That would bring Caerdydd right into the warzone!" Ienifer said, alarmed. "But that's terrible!"

"But not insurmountable," Flyn said, giving her a gentle smile that was, again, just fractionally condescending. "A firmly united Cymru would certainly be strong enough to resist a Saxon invasion."

Oh gods. Oh, gods, here it came. It was starting properly now. Maybe Gwilym could fake a condition that made him scream every time someone started speaking with heavy subtext? It would probably work on Ienifer and Girly Lord Ieuan too, maybe he couldn't go wrong here. But there again, he seemed to have made a good impression on Erys and Iestyn so far. Probably best not to scream like a suicidal bean sidhe in their faces for the next ten minutes.

"That's true," Mihangel grunted, pouring out more wine. "Stronger together and that."

The bards? Gwilym wondered. Could he fake a sudden and terrible panic at the sight of them? Probably not, since he'd been calm enough so far.

"Well, that's alright, then!" Girly Lord Ieuan interposed brightly, blithely oblivious of Flyn's careful look. "We'll be fine! Worrying for a second, I was. Thought I might need someone to help... calm me down..."

He rubbed his thigh suggestively against Gwilym's.

"I suspect that's impossible," Gwilym declared darkly, and bizarrely Flyn saved him.

Or rather, Flyn saved him bizarrely.

"Tell me more about blood poisoning," he said calmly. Everyone looked at him, Gwilym included.

"Do what now?" Gwilym asked blankly. Flyn smiled a neutral smile, his eyes nonetheless intense.

"Blood poisoning," he repeated nonchalently. "You are our resident medical expert," he nodded politely to Marged, "and you seem to know about it. Tell me precisely what it is. How it works."

Well, it was a ploy of some kind, it had to be. The trouble was, Gwilym couldn't exactly cross his arms, stick his nose in the air and refuse. He was a Grown Up now, and Responsible, and Knew Better.

"Well," he said slowly. "It's what you get when an infection gets into the blood stream, either from an external cut or from an infected organ inside the body or whatever. Then the blood carries the infection around the body and passes it on to the organs; kidneys and liver first, usually, but then the heart and lungs."

"How horrible," Ienifer said, glaring at Flyn. He ignored her.

"Mortality rates?"

"Extremely high," Gwilym admitted. "If it gets to that stage, anyway. Extremely low if you get druidic treatment within a day or two."

"What sort of infection?" Flyn asked serenly. "A particularly serious one, presumably?"

"Usually," Gwilym said, bewildered. "It can be quite mild, though, at the start."

"And yet it can still kill someone?" Flyn said, one eyebrow raised. Gwilym sighed. He was starting to get the feeling that some sort of political analogy was going to be drawn from this.

"Yes," he said as the servants appeared to remove the soup bowls and bring the next course. "Because it affects all of the organs. If only one is diseased then you've a chance of healing, but when every part of you isn't working properly the body just can't cope."

"How long does it take?" Flyn asked. Everyone was looking at him oddly now, Gwilym was relieved to note. Even Ienifer and Girly Lord Ieuan had stopped trying to molest him in favour of looking at Flyn.

"It varies," Gwilym said, wincing. "It can be weeks, it can be months, depending on how strong the infection is."

"Painful?"

"Very," Gwilym said with feeling. He'd seen three people die from blood poisoning. They weren't memories he wanted to relive.

"What about cut knees?" Erys broke in with the tone of someone determined to lighten the mood a bit. "What causes those?"

"Falling over because of childhood," Gwilym grinned. "Which is a terrible affliction, but fortunately enough it heals itself. It takes a while, though, you have to live with it for years."

"Honestly, Flyn, what has gotten into you?" Marged scolded. "It's dinnertime! We don't want to hear this."

"My apologies," Flyn murmured, still staring at Gwilym. "I find it... fascinating. How something so small, so insignificant as a mere infection could destroy the entire complex structure of the human body. With the right part infected, suddenly every system, all the infrastructures, every carefully designed procedure just... crumbles."

"Hmm." Mihangel smiled gruffly. "Not unlike politics, eh?"

"The wrong thing in the wrong place," Flyn said softly. "Indeed. And the trick is to catch it early."

"So how are you finding politics so far, Gwilym?" Iestyn asked abruptly. Clearly, Gwilym wasn't the only person bothered by Flyn's heavy subtext.

"Challenging," he smiled. "Although I've gotten better at it in the last few days. I think it's being shot at, it gives you impetus."

"I remember my first assassination attempt," Iestyn smiled fondly. "It was Madog's first act in office almost. We were moving in a procession through the streets and suddenly he tackled me to the ground, sat up and threw a sword at one of the rooftops. Took the man's arm clean off, apparently."

"Riders, eh?" Gwilym asked merrily. "Did you know why the man had tried to kill you?"

"We'd just re-opened the land trade routes over the border," Iestyn said reminiscently. "I think everyone had to duck a few times that year."

"Do you know why yours was?" Erys asked, carefully inspecting the fish on the plate in front of her. Gwilym grinned.

"Yes and no!" he said. "It was because - and you'll laugh, wait for it - I'm a pervasive influence."

"Really?" Erys asked with a smile as Iestyn laughed. "I had no idea."

"The mentally unstable, then," Iestyn nodded. "I've had a few of those, too."

"Ooh, yes," Marged said happily. "I had one once who thought I was secretly half-fish! Poor chap."

"Was he an ex-employee?" Flyn asked, with slightly less élan than before, Gwilym felt. Marged beamed.

"Bless you, no!" she said expressively. "Came from Casnewydd originally. Became a sailor, survived a shipwreck and went crazy."

"I had one once who couldn't bear the thought of not having a relationship with me," Ienifer said, her smile slightly smug as she looked up at Gwilym through her lowered lashes. "It seems I left too great an impression, poor soul."

"Great indeed, if he felt the need to end you," Girly Lord Ieuan said snidely. "I'll happily admit no one I've ever slept with has done so."

"No," Ienifer said sweetly. "I suppose we pick from different crowds, though, don't we? I always fall for people of more... discerning tastes."

"Which does rather explain your lower hit rate," Girly Lord Ieuan returned in the same voice, at which point Awen of all people saved the table from erupting in a cloud of fists and fish.

She'd slid unobtrusively into the hall already, quietly approaching the Top Table and handing what looked like a note over to Rhydian who simply scanned it and nodded as Gwilym glanced over. As she turned and started back down the hall to leave she met his eye and gave him a tired smile, the movement highlighting her cheekbones. He returned it wearily and she smirked, her eyes travelling to Ienifer and Girly Lord Ieuan. No doubt she knew exactly what hell his life had briefly become, the bitch.

Lord Flyn saw him looking over his shoulder and turned to see. He raised an arm, and Awen changed course instantly, heading over to their table instead, her expression one of pleasant tiredness. She reached them, her presence halting Ienifer's stinging retort, and dropped to one knee in front of Flyn. His face was completely impassive, watching her.

"My lord," Awen said mildly. Flyn smiled.

"Leader," he said, and then promptly violated all kinds of social codes by not telling her to get up. "I wondered; have we had any news on that poor girl from my quarters, yet?"

The one you raped? Gwilym thought incredulously, and then tried not to stare even more incredulously at Awen as she looked up at him hesitantly, nothing but regretful sympathy in her eyes. Despite, apart from anything else, still being on the floor. While injured.

"Not as of yet, my lord," Awen said gently, as though trying to break bad news while softening the blow. "To be honest, as I say, I'm not hopeful."

"No?" Flyn straightened, sighing. "A shame. I'd hoped that with the druids here... Well. Do you think I could see her?"

"Certainly not," Awen said, raising an eyebrow. "She was, in all likelihood, conditioned to kill you my lord. She's being kept as far away from you as I can physically station her, and under so many locks and keys we've had to send away for additional blacksmiths."

"I'm touched by your devotion to duty even here, Leader," Flyn smiled, a glint in his eye. "But she didn't seem much of a threat."

"Before or after she actually tried to attack me, my lord?" Awen rejoined, even putting in a slight edge of humour. "Because I can count on one hand the number of times that has ever happened to me where the perpertrator was neither Saxon nor insane."

"Wow," Gwilym threw in, putting on his best impressed voice. "Surely you don't need all fingers, either?"

"Not in this context," Awen grinned. Beside Gwilym, Marged leaned forward.

"Oh, for goodness' sake, Flyn!" she said. "You've made your point! Let the poor girl up! Gwilym, dear, are you eating that bread roll?"

"No," Gwilym said, trying not to giggle as Flyn raised his chin slightly and Awen moved back to her feet. "Help yourself. How's the hand, now?"

"Healed, thank you, Sovereign," Awen said, examining the scar on her palm. "You did a good job."

"Well, you know," Gwilym shrugged. "Since you tore it apart in my honour I thought I should probably bring my A-game to the task of sewing you back together. I still feel bad about it."

"It was only my hand," Awen said, rolling her eyes slightly. "Seriously. It could have been your throat."

"Yes," Gwilym said. "How's your throat, by the way?"

"Fine," Awen said, her smile challenging as she crossed her arms. "How's politics?"

"Going swimmingly," Gwilym grinned. "How's the shoulder?"

"Healed," Awen said, and then laughed. "Or it was, at any rate, but not anymore, so I'm going to stop playing. And anyway, this is childish. Shut up. I'm going to the pub. Sovereigns."

She bowed to them all, including an uncontrollably giggling Marged, and then dropped nimbly to one knee in front of Flyn again.

"My lord," she murmured. He smiled thinly.

"Rise, Leader," he said imperiously, and Awen left. And suddenly a lot of Sovereigns were staring at Gwilym.

"Terrifyingly likeable, hmm?" Flyn said, sipping from his glass as his eyes bored calculatingly into Gwilym's. Erys chuckled.

"So you had the honour of tending to a Rider?" she asked merrily. "Well done! Although I doubt she let you see it that way?"

"Of course not," Gwilym said sadly, shaking his head. "Her attitude was much as you just saw. Since her Deputy was her medic she wasn't even planning on having them stitched. I had to talk her into it."

"Lovely girl, that one," Marged said cheerfully as she calmed back down. "Beautiful voice. She taught me how to play a beginner's chord sequence for the Ballads once. Oh, and one of her Riders has a bird! She let me fly it! Magical, it was."

"Yes, I met that bird," Gwilym said nervously. "I managed to make it stop glaring at me, but it took a while."

"Anyway," Erys said with the air of a teacher who's just realised that half of the lesson has gone and the class have still done no work. "Sorry to drag everyone's minds back to politics and such, but we'll need to get this labourer scheme for Wrecsam sorted out. So? How will it work?"

The evening swept on, in a haze of wine and subtext.