Cymru - Chapter 39

Fact: I'm getting really good at chapters that do sod all. But I figure Awen needs at least some time off.

AWEN

The pain woke her up, flooding every nerve ending and locking her body into place. She only just managed to bite off the scream in her throat, throttling the sound into something quieter that wouldn't bring half the Wing running, but within seconds Awen instinctively knew that she was getting attention anyway. The sound of another person Being Still was one she was highly attuned to.

"Llio," Awen said, forcing her voice calm as she tried not to move. "Have you gone to sleep on my floor again?"

There was the sound of a blanket rustling, and someone drawing cautiously closer. It set Awen's teeth on edge. She kept her eyes closed.

"Yes?" Llio's voice offered warily. In spite of herself, Awen smiled.

"You're a mess," she said softly. Ordinarily at this point Llio would have climbed onto the bed with her. Today, she didn't. The absense of normality was almost more painful than Awen's nerve endings. "Who else is there?"

"We were worried about you," Llyr's voice chimed in defensively. Awen sighed. "Does it hurt horrendously?"

"I've had worse," Awen said. Which was true, but not by much. She mentally imagined they were both leaning over her with knives and then opened her eyes, which meant she didn't jump when they were simply kneeling beside the bed in incredibly non-threatening poses. "Go back to bed, both of you. You can't have slept properly on the floor."

"Leader," Llyr said quietly. "You haven't moved, so clearly it's agony. We can try and help you stretch? It's worth a shot."

No, it wasn't. Even without trying it Awen knew it wouldn't work; the second they touched her she would, best case scenario, tense up so much they'd start to think she might have tetanus or something, which would make the pain worse. Worst case scenario she'd try to attack them. And Awen was already finding the looks on their faces when she jumped away from them more than she could handle.

"Bed," she ordered. "Or go and get breakfast, in which case you can bring me some. Leave me to whimper, it's my own fault anyway."

It was reluctant, but they obeyed, as she knew they would. Once they'd finished throwing her concerned glances and shut the door Awen sighed. It was going to be a long and painful morning, she reflected. With luck she could get herself basically mobile within an hour; after that she'd be able to stretch properly, so call it another hour before she was able to march stiffly about the place. Moving about would in turn help to loosen her up, so... afternoon. By the afternoon she ought to be back to the level of general pain and stiffness she'd had yesterday.

Gods, it was agony right now, though. Her back in particular was aching, a constant, throbbing pain that refused to diminish in spite of Awen's resolute immobility. Well, the sooner she got started, the sooner it would be over. She gritted her teeth, and carefully flexed her fingers.

She only whimpered, which Awen applauded herself for. The knuckles seemed to have made a spirited attempt to fuse themselves into shape, and the skin over the backs felt bizarrely like it was trying to split as her fingers straightened. She ignored it and stretched them out as far as they could go, the skin and muscles over her palms tightening as they went, and held the pose for a second before letting go. It felt... better. Incredibly painful, but better.

She repeated it a few times to make sure she'd got the mobility back in her hands, and then moved on to the next excercise. The first attempt failed; she went to bend her elbows and lift her forearms, but the strain through biceps and elbow joints was too much too soon and made her actually cry out, her wrists dropping back to the bed. Awen paused, glaring at the ceiling for a moment, and then changed tactics.

Tensing the muscles, relaxing the muscles. Tensing the muscles, relaxing the muscles. It took a while; at first Awen couldn't tell if there was even a difference between the two states, but after five minutes of concerted effort she had it, and moved on. The elbows had been a problem. She focused on moving only those, towards her sides, away from her sides, each shift barely a few milimetres at first. Why did her bones ache? That shouldn't even be possible, should it? She had medical training. Bones had no nerves.

The second attempt to lift her forearms succeeded, if admittedly accompanied by more swear words than Awen usually produced in a day. She paused to breathe, her hands resting wearily beside her shoulders. This was so much easier with someone else, gods damn it. And far more fun. And far less depressing.

Awen sighed wearily, and weighed up the options for the next movements. Shoulders next, insofar as she could, but then she was going to need upper body mobility to excersise them properly. An experimental twitch that made her yelp revealed that her stomach muscles were extremely displeased with her, as were those in her throat and neck. Which was a vicious circle, of course; without her stomach she couldn't sort out her shoulders properly, but without her shoulders for support there was almost nothing she could do about her stomach. Definitely easier with someone -

There was a knock at the door, and Awen resisted the urge to scream.

"Come in," she called, carefully repeating the arm movements she'd managed so far. The muscles were just about loose enough that she could mask the pain now-

"So how's my favourite Wingleader?" Caradog asked brightly, striding in. Llio was starting into the room just behind him, and Awen groaned and closed her eyes. "How painful is it? Do you want to cry?"

"Oddly enough, I am suddenly feeling that way, yes," Awen returned steadily. "Sod off, would you?"

"Will do!" Caradog said, the grin evident in his voice. "But first, we've brought you things; Llio got you breakfast, because you told her to, and I've brought you Lord Gwilym, because Councillor Gwenllian told me to. In here, Sovereign!"

Awen's eyes slammed open.

"I'll put the food here," Llio was saying happily, sliding a tray onto the cabinet beside the bed. "Think of it as an incentive to get moving again. That's motivational, that is. I learned that from you."

"You know, Rider quarters are about twice as nice as Sovereign ones," Lord Gwilym said interestedly, towed by the wrist into the room by Caradog and looking around. "Oh, although the bedrooms contain less. It's sort of reminiscent of Mental Uncle Dara's room, because he's not allowed too much in case it excites him."

"Why's he mental?" Caradog asked curiously. Lord Gwilym shrugged.

"Dropped on his head as a child, I should think," he offered. "Sad business, but he is the king of an Erinnish province, so in all fairness it's served him well."

"Did you say Councillor Gwenllian?" Awen asked, her mind racing. Llio smiled.

"She found me when I was eating!" she said cheerfully. "She said we were to bring Lord Gwilym here because he can do some massage thing or other that sounds brilliant, by the way."

No, no no. The danger of the situation was screaming at Awen. Sovereigns weren't casually sent to help out Riders in any sort of tactile context. Was it a test? Was this the bit where she was meant to turn him down, to show that she wasn't about to break sixty Union rules? It must have been.

"That's a terrible idea," she said blankly. "I'll kill him."

"So many want to," Lord Gwilym said morosely.

"She said you'd say that," Caradog said merrily, dropping a few coils of rope on the bed. "And we agreed, but she said if you were tied down he'd be fine. Oh, and also that she's overruling you. You can't order us to stop."

"Right," Awen said weakly. The situation had become officially insane. Did Gwenllian not know? She couldn't. Or maybe it was a lesson... Lord Gwilym smiled softly at her, an expression that conveyed far too much affection for her comfort level, and crossed over to the bed, sitting carefully on the edge. The contact with his body even through the quilt made Awen's heart beat stumble slightly, and for around the fiftieth time she wondered why. What was it about him? She barely knew the man.

"It's okay," he said merrily. "I was surprised, too. Now; obviously everywhere hurts, but anywhere in particular?"

And he seemed to have the gift of freezing her in place, rendering her completely immobile. How was he doing that?

"My back," Awen said defeatedly. "But yes, everywhere, really."

"How much of yourself can you move by now?"

"Oh, my fingers are moving mighty fine," she grinned. "And I can bend my elbows, look. Good, isn't it?"

"Magnificent!" Gwilym said, shifting aside briefly as Caradog pulled the blanket off her. It was a shame. The warmth had been the only pleasant physical sensation left to her. Awen fought not to shiver and let her muscles seize up as the cooler air touched her bare skin. "Well, you're doing better than I do after an arm-wrestling session with Mental Uncle Dara, anyway. But, you know, usually I have to have a nice long lie-down for two or three days."

"Really?" Caradog asked over his shoulder, unwinding a coil of rope. "He sounds excellent! How should I tie her?"

"Not too tightly," Gwilym said, turning to see, and through the sudden spike of fear Awen managed to catch his forearm without having to move her shoulder, limiting the pain. Gwilym looked back at her.

"Yes, tightly," she said, alarmed. "I could kill you, Sovereign. I'm not safe these days."

"There is literally no purpose to me trying this if you aren't comfortable," he said, his mouth quirking in a smile, his hand settling on her wrist and sliding down to the soft skin inside her elbow. Awen caught her breath. The enforced no touching rule was already becoming torture; Gwilym's fingers were like an addiction after withdrawal. "And anyway, I need to get to both sides of you. I'll need to roll you over."

"I don't think you're quite grasping the seriousness of what I'm saying, Sovereign," Awen said incredulously. "Are you familiar with the concept of dying?"

"Someone tried to shoot me!" he said brightly.

"Awen," Llio interrupted quietly, and everyone looked at her. "You've not moved since he came in, and he's currently sitting over you and touching you. You've not even twitched at Caradog tying a rope around your ankle."

There was a brief silence as Awen realised that yes, she could indeed feel the soft grip of the rope around her left ankle, Caradog tying the other end to the foot of the bed with about a foot of slack to spare and a gleeful smile. She met Gwilym's eye and the moment became charged, her own emotions reflected on his face.

"So I haven't," she said, not breaking eye contact. He gave her a small, sad smile.

"Yeah," he said heavily. "I know. Awkward, isn't it? The last year of my life has been deeply complex, though, so to be honest this is just like... seasoning."

"Poetic," Awen smiled tiredly. Gwilym stroked her forearm up to her hand, positioning his fingers softly around her palm. "But I still don't think -"

He squeezed with his fingertips and Awen shut up. Nothing - nothing - had ever felt as good as what the nerve endings in her hand were currently reporting. She closed her eyes and drifted with the sensation, ignoring everything else in the room. How did people learn this sort of thing? she wondered lazily. Who thought the hand was an important place to learn to massage? Well; a warrior, probably. Or a musician. Or a scribe. Certainly they were right, whoever they were.

Gwilym worked on her palm in meticulous detail, slowly making his way to her fingers which he gently stretched and curled individually before wrapping her hand in both of his and rotating the bones softly. Then it was her wrist, bent carefully forwards and back; and then his fingers were gliding over her forearm, slicked with oil and pressing hard enough that it should have hurt, but really didn't. Her hand tingled where it had been touched, all energy leeched out of it.

"Oh, that looks amazing," Llio sighed, her words sinking slowly through Awen's happy, blissful bubble. "We seriously have to learn this. How easy is it to learn?"

"Very," Gwilym said, his smile audible. "Especially given that you all have medical training and therefore a knowledge of what bit goes where anyway. But it's fairly basic; use lots of oil to avoid pulling the skin and don't press bones."

"Are you marinading me?" Awen asked lethargically. "Will I be able to just slide into my uniform after this?"

"Definitely," Gwilym declared. "Just think how much time that's saved you. Everyone should be basted in oil of a morning. Oh, and talking of basting, although more in its proper context; I made my chefs very happy before I came here."

"The most important people to keep happy in the entire Court," Awen murmured. He was doing something incredible to her elbow. "Anything to do with your new food sourcing?"

"I told them I wanted an entirely new menu out of it," Gwilym said happily. "And it turned out they'd been harbouring a secret loathing of monkey meat, so it's a good thing I caught it now. Would have been assassination attempt number two, I reckon."

"Certainly," Awen grinned. "As I say, you don't want unhappy cooks. They have inventive ways of revenge. Often involving whisks."

"Right," Caradog said from somewhere nearby. "Tie those to the headboard once you're ready, although I think it's unnecessary. Get out, Llio. Enjoy, Leader."

"Cheers," Awen said sleepily, belatedly noticing the mild pressure of rope around each wrist. Gwilym's hands had moved to her upper arms, the aching muscles purring beneath his fingers. The door clicked softly shut, and she sighed. "I'm sorry, by the way."

"Oh, what on earth for now?" Gwilym said, his tone mildly exasperated. "And before we move on, I want to say for the first time probably of many that you're not responsible for all the ills of humanity. Plagues and famines aren't your fault, Awen."

"Involving you in all of this," she said quietly, opening her eyes. He was looking at his hands, shaking his head slightly, his smile wry. "I just didn't think it would get so out of hand. I only wanted to know what Marged was up to."

"It wasn't your fault I got shot at," Gwilym said, amused. "I, I shall remind you, am pervasively influential. It was your fault I survived, you'll recall."

"My Deputy arranged it, I shall remind you," Awen said neutrally. "It was my responsibility to stop him, you'll recall."

"Which you did," Gwilym said, giving her an odd look. "Remember? I sewed you back together. And I'm alive, look, and I can tell because I'm breathing."

"To stop him at the stage he was planning it, Sovereign," Awen sighed. "He shouldn't have been able to -"

"How is it you're capable of massive objectivity towards everything but yourself?" Gwilym asked, sliding his hands to her shoulder. One slipped beneath her and the bed, carefully manipulating the muscles from both sides at the same time. It felt like summer. "You can dispassionately view everything except you, when suddenly you think you can't do anything right."

"It's been a bad week," Awen managed, and Gwilym snorted.

"Yes, I expect you normally give people hand-outs on your tremendous skills and charm," he said. "No. Let's talk about Owain."

"Must we?" Awen asked, disappointed. "But I'm enjoying myself."

"Of course you are," Gwilym grinned. "No one can withstand the aggressive wonders of Graeco-Egyptian massage. But tough. The subject matter is Owain. Tell me why you feel so badly like you failed there."

"What?" Awen stared, unseeing, at Gwilym's face. Was he serious? He was being serious. That was completely mental. In what way hadn't she failed on the subject of Owain, that was a shorter list. "I didn't know about it. I should have."

"How?" Gwilym asked calmly. He took hold of her arm at the wrist, the other hand staying on her shoulder, and raised it carefully. The shoulder joint resisted until Awen realised she was tensing it in expectation of pain, and relaxed. It still hurt, but only as a stiff ache rather than the sharp agony she'd been waiting for.

"How?" she repeated blankly. "Sovereign; he was my Deputy. And he was, amongst many other things, consorting with Saxons. And Flyn. These are things that have recognisable signs."

"When?"

"Now you're just asking random questions."

"Am not," Gwilym grinned. He placed her hand beside her head on the pillow, and tied the rope attached to her wrist to the head board. "I'm serious. When a person plans out a terrible deed from start to finish, at what point do these recognisable signs appear?"

"Oh," Awen sighed. "I see where you're going with this. He had to do them before I could have known about them, yes?"

"Basically," Gwilym shrugged. He kicked off his boots and climbed over her to the other side of the bed, a move that really should have made her react violently but actually didn't. "You couldn't have known he was going to assassinate me until he actually tried, so you could hardly have stopped him beforehand. You're not telepathic."

"A lovely theory, with quite the hole in it," Awen said reasonably. He started on her other hand and she tried not to purr. "Because him wanting you dead wasn't the first sign. Him, I don't know, meeting with Saxons and killing children in my name, those were pretty big signs - "

"Stop it," Gwilym said. Commanded, really. He'd been working on his Sovereign Voice, clearly. "Alpha Wingleader. How much of your time is spent doing things apart from the rest of your Wing?"

More than you know, she thought hysterically. And I spend it on the lookout for people like him.

"Quite a bit," Awen said, her voice as calm as she knew it would be. Gwilym gave her a sympathetic look.

"Then how were you supposed to keep track of everything he did?" he asked softly, rubbing her knuckles. "Do you know every single thing the others do? There are entire windows of time in which you personally cannot be completely in control. Who's in charge then?"

Awen swallowed, her throat dry.

"Him," she said, quietly. Gwilym nodded.

"Your Deputy," he said. "The one person within the confines of this earth who you trust more than any other, because you have to. Because you should be able to. And I stand by my previous assertion that since you were still developing at fifteen too, you personally had no way of noticing he'd gone mental after the mountain thing. That was the responsibility of your Tutors. And if they missed it, then clearly, he was a clever lad. You just couldn't have known."

"You're wrong," she said, and was absolutely astonished to find that she suddenly wanted to cry. It was weird. She hadn't cried in years, and here she was, twice in one week, fighting back tears. And again, she had no idea why. "I still should have known."

"Why?" Gwilym asked gently, moving around to lie down next to her, propped up on his elbow. Awen shook her head.

"Because - " I'm an Intelligencer, she thought desperately. I'm meant to see these things. I'm supposed to know about this. And... and something else. "Because I should," she managed. "I don't - "

"The Wingleader in you is talking," Gwilym said, snaking an arm over her and holding her tightly against him. She rested her forehead on his chest, revelling in the strange, unexpected feeling of safety from him. "How old were you when you took charge? Roughly?"

"It's usually about ten," Awen said, her voice shaking. He threaded his fingers into her hair at the back of her neck, teasing at the muscles.

"You were a child," Gwilym said quietly. "I know, you just think of them as 'young Riders', but you were a child. Specifically, a child taking charge of other children. And none of you had parents. That's part of the Wingleader bond, isn't it? It's a lot of things, but some part of it is that parent-child relationship."

He stroked her neck, the motion hypnotically soothing. Awen didn't trust herself to speak.

"He was, in a small way, a son that you raised," Gwilym said. "He was your responsibility. You don't feel like you should have known, Awen. Not really.You feel like you caused it."

Good gods. He was right. Awen lay there, shocked.

"You're wrong, though," Gwilym said gently. "You really are. You were ten. It's a great system for producing Riders - whether you believe it or not you're the best Rider in the country - but it's a dangerous way to raise people if it goes wrong, and it went wrong here. It was the system that failed with Owain, not you."

There was a pause filled only with the sound of them breathing, and the faint echoes of people laughing in the lolfa. Awen tried vaguely to think of something to say as she dissipated the tight feeling in her throat. How had he spotted that? She hadn't understood that, and it was her bloody mind.

"How did you work that out?" she asked eventually, her voice still hollow with shock. Gwilym snorted gently, moving his hand around to her jaw and running a thumb across her cheekbone.

"I've been thinking about Riders a lot lately," he mused. "I spent an awful lot of my life before last year either travelling or living in Erinn. Becoming Sovereign was my first real exposure to you. I didn't really get you all."

"You've caught up," Awen said blankly, and Gwilym laughed.

"I'm working on it," he said fondly. "You're fascinating. Um... you in particular, admittedly. Although I'm hoping these insights will stop Alaw from hating me, which I think she does right now, but she's not allowed to just kill me because the Union says so."

She probably found that funnier than she would have if she hadn't been feeling completely numb. Awen laughed out loud, pushing her forehead into his chest.

"She doesn't hate you," she giggled. "She likes you, Sovereign. She just doesn't understand you, either."

"Really?" Gwilym sounded surprised. "Oh, well in that case we'll just have to go out drinking together when we get back and have a drunken heart-to-heart at three in the morning on the Aberystwyth sea-front. I think that's how people work."

"You're a master," Awen said, and unwisely tried to shift position. The pain scythed through her body, making her catch her breath. She didn't scream, though. That was good.

"Yes, where were we?" Gwilym said happily, sitting up cross-legged beside her again and taking her arm gently. "Your wrist, I think."

They lapsed into a peculiarly comfortable silence for a while, Gwilym even humming to himself as he worked while Awen tried to make sense of her own head. It would have been nice, she reflected, to have had the luxury of believing him. And he was right in many ways; about the assassination, certainly, and her hitherto unrecognised maternal instincts, and the fact that her Tutors should have noticed Owain -

But there was the snag. It didn't matter what direction Awen looked at it from, she kept coming back to the same point. She had been with Owain for years upon years, and in those years she had been an Intelligencer. She had been one of the very people who was supposed to track down traitors and murderers and such. He had been very much her responsibility.

And suddenly, and for no reason Awen could fathom, she desperately wanted to tell Lord Gwilym this. The Sovereign of Aberystwyth.

She let it go, and watched him as his fingers glided over her upper arm.

"Why did you travel so much?" Awen asked after a while. His smile, she decided, was utterly addictive. Some people were just transparent, and Gwilym was one of them when he smiled. There was a wealth of warmth and humour there that filled his eyes, a kindness that exposed itself, even when the smile was self-deprecatingly wry, as it was now.

"Because I hated politics," he said, and laughed at the irony. "I know! I am hated by the gods. No. Well. My sister was going to get the torque, and in the - well, actually fairly likely - event that she exploded with rage before that, it would have been my brother who got it. I didn't need the training, therefore, or so I thought. And I hated it anyway."

"So you stayed in Erinn with your insane uncle?"

"Mental," Gwilym corrected helpfully. "Insane would mean there was a genuine illness. He's just mental."

"Oh," Awen said, and thought about that. "And... you still stayed with him? Willingly?"

"Well, the thing about mental people is that they have far more interesting politics," Gwilym grinned. He took her wrist in one hand and her shoulder in the other, raising her arm gently. "Although... well. My Mental Uncle Dara is great, and my cousin Lorcan is brilliant, but every silver lining has a cloud. In this case, my Aunt Clíodhna. My mother and uncle's older sister."

"Terrifying?"

"Beyond all reason," Gwilym nodded. "Well, probably not to you, you're hardcore, but to the rest of us mere mortals..."

"Hardcore?" Awen grinned. "I don't think anyone's ever said to me before."

"Of course not," Gwilym said mock-scornfully. "Because you're terrifying. Anyway, so was Aunt Clíodhna, although more in a way that made me want to scream like a tiny girl, so I left. After the Greek fellow who taught me how to sew skin I thought I'd go travelling, see what else is out there."

"That's insane," Awen marvelled. "I couldn't do that."

"Of course you couldn't," Gwilym laughed. "You're a Rider. You freak out at the thought of the Archipelago."

"Hey, I've left Cymru," Awen grinned. "And it was a terrible experience. It's why you're here, in fact."

"Oh, well, Saxonia," Gwilym said dismissively as he laid her hand beside her head, tying the final rope above her. "And anyway, I wanted to learn things. Saxonia has nothing to teach. No, I went wandering the Phoenician empire."

"Really?" Awen said, fascinated. "What's it like?"

"Increasingly hot," Gwilym said thoughtfully, sitting back onto his heels and stretching for a moment. The motion pulled his tunic tight across his chest. Awen fixed her eyes resolutely on his face. "And I really, really mean that. They go inside and stay there over the early afternoon because it's not possible to work in the heat. Further south again they basically live on a giant beach with no sea. The land is just sand. As far as you can see."

"I do believe I'd hate that," Awen nodded. Gwilym laughed as he knelt over her, straddling her hips, pouring more oil onto his hands.

"I wasn't keen," he grinned. "It's where Hannibal's from, the sand. Nubia is upriver from Egypt. In Egypt they build pyramids to bury their dead pharaohs, big triangular buildings. But, they also have the world's biggest library in Alexandria."

"Bigger than the one in Aberystwyth?" Awen asked one eyebrow raised, and then lost the ability to talk as his hands descended onto her stomach and started work again.

"Just shy of twice the size, I'd have said," Gwilym mused. "I ended up staying in Egypt for almost a year, actually, just working my way through the library. It's partly why I want to start a university over here. There was so much to learn, so much we don't have. Like their maths! It's incredible."

"Maybe all Sovereigns should travel for a while before taking office," Awen murmured, her eyes sliding closed again. She almost arched into his touch until her back screamed at her. "It seems to have filled you with ideas of a progressive social nature."

"Oh, that's not travelling," Gwilym said mildly. "That's intelligence."

His fingers paused as she laughed, revelling in the fact that it already hurt less to laugh. It was a nice realisation.

"Flyn's intelligent, you know," Awen giggled, and Gwilym sniffed dismissively while resuming the massage.

"Oh, okay, we need to talk about the different definitions of intelligence," he said. "Because, you know, I personally don't consider using your own Alpha Wingleader as a messenger in your attempts to take over the world as the mark of a genius. And anyway, call me an old-fashioned religious lad and that, but I have this small belief that compassion remains the greatest of human developments and therefore a conscience is an important part of intelligence."

"You are an old-fashioned religious lad, aren't you?" Awen grinned. "I shall have to try not to swear anywhere near you. It's a side-effect to being a warrior; my suggestions to the gods are often anatomically difficult at best."

"Ha!" Gwilym flattened his palms and slid them up her body to her neck, elliciting a quiet moan from her throat. "I'm not that religious, you're fine."

"You're weird to talk to, you know," Awen smiled. Gwilym snorted.

"You're not the first woman to say that to me," he told her, making her laugh again. "But they've always been clothed before. I'm saddened to know I've upgraded to naked women calling me weird. I've had nightmares like this."

"Shut up," she giggled. "I mean -"

"Well you're definitely not the first woman to say that to me," Gwilym stated.

"If I wasn't tied down I'd knock you out right now," Awen said sternly. "How many have told you that?"

"You'd be surprised," Gwilym said. "Okay. How am I weird?"

"To talk to," Awen corrected, smiling. "You're weird to talk to. It's like talking to a Rider."

He didn't speak for a moment, and Awen opened her eyes. Gwilym was watching her thoughtfully, his pale eyes considering.

"I treat you like a normal human being?" he offered. Awen nodded.

"Not many do," she said. "I don't just mean Sovereigns, I mean... anyone, any social class. I think I scare people even when I try not to. Or they're resentful if they're Sovereigns. Or just weird, like Hannibal. He bowed to me, you know."

"So I heard," Gwilym smiled affectionately. "He was very sad that you actually recoiled away from him, too. Nice fellow, I thought. I'm going to roll you over now."

"Oh gods." Awen sighed at the hardships of the world and nodded as Gwilym climbed off. "Fine. I think I can probably manage -"

"Oh, keep still, you're not moving," Gwilym scolded her fondly. He slid both arms beneath her and moved her sideways on the mattress before gently rolling her over into her original space. "You've got the morning off from moving. Other people will do it for you out of love and compassion. Now; your back, did you say?"

And then Awen stopped speaking again as Gwilym's hands pressed along the muscles to either side of her spine, easing the pain and regulating her breathing all in one go. No one had ever touched her like this before. She could feel her body relaxing independently of any input from her brain, the muscles loosening and soothing the ache. She hadn't been all that energetic anyway, but now the lethargy stole over her, the twin comforts of the mattress and Gwilym's calming hands tugging soporifically at her mind -

"It's not a duck, it's a drake."

"What?!"

"That's a male duck, Owain. That's like saying something isn't a horse, it's a stallion."

"No it's not."

"Is!"

"Is not."

"It's like saying you're not a human, you're a boy."

"Shut up, I'm a man."

There is a pause as neither of them answer him, but then Adara catches her eye and neither of them can keep from laughing. Owain folds his arms and affects an air of deep offense, sticking his nose in the air.

"I hate you both."

"Are you even shaving yet?" Adara giggles, and them both of them are off again, Awen falling back against the straw bales behind her. Owain aims a swipe at Adara's head which she only just dodges.

"Shut up, guys, or I'll hit you both," he says without too much rancour, and Awen wrestles herself into a calmer state, sitting up again.

"Sorry," she offers, trying to stop grinning. "We shouldn't have laughed, because that is emasculating."

"Or would have been if you were old enough," Adara adds, and all hell breaks loose. They manage to start running just fast enough that he doesn't instantly catch either of them, and then the chase is on, back into the Residence, up the servants' stairs, dodging the laundry workers, weaving past the flock of cleaners, racing for their quarters; they reach the door and haul it open, Awen yanking on it to slam it behind them, hoping to slow Owain down as they tear across the lolfa to the bedrooms, and he's right behind them, just in reach, stretching out an arm -

- as they fall into Adara's room and slam the door behind them.

"Don't come in! We're naked!" Awen yells, and they both collapse against the wood, laughing so hard they can't breathe, Owain's laughter echoing back to them through the wood -

"Then I'm sorry," he declares melodramatically, the knife biting into her throat, his arm pinning her to his chest. "But I have to do this -"

The wristblades bite deep into his fingers, and the blood takes all night to wash off -

She's alone on the mountain, watching the sunset.

Gwilym is there, and she's safe.

It's peaceful on the mountain.

She slid gently back into being awake again, the sensation of someone fiddling with the ropes around her ankles nagging at her without irritating. Awen stirred, and looked down.

"Oh," she said. "I fell asleep."

"I'm scintillating company," Gwilym told her morosely, his eyes twinkling. "And I wish I could say you're the first naked woman on a bed who's fallen asleep under me, but -"

"Shut up," Awen giggled, twitching experimentally. It was incredible. Apart from her neck - thank you, Madog - she still ached, but it had faded into the soft ache of excercise the day before, the crippling immobility replaced by a stiffness that was only mild. She grinned and stretched, ignoring the faint muscular burn. "Oh, that's miraculous. I am now insisting Riders learn that."

"I'll write you a syllabus," Gwilym said, tying off the rope. Awen shifted, and found he'd tied her ankles together. "I need to get to the back of your neck, by the way, for which I need your head straight. I'm therefore retying you."

"Really?" She watched him nervously as he leaned over her, pulling a rope free of the headboard. "I don't think that's a good plan. I'm now limber enough to kill you accidentally."

"I said re-tying, not untying," Gwilym said, his smile betraying some inner joke he was enjoying. "It's fine. Don't go tensing up now, you'll undo all of my good work."

"Sorry." Not that she could help it. Awen carried on worrying until he had crossed her arms over her stomach and tied the ropes behind her back, leaving her basically hugging herself. That done he scooped her up into his arms and leaned back against the headboard, Awen settling comfortably against his chest.

"Head straight," Gwilym said, leaning her temple against his collarbone and settling his fingers on her neck. "That's it..."

Earlier, she'd likened Gwilym's touch to an addiction. Now, Awen realised with a sinking feeling that she'd been right. The bizarre sense of security she got from him was intensified in this position, giving her a comfort she'd been craving for days and days. It was... blissful. And she wasn't going to be allowed it again. Whatever Gwenllian was thinking, Awen couldn't guess, but there was just no way it would happen again.

"I like your tattoos," Gwilym mused through her reverie. "They look incredible."

"Not as good as when they were first done," Awen smiled. "Nowadays they're over more scar tissue than skin. I'm not what I was."

"The scars suit you, you know," Gwilym said, quietly frank. "They sort of look natural. As though you're brindled."

"What, like a cat?" Awen asked blankly. His breath tickled her ear as he laughed.

"Tabby," he said. "Yes. Do you remember getting them all?"

"Absolutely not," Awen grinned. Apparently Gwilym was slightly weird like Hannibal. "To be honest, you usually don't notice them until after the fight unless they either get in the way or are unusual for some reason."

"There aren't many around your head," he said thoughtfully. "Most Riders don't seem to have scars around their heads, in fact."

"No, well." Awen sighed as a knot dissolved under Gwilym's fingers, the flash of pain giving way to relief. "Nine times out of ten a head that gets hit with a sword gets removed. It follows, therefore, that living people have either never had a sword swung at their heads or are good at ducking."

"Ah, statistical conclusions," Gwilym said merrily. "I want to teach those in my university."

"You just - " Awen started, and then was cut off as his fingers smoothed out another knot in her neck, the pain flashing and then sidling away. Gwilym snorted.

"Sorry," he grinned. "Doing this isn't helping your conversation skills much. It's a shame, I enjoy talking to you."

"I'm - sorry," Awen managed, forcing herself to focus. "Normally I'm very good at multi-tasking. I'm not sure why I'm -"

"Because you're a Rider," Gwilym said patiently, "who hasn't been touched in days during a time of high stress. You people experience pain for over half of your lives, and, as I've mentioned, grow up parentless. You're utterly dependent on each other for pleasant physical sensations and utterly in need of them. And this is Graeco-Egyptian massage. There's a case to be made for it being the world's most pleasant physical sensation ahead of sex."

"You know," Awen said slowly, "I think that might be the third time today that you've just explained to me what I actually think or mean when I haven't known myself. And you've been right."

"Is it unnerving you?" Gwilym asked seriously, his fingers pausing. "I realise you're not going to be used to that in any way."

And that was putting it mildly. Awen generally lived in a world in which only she knew everything that was going on and she kept all of the facts from other people. There were days in which she genuinely could lie better than tell the truth. Gwilym seemed to be plucking facts out of her head she didn't realise were there. It should have been unnerving, as he suggested. In a sense, in fact, it was, but...

Some part of her, some tiny, childish part, seemed to be really enjoying him doing it. It was doing the mental equivalent of jumping up and down and shouting 'Again! Again!'.

"I don't know," Awen said honestly. "Yes. And no. Explain it to me, Sovereign. Clearly you have the power."

"Yes, I learned the secrets of the Indo-Greek mages in the Library of Alexandria," Gwilym laughed. "It is an old and arcane power. I sacrifice a large vegetable every night for the privilege. Well; let's see. Your job is your life, isn't it."

He didn't phrase it as a question. Awen nodded. That was easy, at any rate.

"Which means your life is secrets and politics," Gwilym continued. "So people guessing what you're thinking is something you normally try to avoid."

Which she'd already worked out herself. Awen nodded again.

"But there's an extra element," Gwilym said. "Again: Alpha Wingleader. You know how to read people, how to motivate them, how to cut them down, what makes them work, what makes them fall apart. But! You can't apply that to yourself, can you?"

"What?" Awen blinked.

"You don't understand yourself," Gwilym shrugged. "Marged explained it quite well, actually, although Flyn sniffed at her: Riders, you don't handle your own emotions properly. Negative emotions get in the way of the job, so you box them away until you're punching Saxons and need fuel. But that's wildly unhealthy and basically sabotages your hope of ever understanding yourself."

"Well, yes," Awen said uncertainly. "But-"

"But that's fine, yes?" Gwilym interrupted. "Because to you you're just a tool, not a person. You don't need to understand yourself. Except that you do, which is why you're now facing the problem of being non-purifiable. But, more to the point, you're trained to analyse, so some part of you is always trying to work yourself out. When I explain it to you, it makes you feel better."

Awen paused.

"Oh," she said. "But - it is fine. I mean... I can't be purified because of things I've done, not because I'm sad without realising it. And it works, anyway, it can't be that unhealthy."

Gwilym laughed, the sound rumbling in his chest.

"It works until night," he said, hugging her tightly. "Tell me I'm wrong. Yes, you can be wonderfully functional during the day, but what do you see at night when you sleep?"

Note to self, Awen reflected. Don't take Gwilym on on the subject of emotions. He could take her.

"And no," he added. "You can't be purified because your mind has closed, remember? That's what we call Not Dealing."

"Do you fancy being a Rider in a non-military capacity?" Awen sighed wearily. "We have a space, see, and apparently you can explain my own brain to me. I'm sure you'd like it."

"Oh, Awen, I'm an emotional wuss who cries if I bang my elbow," Gwilym grinned. "My brother and sister used to tease me so. Part of the joy of Erinn was that I'm older than Lorcan, and so got to tease him."

"Shame," Awen said. "I think Caradog and Llio liked you. And Adara would if you weren't a Sovereign."

"Ha, yes," Gwilym said, his fingers moving again. "Well, she's got 'protective best friend' stamped across her forehead. Carved, in fact. By her bird -"

There was a knock at the door, which took a second for Awen to realise meant she was supposed to answer. The massage was seriously magic.

"Yes?" she called lazily, and the door swung irreverently open for Meurig and Tanwen.

"Leader," Tanwen said in her best fake whine. "Meurig keeps cheating when we play gwyddbwyll. Am I allowed to hit him here?"

"Not in front of the Sovereign," Awen said mildly. Gwilym's chest jerked as he snorted.

"Can I hit him in the lolfa, then?"

"Without a trial I must protest," Meurig said, devil-may-care grin firmly in place. "There's no evidence I cheated."

"Everyone saw!"

"Seven witnesses and your past record make a fairly compelling case, Meurig," Awen said reasonably. "And I'll be honest, I don't think I've ever seen you play gwyddbwyll without breaking a minimum of three rules."

"I believe that makes you a biased judge," Meurig said, spreading his arms. "I demand a fair trial!"

"I've never seen you play," Gwilym offered. "What did you do?"

"Ah, Sovereign!" Meurig said happily, ambling in and jumping onto the bed. Llio had been right, Awen noticed, surprised. With Gwilym there she didn't even seem to blink. "You are a fair and righteous man. I did nothing!"

"He stole one of my pieces," Tanwen interjected.

"I saved it as it fell from the board!"

"It was in the middle."

"I saved it as it fell after a freak gust of wind blew it down!"

"What caused the wind?" Awen asked, eyebrow raised. Meurig put his hands on his hips pointedly.

"You don't get to ask, Leader, as we've already established," he said. "Don't think I didn't notice your skeptical tone, there."

"What caused the wind?" Gwilym chimed in. "And I worked very hard to make that neutral."

"Eluned opening the window," Meurig nodded decisively.

"I didn't open a window," Eluned said, appearing in the doorway. Tanwen laughed triumphantly. "Don't bring me into this."

"You have no loyalty," Meurig said, shaking his head.

"You don't deserve it!" Tanwen crowed. "Look, you cheated, everyone saw you, take your punishment."

"She's got a point," Awen murmured to Gwilym. "I'd let her."

"It's not looking good, is it?" Gwilym said thoughtfully. "Call in the witnesses, would you? They've been invoked, I'll have to see them now."

"He totally cheated," Caradog's voice boomed, preceeding its owner around the door. His eyes lit up as he saw Awen and Gwilym on the bed, Meurig at the other end, and he strode over and shoved Meurig to one side to claim a seat himself. "I saw him turn the board around earlier, too."

"What?" Tanwen looked mildly outraged. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I prefer watching the natural progression of your anger," Caradog grinned as the rest of the Wing appeared. Llio bounded happily over to the bed, settling herself an inch away from Awen. "Right; did anyone not see Meurig cheat?"

"Yes," Meurig said over the silence. "Me."

"I also saw him turn the board, too," Cei offered.

"You know, you seem fairly guilty, if I'm honest," Gwilym said. "I'm ruling against you, and handing the allocation of discipline over to your Wingleader."

"No!" Meurig said as Tanwen marched across, grinning. "But my pretty face! I know it is, you said I was prettier than Owain!"

"That covers a lot of ground," Llio said evenly. Awen laughed.

"Enough!" she grinned. "Go and smack him, Tanwen. Not in here, we don't want Lord Gwilym thinking we're unprofessional. And not his pretty face, somewhere it won't show. Accept it, Meurig, or I'll come and hit you."

"Justice is crying this day!" Meurig squawked as Tanwen hauled him off the bed by an ear, her larger frame easily stronger than him. Llyr neatly stole his seat. "I demand a retrial! I'm innocent, I tell you! Innocent!"

"He stole my bacon at breakfast today," Llio added as they disappeared around the doorframe. "Can I hit him for that?"

"Did you steal anything back from him?" Awen asked contentedly. She pushed her feet against Llio's leg, Llio instantly dropping a hand to them.

"Yes," she admitted. "His bacon. But it wasn't as good as mine, so there's a deficit."

"Clip him round the ear, then," Awen smiled. "Guys, stop bothering me with this. You're perfectly capable of managing your own petty revenges."

"Hey, my revenges have never been petty," Caradog said with satisfaction. "I pushed Owain in a river once. That was fun."

"What had he done?" Gwilym asked curiously. "Or was this a general protest against his distressingly ugly face?"

Which won over the Wing. Maybe Gwilym should join them after all. It would be the first time in history it had happened, admittedly, but screw it. She'd write the song for the bards and everything.