Cymru - Chapter 54

AWEN

Her balance was perfect. She perched high above the ground, poised on the palms of her hands and the balls of her feet in an elongated crouch, her fingers resting flat down the side of the wooden beam to steady herself. Away to her left and slightly below her from this vantage point the curtains drifted on the breeze, the softly rustling movement of the cloth drawing her eye for a moment, predator-like, until her focus re-asserted and her concentration returned to her task. She ignored everything else. She didn't acknowledge the beginning of the gathering stiffness in her joints as she held position, the unyielding and uncomfortable press of the wood against her hands and feet; she paid no attention to the whisper of the breeze across her naked skin, sending a lock of hair sliding down her shoulder and away to dangle above the drop in front of her eyes. She breathed evenly, forbidding even the movement of her ribs from hindering her balance. And she waited, her mind given over to the equilibrium of the hunt -

Movement, below her and behind her, the friction of cloth on body. She remained immobile. The sound of another's breathing shifted from the undulation of sleeping to the shallower, quieter rasp of wakefullness, and the sound of movement came again, louder and longer this time, and she readied herself, waiting. There was a pause, and then a sigh, resigned, perhaps; and then the rustle of cloth being pushed away, a faint squeak of a quiet spring that made her quiver, changing the grip of her right hand, so nearly the one she -

A second squeak, deeper in tone and slightly louder than the first, and she moved. She leapt out into space, her right hand keeping hold of the wood and she twisted her body; there was a brief moment of freefall where nothing touched her but the wind and then the strain through her arm caught her, an ache that ran from hand to shoulder to side as her momentum pivoted her around and arced her beneath the beam. The prey - man - prey looked up, frozen mid-crawl, far too late to escape, and she let go in time to bring both arms into play as she pounced -

The impact was deceptively soft, but he stood no chance. The momentum of the strike knocked them both sideways, both twisting for the optimum position to land in; she held him close and let them roll, his weight moving on top of her as he fought to pull free, to hold her down, but she knocked one of his elbows out and pushed at the same time, spinning him round to rest on his back and slamming a forearm down over his throat to -

"I win!" Awen said brightly. "I'm bored, Sovereign."

Gwilym burst out laughing, one arm snaking around her waist and hugging her tightly. There was a pause, and then he managed to work the other free from between them, and it joined its partner.

"Did you just hunt me, you psycho?" he asked, richly amused. Awen grinned.

"Yes," she said, taking her forearm off his throat and resting it by his head instead. Her hair cheerfully fell forward, and got in the way. "It was fun. However, my official Union disclaimer is that it was a training exercise only and no actual harm or distress was in any way intended, and should not be inferred. Want to go again? Say yes! It'll be fun!"

"I really think you're mistaking how much fun you had for how much fun I had," Gwilym laughed, his pale eyes sparkling. "You're as crazy as ten bears, Awen."

"Ah, but ten fun bears," she said happily, sitting up. "You go out, count to ten and come back in, right?"

"And you'll be on top of the wardrobe this time?" Gwilym grinned, rising to his elbows. It was a good position; he was well-muscled across the shoulders, in Awen's view, possibly from all of the practice they'd once received on fishing boats. It had left its mark on him, certainly. He might not have had the muscular definition of a Rider, but the beginnings and the strength were definitely there. He was a nice... shape. "Am I going to regret returning your mental serenity?"

"Like nothing else," Awen assured him. "I'll accept if you want to leave. After you've gone out and come back in one more time."

"Before then?"

"I'd hunt you down and drag you back," Awen shrugged. "And I have underlings to help, you know, and they have to do as I tell them."

His hand rose, his fingers working into her hair at the base of her skull as he sat up, and Awen tried not to purr.

"You're massively unhinged," Gwilym said fondly, and kissed her. Awen sighed and melted into it, contentedly feeling the press of his body against hers, and she wished they could stay there forever -

The dread of what was coming soon flared up, and she pushed it forcefully aside. His lips slid from hers and she leaned her forehead against his and smiled.

"They're outside, you know," Gwilym said idly, his fingers caressing her scalp still. "Your Wing. If you want to see them."

"I suppose I should," Awen said, rolling her eyes. "Gods, underlings, eh? Maybe I can cut a corner and just ask Adara how the rest are."

"You can't, actually," Gwilym said. "Because, as masterful a plan as that is, it has one tiny little niggle; namely, it's reliance on Adara to be there. Which she's not."

"Oh, what?" Awen looked across at the door disgustedly. "Well, some Deputy she's turning out to be. Why the hell not?"

"She went to relieve the tension on her frazzled nerves by visiting Owain," Gwilym grinned. "In the way only a Rider can, I suppose."

"Yes, I suppose it's fair," Awen sighed gloomily. "I don't know, it just seems very self-centred."

"I doubt Owain agrees," Gwilym said dryly. "Want the rest of them in here? We have the power. We can make it happen."

"Typical Sovereign," Awen grinned. "It's all about power with you people, see?"

"Ha!" Gwilym said darkly. "Power. I told my chief clerk to get a sense of humour. So far his progress has been to produce one line that, if viewed from a different angle, was just another disapproving suggestion."

"But he's really very good at disapproving suggestions," Awen shrugged. "It makes sense for that to be the source of his humour at first. You'll just have to be patient, Sovereign."

"Easy for you to say," Gwilym said morosely. "You don't have to run a City-state with him. You know the worst thing? I wouldn't mind if he'd just give me useful suggestions, you know? Things of vital import that I need answers to! Instead, he's all, 'Oh, this is how we short-change the people we lead' and 'Look sire, a completely disgusting cloak you have to wear'."

"That is a problem," Awen laughed. "What do you need answers to, then?"

"Revolutions!" Gwilym said, aggrieved. "What do I do if my people revolt and come to shred me?"

"Shave your beard off and join in," Awen said promptly. "Be charismatic enough to become leader of the resistance. Take joy in the looks on their faces as they discover naught but an empty Residence, and then if you play your cards right they'll put you back on the throne."

There was a pause.

"You have a twisted genius, Awen," Gwilym said, admiringly. "That would actually work, I feel! And that's my new policy in such an event. Thank you."

"You're very welcome," Awen said indulgently. "It's almost worth starting a revolution now, isn't it? On a slow day, you know, not much else to do."

"I shall order Watkins to incite the masses," Gwilym nodded. "And... um... send my Riders on holiday to Caerleuad. Well, it's an hour, isn't it?"

"Speaking of which," Awen said quietly. The nerves flooded back adruptly, gripping at her heart and throat, and she swallowed. "How much time is left, now?"

Technically, as she was sitting on his lap she was actually above him; but it didn't matter. Gwilym had the most amazing way of holding her until she felt safe. She relaxed into his arms, her eyes sliding closed, and she savoured the feeling of him breathing against her.

"Five and a half minutes," he said softly, his voice warm. "And I imagine not a moment more after the trick I pulled with Eifion."

"He'll be outside the door with a bucket of cold water ready and waiting," Awen agreed, and sighed. She didn't want it to end. It was stupid, but the total uncertainty as to what was going to happen next clawed at her more painfully than riding into battle - that, at least, was something she could partly decide, something she could do something about. But she had no idea what would happen next now. She'd thought she was going to die. Now it was a mere option.

Whereas being with Gwilym was... a reprieve, from everything. She couldn't hide from him. He made her honest. It was addictive.

"My sister threw a bucket of cold water over me once," Gwilym said conversationally. "Accidentally, like. I think she was aiming for my brother, and I walked in the way. Then she was angry with me for getting in the way."

"Took after your grandmother, I feel," Awen said without thinking about it. "Although without the psychosis."

Fortunately, he laughed rather than throwing her out for mentioning his murdered family in such tones, and then pushed her gently back down onto the bed, on her back.

"My grandmother wasn't psychotic," Gwilym laughed, kissing her forehead. "She was just evil. There's a difference. Want me to bring your Wing in?"

"Do you mind?" Awen asked nervously. "If you want to just -"

"Awen," Gwilym said, rolling his eyes. "Really. I love you. That Wing is part of that package."

He was ridiculously good, Awen thought as she watched him happily pull a pair of trousers back on and amble across to the door. Who embarked on a new relationship with nine extra people at once? Well; eight now, of course, but if Owain had grown old after three promotions and died in the songs as one of Cymru's most beloved Councillors Gwilym would clearly have happily counted him in as well. And it wasn't like they didn't all come with terrible emotional issues. And semi-frequent homicidal instability.

"Okay," Gwilym announced, pulling the door open. "Good news, you eight! You've all won a competition to come and see Awen in her natural habitat, although heads up, she's sort of in a hunty mood."

"Well, yes," Adara's voice said, preceding its owner through the door and confirming that she'd returned from Owain. Awen grinned and sat up. "You got off mildly with the drawing, you see."

And then she was in the room, and her eyes met Awen's, and the bantering comeback died between them in the emotion. Awen wasn't really aware of jumping off the bed towards her; she saw Adara's arms reaching out for her and the next thing she knew she was holding her so tightly it must have hurt, but Adara simply clung to her back, the leather of her uniform cold against Awen's skin. And gods it felt good to touch her again, to draw from that well of support. She closed her eyes against the tears that threatened and buried her face into Adara's shoulder, breathing in the smell of her hair -

"I missed you," Awen whispered, and felt the very slight tremor that suggested that maybe, just maybe, Adara of all people was trying not to cry as well. Other people were moving closer now, crowding in. "I'm - I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

"Fine," Adara said, her voice choked but smiling. "Really, I could not be better. Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Awen grinned, and the hysteria bubbled up again as it had so many times in the last week, making her giggle. "Yeah, I'm good -"

And then she was laughing too hard to really talk, because Adara joined in and made it worse. Breathing abruptly became difficult for them both, and they broke apart slightly, still holding onto each other but now with an inch between them, at least. Awen fought the laugh away and leaned her forehead against Adara's, dizzily.

"I missed you," she said again, more strongly this time. "All of you."

"Well, then, don't do it again, you crazy," Adara said sternly, brushing Awen's hair back. "Next time, remember it's not your fault. I suspect it'll be Meurig next time, by the way."

"Hey!" Meurig squalked indignantly. "What? Why -?"

"No, she's right," Llŷr sighed despondently. "And then Caradog. As a Wing we're just a Rubbish Men Special."

"But it will definitely be Tanwen before you," Awen said encouragingly. "Cheer up, menfolk!"

"But why me next?" Meurig said plaintively as Caradog calmly pulled Awen bodily out of Adara's arms as though she weighed less than paper and crushed her to his chest, wordlessly. "I'm so charming and fun."

"No you're not," Tanwen said, rolling her eyes. "Only Eluned thinks that, because she's too nice to think otherwise."

"I'll have you know there are times he annoys me," Eluned said matter-of-factly. "So who's between Tanwen and Caradog?"

"Llio, definitely."

"Am not!"

"Are too."

"Really, I think Adara has to be pretty high. She's a psycho."

"Would you let that go, now?"

"No! He's right! Clearly Adara will be next -"

"Wait, before Meurig?"

"No."

"Yes!"

"No, definitely not."

"Are you okay?" Awen murmured softly to Caradog. She felt his sigh rumble through his enormous chest, and stroked his shoulder.

"I will be," he said quietly. Which meant normal volume. "It just - that scared me, Awen."

"I know," she said guiltily. "I'm sorry."

"Hmm." His grip tightened briefly, which in Caradog's arms was no joke. "I won't beg you never to do it again, Leader, because - you had to, I know, and it was the right thing to do. But... can't you warn us next time? Or something?"

"No," she said softly. "Because that would have made you accessories to it, and I wasn't taking you all with me. Sorry."

He rested his forehead against the top of her head and sighed again.

"I wish you weren't this good," he muttered. She didn't have chance to respond, though, because then Llŷr was there and pulling her away, and then Tanwen, and then Eluned and Meurig while Llio hopped from foot to foot impatiently and then Cei, and then finally they all broke apart, and Awen could see just how lost they were all feeling behind the smiles. The uncertainty was taking its toll on them, too, she thought. But she couldn't erase it. They were lost together.

The bedroom door clicked shut, and they all turned to see Gwilym striding back, smiling.

"Right!" he said merrily. "We have just shy of three minutes, and then Councillor Rhydian - who is patiently waiting outside, by the way - is moving in. Good news! No Eifion!"

"Hooray!" Llio said brightly. "I brought the make up, we'll need to touch you up -"

"You heard him say three minutes?" Awen said incredulously; but Adara was already pushing her back towards the bed, officially Taking Over as only Adara could.

"Just shy of," she said briskly. "So get going, Llio. Awen, sit, don't argue. Who brought clothes?"

"Everyone," Awen said flippantly. "I can tell because they aren't naked."

"Oh look, it's A Laugh A Line With Awen," Adara sniffed. "Llŷr, sort her clothes out. Sovereign, are there such mundane things as combs in this inordinately large and fancy room, or have you only been given ornamentation?"

"And hankies," Gwilym told her solemnly, ambling away to a drawer. "So many hankies. But I think I saw - oh, no, just socks. Hang on..."

There was a slight pause, while Llio appeared like magic before Awen's eyes and very carefully started examining her left cheekbone where Rhydian had hit her in the cells, while Cei serenely started laying out the brushes and pots. Eluned climbed onto the bed behind her and happily started detangling her hair.

"Ooh, not too bad," Llio said cheerfully, selecting the softest brush. "It's already mostly faded, and we can work with it to highlight your cheekbones. You'll look slightly more exotic than normal, probably, but that's fine."

"This bedroom is a big inefficient," Adara's voice proclaimed across the room.

"Tell me about it," Gwilym said, aggrieved. "Hang on, what's this one?"

"Right, keep still!" Llio chirped, and the brush whispered softly across the bruised cheekbone, avoiding hurting rather ably. "Meurig, is there any blue or green in there?"

"Blue or green?" Awen repeated. "I thought you said exotic, not reptilian."

"The tiniest amount on the other side to act as a low-light," Llio shrugged. "It's artistic."

"What about her eyes?" Caradog asked, peering at Awen's face. She tried not to squirm. "They're smudged. Do we have time to start again?"

"Nope," Llio said. She took the pot of green pigment from Meurig and very carefully lowered the brush so minutely to the surface of the powder that Awen could have sworn she only picked up three grains before sweeping it onto the other cheekbone, satisfied. "We'll smudge it more and make it smokey, it's fine."

"Combs! Yes!"

"A victory for proper bedroom planning! Eluned, catch."

"Adara got to go and play with Owain," Tanwen said, sitting at Awen's feet. "Can we?"

"Maybe later, if you're good," Awen said mildly. "But not you, Caradog. You have to go last."

"Hey!" Caradog exclaimed indignantly. "Why? What did I do?"

"Caradog," Awen said, pained. "Other people will want their turn, boy. You won't leave anything for anyone else to enjoy. You have to go last."

"That is fair," Llŷr said reasonably, sitting next to Tanwen on the floor with a pile of folded clothes on his lap. He'd gone for something quick, Awen noted, so it wasn't a uniform; instead he held what looked like a pair of blue and green checked linen trousers and a woollen top of some kind, things that she could easily pull on in - she glanced at the clock - a minute. "Also, you rush things."

"Shut up," Caradog said good-naturedly. Llio changed brushes and started on Awen's eyelids, helped by Cei. "I'm just naturally enthusiastic, you moron. Awen said."

"Did I?" Awen said. "There's diplomatic."

"Almost as diplomatic as sitting naked on the pointlessly lavish four-poster bed of a Sovereign," Adara said silkily, helping Eluned with the combs. "And he just told me about you pouncing on him, Awen. I'm extremely disappointed and unsurprised."

"I was bored," Awen grinned. "And he said he'd let me do it again."

"You'll find I did not," Gwilym declared. "But I accept that it's a risk. It's fine, you know, I'm really good at dressing."

"No!" Adara said. "It needs to be done, now! Keep going, Caradog!"

"Guys," Awen giggled. "Stop accosting the nice Sovereign."

"You'd better leave, then," Cei remarked, and he and Llio both sat back. "I think they're even."

"So do I!" Llio said happily. "What next?"

"Clothes," Adara announced. "Argh! Twenty seconds! Cease your banters and move, everyone!"

"Good grief, she's efficient," Gwilym murmured as suddenly Awen found clothes appearing on her body in a flurry of limbs and haste. "Please never give Watkins any pointers. I just couldn't handle it."

"You just point and shout," Adara advised him, as finally everyone stopped decorating her and stepped back. "And call people adjectives. It always seems to work for me."

"It's the adjectives," Awen grinned. "It confuses people into obedience. That, and she once removed a man's head with her bare hands."

"You did what?" Gwilym said, incredulously, and Adara threw her hands up.

"Can we please stop saying that?" she said, exasperated -

Someone knocked at the door, a knock Awen knew well, and she flinched before she could stop herself, the dread and the sick feeling of nausea rising up again. The Wing fell quiet, turning to look at it alertly, and Awen smiled. They'd all fallen into defensive poses, she noted. Caradog had even moved in front of her.

"Stand down, would you?" she said wryly, ignoring her heart hammering at her ribcage. "Look at yourselves, honestly."

"I don't know," Gwilym said doubtfully, striding over to the door as they all moved abashedly back. "It could always be Mental Uncle Dara, you see - Councillor! That's alright, then."

"That's the warmest welcome I've had into someone's bedroom for years," Rhydian said easily, marching on in. Alone, Awen noted, her mind suddenly on overtime to absorb the details. No one else with him, and a file in one hand with the big 'Classified' stamp on the front she knew so well, and his stride and smile easy and free while, of course, giving nothing away...

"My mother raised me to be polite-like," Gwilym grinned, closing the door. He was, Awen realised, fully dressed including torque once again. Caradog was good. "It's why I keep thanking Awen for saving my life every time she does it, even though she therefore suspects I may be a bit simple."

"Just half Erinnish," Awen shrugged, which mercifully Gwilym laughed at. She would have no idea if it had been a good joke or not until she mentally reviewed the conversation later - right now, she was far too nervous to tell. Rhydian grinned, and actually Saluted her.

"You're looking well!" he told her merrily as Awen returned the Salute cautiously. "Curiously so. And on the subject of which, Sovereign, I understand you halted Councillor Eifion before the end of his time?"

They locked eyes, both men managing to exude surprised innocence except for the unwavering gaze.

"Not at all, Councillor," Gwilym said, his tone the very essence of someone sad to learn they may have been misinterpretted. "You told me to count out five minutes, and told me to start."

"Did I?" Rhydian asked, vaguely astonished, apparently. "What did I say?"

"You said 'Five minutes, Sovereign. Off you go'," Gwilym told him. "I assumed you meant I was to begin the countdown."

"Bless you, no!" Rhydian said merrily in a passable imitation of Marged. "I simply meant you were supposed to leave."

"Oh I see," Gwilym said sorrowfully. "I do apologise, Councillor."

"Never mind," Rhydian told him. "Human error! We'll just have to be clearer next time."

There was a pause as their gazes remained locked for a moment more, and then Rhydian turned abruptly away and back to Awen, his expression back to its easy-going mask. Behind him, Gwilym clearly tried not to grin.

"Right then!" Rhydian said energetically, striding forward. "Sit, all of you. Particularly you, you're far too tall."

"Sorry, Councillor," Caradog grinned. They all sat where they were, mostly on the floor. Awen perched on the edge of the bed. Suddenly, she felt calm again; the same sense of alert tranquility she got before battle. This was it, then. No more waiting. She hated waiting.

"Now then," Rhydian said. "In a minute I'm taking you back to the Great Hall, we're just waiting to clear the hallways a bit. You've made yourself quite the fanclub, you know. You may need to sign autographs."

"Have I?" Awen asked, astonished. "Why?"

"Because you were right," Rhydian shrugged nonchalently. "And you called Gwyn a big girl's blouse, and he's been a bit dour and unpopular at people recently, so you know. Reflected karma. Here. This is the part I can't shout at you for publicly."

He passed her the file, and Awen automatically took it and started reading, the familiarity of the situation comforting. It was entitled 'Council Restructuring'. She raised an eyebrow.

"Gosh," she said. Rhydian snorted.

"Yes," he said idly. "Although it's not quite that dramatic, mind. It's more to do with the Low Council. We're adding ten new faces to the ranks, for - well, it's on the first page, you can see why."

...mostly to adapt the Intelligencer Network. Each new Councillor will have been an Intelligencer and will become the liaison, with the aim of having one Low Councillor per City-state within eight years' time. Until then each Liaison Officer will have to cover two or three City-states each. Their function will be...

"This is because of me?" Awen guessed.

"Ha!" Rhydian grinned. "Of course it is. Try not to fall apart again, would you? Restructuring the politics of a country around one person who isn't meant to affect it in the first place makes an astonishing amount of paperwork. Gwenllian is not best pleased."

"I can imagine," Awen sighed sadly. She passed the file back, and Rhydian happily tucked it under one arm.

"Now," he said briskly. "Keep that in mind as we go, please, since I can't remind you of it in front of everyone. And now we're going to the Great Hall. Come on."

They were having to restructure the Council because of her. It was incredibly embarrassing, really, although Awen found she couldn't feel too bad about it. The gods only knew it was necessary, and it would definitely make Ioan's life easier now that he'd be taking over in Casnewydd. Which he must have been.

Rhydian pulled the door open and strode out, his authority dragging her along after him. Awen quickly sprang to keep up, the Wing all filing along behind her. Outside, the Aberystwyth Sovereign's Quarters were filled with random people by now, far more than Awen had yet seen in them under ordinary circumstances; servants and clerks all seemed to be very slowly wandering past, suddenly, cleaning things that in no way needed cleaning or scribbling notes onto pads without actually looking at the paper. Instead, they all seemed to be very badly disguising the fact that they were trying to stare at her, wide-eyed and fascinated. It made her feel deeply uncomfortable. She ignored them and focused on Rhydian's back instead.

"Right," he said quietly over his shoulder as they paused to open the main doors. "We've told them all not to bow to you because you won't like it, but people do love to get carried away, so brace yourself."

"'Them all'?" Awen repeated, startled. "How many are we talking - ?"

"Quite a few, quite a few," Rhydian grinned and pulled the door open into a corridor whose edges had become a solid wall of people, held back at intervals by Riders. Awen stared, horrified. "Ah, excellent! Fewer than before. They must have gone to the Great Hall."

"Are you alright?" Gwilym chuckled in her ear as Rhydian strode forward and away. Awen stumbled after him, trying not to look at anyone.

"Well," she said evenly, "I knew I was going to be punished. It's just more of the same, that's all."

"Flyn would have thought the opposite, you know," Adara said idly. "Because he was a great big ego."

"Yes, well." They turned a corner, and Awen found it was possible for the corridors to be even more packed. "It's the first time I've ever actually said this sentence, but I'm not Flyn."

"And I for one am grateful," Gwilym remarked, and in spite of how deeply unnerved she was with the situation Awen laughed, and suddenly the tension melted away from her. They were a shocked crowd, that was all. She could take that. She straightened her back, and lifted her chin, and moved forward.

"I owe Madog a pint now," she remembered thoughtfully. "He bet me I'd get purified."

"You didn't accept," Rhydian said without looking round, proving once and for all that he knew every conversation in the country. "But Dylan did."

"Oh, typical good-for-nothing Dylan," Adara said disgustedly. "Whereas Madog - also known as good-for-something Madog - has done himself proud."

"There's a nickname," Awen grinned. "I'll shout that at the Saxons next time. Although I doubt it'll have the same ring."

"As what?" Gwilym asked, amused. "What did you shout last time?"

"'Alpha Wingleader'," Awen shrugged. "They did not like that, I can tell you."

Rhydian laughed, not breaking stride, the sound immensely satisfied, and Gwilym smirked and shook his head. Awen recognised the expression. It was his 'Ah, Riders are so cute' face. She smacked him in the arm for it, and ignored his snigger.

There was a brief reprive from the crowds as they reached the Spiral Stairs and ascended a floor, probably because few Riders were willing to let people mill about on staircases when it presented such a large health and safety risk, but they were back in force again as they rejoined the corridors and were so thick around the Great Hall that the final few metres involved Rhydian actually pushing people out of the way. As they got to the doors, Awen felt the nerves kick at her again. What was going to happen next, anyway? Execution? Demotion to Guard? Tutor? Probably not, they wouldn't want her warping new generations of Riders, and she'd set a terrible example -

The doors swung open as the fanfare sang out, making Gwilym wince, and before she'd had chance to ready herself Rhydian was striding forward and Awen was hastily following, ignoring how clammy the palms of her hands had suddenly become...

The Hall was packed. It had been slightly filled beyond capacity earlier, too, but now it wouldn't have surprised her to have looked up and seen Riders forming human ladders over the balconies to watch. Every Sovereign was back, and every druid and every bard, and every member of the Low Council - ah, including Gwyn, whom she really owed an apology - and apart from Rhydian every High Councillor was already seated and waiting, Gwenllian drumming her fingers on the desk while Eifion gave everything he could physically see a withering glare. And the atmosphere was charged. The air felt thick with emotion, hundreds of people all leaning forward to see better, all standing on their feet and watching, the sussurration of their voices a low background hum. Awen glanced around them all once, instinctively gauging her surroundings, and then focused on moving to the right part of the floor. So far, she hadn't had to look at anyone's face. Ideally she wanted that to continue.

"Right!" Rhydian said briskly. "To your seat if you would, Sovereign - you lot, go and stand to the side. Awen, over there. So everyone can see you."

"Councillor," Awen sighed, as they all scattered. The spot where the chair that held Lord Flyn had been, then, she noted with objective approval. So that, yes, everyone could see her clearly, but she was sufficiently close enough to the High Council that she had to look up to see them on the dais. It was very efficient. The bastard.

She reached it and stopped, standing up straight and waiting impassively as Rhydian rounded the dais and reclaimed his seat. Here they went, then. Her body was now reacting to the situation like it did to battle; suddenly her senses were working overtime, telling her of the cold stone floor beneath her feet, the sweat on her back, the slight, lingering ache in her shoulders that Haf hadn't entirely been able to remove, the crowded presence of people around her, the continued muttered whispering, the faint scrape marks on the stones where the chair had been dragged away -

Rhydian stood.

"Sit," he commanded, and everyone in the room sat. Even Awen felt her knees bend. Rhydian smiled.

"Thank you," he said, his voice clear. "Now. Rider. Do you remember your Oaths?"

Ouch.

"Yes, Councillor," Awen returned neutrally. Gratifyingly she sounded completely steady. Rhydian nodded.

"Loyalty to the Union and to Cymru," he said. "Remember that bit?"

"Yes, Councillor."

"By all means," Rhydian said, waving a hand. "Explain your position on that."

"In an ideal world the two are interchangeable," Awen said. Her heart was hammering at her now. She gripped one wrist behind her back to hold herself steady. "But the Union is sadly not infallible, and ultimately the loyalty of any Rider is to Cymru, not an organisation."

"Not infallible?" Rhydian asked mildly. Awen groaned mentally. What did he want? Was she supposed to start shouting at Gwyn again?

"For all our strengths we're human, Councillor," she said, clinging to her neutral tone with both hands. "The Union included. And don't misunderstand me; I think the Union is an incredible institution that has done - and still does - an astonishing job at maintaining peace and order across a whole country without sacrificing freedom. And I personally don't consider it to have misstepped before. But if it does I think, therefore, that it's vitally important that someone corrects it."

"That someone being you?" Rhydian asked.

"This time," Awen allowed.

"Indeed?" Rhydian raised an eyebrow. "You wouldn't do it again?"

"I'd hope I wouldn't have to," Awen returned, wondering if she'd get away with a side-step. Probably not -

"But if you did?"

Damn. "Then yes, Councillor," Awen said quietly. "If I had to, and I were the best-placed person to do so, yes. I'd do it again."

"One feels compelled to point out, then," Rhydian said, steepling his fingers beneath his chin, "that you're as human as we are, Rider. For all of your considerable strengths. You felt we were wrong. Who's to say you were right about that?"

There was a pause.

"That was the risk," Awen agreed softly. "No one, Councillor. No one at all."

"Really?" He watched her for a moment, letting the loaded silence in the Hall stretch out. "That's it? That's your defence?"

"There's no other answer I can give," Awen said, smiling slightly. "Councillor, we're talking about the complexities of the human dynamic. Without meaning to become too philosophical, it's all ultimately subjective. All I can tell you is that it wasn't a decision I undertook lightly. And I took no pride in it. But yes; I'd do it again. Because within the boundaries of Union teaching and belief - if that's the framework of reference that we use - a very grave mistake was about to be made."

A quiet muttering broke out around the Hall as Rhydian watched her impassively. Awen stayed still, and held his gaze as clearly as she could. Where on earth was this going? She couldn't work it out. Everyone just looked serious or thoughtful or a mixture of the two; it was impossible to get a fix on prevailing opinion. Was she being given all the rope she wanted, here? Was that the point?

Mererid leaned forward, and Awen tried not to feel like she was fifteen again as she met her gaze.

"Rider," she said. She sounded stern, but she always did. "Could you summarise, for the benefit of those who weren't present in our previous meeting, what you consider that mistake to have been?"

"Without shouting at Gwyn," Gwenllian broke in, grinning, and ignored the Look she got from Rhydian. Awen winced, and quickly thought.

"It's a matter of subversion," she said at last. "Albeit unintentional. The purpose of the Union has always been to maintain the line between right and wrong. For everyone, on every level, but particularly politically speaking, because that's the level where the most damage can be done to society by the fewest people. Lord Flyn did things that no one, ever, should be allowed to do. And you were going to allow that."

"With conditions," Eifion broke in, his voice hard, and for the first time in her life Awen raised her chin and met his eye directly.

"Councillor, if the society is broken there is no point in defending it," she said clearly, hearing the words echo through the room. "If we aren't capable of maintaining ourselves as something good, something worthwhile, something better for longer than a fifty year stretch before the next self-inflicted war, then frankly, we should just take the border down now and bow the Saxons in. Because clearly, we don't deserve our independence."

And Eifion was frozen, staring at her transfixed, his eyes boring into her. Rhydian leaned forward carefully, and Awen looked at him instead with almost manic internal gratefulness. Somewhere inside her, her Inner Awen was screaming and throwing things at her. She didn't even have an excuse this time.

"Your view is that our society would have been broken?" Rhydian said neutrally.

"Compromised," Awen said. "You would have compromised it, and that invariably leads to destruction, yes. That would have destroyed public faith in the Union, and Riders in general. It would have told all Sovereigns, Nobles, Mayors and other positions of power that any schemes they wished to embark upon would not be stopped, whether Riders learnt of them or not. And it would have rather neatly informed all visiting envoys and therefore the wider world in general that Cymru is not the well-protected nation everyone, including ourselves, previously believed."

"Yes," Rhydian said, mildly. "I think you're right. Arguably, of course, that damage is now done anyway."

"I'd argue not," Awen said swiftly. She'd thought of that, and very much needed to make this point. "It was a split vote for one thing; but, more importantly, it was a misstep from the Union that was corrected by a Rider, not an external source. And if it isn't me next time, it will be someone else, Councillor."

"Very well." Rhydian glanced around the room quickly, the assembled crowds in the balcony, and then fixed his gaze on her. "Rider. You disobeyed several direct orders today and overturned an immensely important ruling in your nation's history, thereby placing yourself in direct control of the country's political direction - something which, as a Rider, you are expressly forbidden to do. Accordingly you will be stripped of rank and title and removed from the post of Alpha Wingleader -"

Good gods that hurt. It was like being punched. She'd been expecting it - she'd known it would happen, for gods' sakes, it would have been impossible to have gone back to her nice, comfortable life after this, and it had been unlikely anyway after Owain given how good Ioan's Wing was - but she very nearly recoiled physically. She loved being Alpha Wingleader. It was everything to her, and everything she'd definied herself by for so long -

People were talking, Awen realised, and forced herself to pay attention and get her breathing back under control. Everyone in the room seemed to be talking at once, not like an angry mob but just... talking to each other about it. Everyone had an opinion on it, it seemed. Rhydian raised an arm, and the noise stuttered to a halt.

"Rider," he said, still professionally shorn of emotion. Awen looked up at him, numbly knowing that she looked the same. "Your response?"

Maybe I'll stop crying myself to sleep three years from now, Awen thought, but there was an edge of suspicion creeping through the bitter haze. Rhydian was not normally sadistic. She bit back the pain, and considered an appropriate answer.

"I expected it, Councillor," she said neutrally, but apparently she wasn't allowed to side-step anything today.

"And are you happy with it?" he asked searchingly. She took a deep breath, and felt its loss. The automatic 'Yes, Councillor' died in her throat, unsaid.

"No," Awen said, steadily, her eyes on his hands instead of his face. "But I accept it."

"Good," Rhydian said, and sat up. "Now; concerning the matter of the Union and its actions earlier today, Rider, we find that your arguments are distressingly accurate. Where we should have acted with no mercy or hesitation we... compromised." A wry smile quirked his mouth, and he nodded to her. "And you're correct. A Union that does so endangers Cymru more than all of Saxonia. We have become what we swore we would defend against."

"I said that?" Awen said, alarmed. Gwenllian almost cackled.

"It was brilliant!" she said gleefully. "I made notes, I've got them somewhere..."

"You did," Rhydian said, giving Gwenllian another Look. "And you were right. There are things that, living here in the Union and away from the people of Cymru, we've perhaps lost sight of. And, of course, society will change. It does so away from us."

He regarded her for a moment more and then stood, elliciting immediate silence from the few people who had still been whispering to each other. Gwenllian stopped looking for her notes, even. Awen swallowed, and waited.

"We need someone to set us straight again," Rhydian declared, calmly and authoritatively into the silence. "To make sure the Union becomes what it should be again. You'll be promoted to Low Councillor immediately, with a mandate to -"

He didn't get any further, because this time the noise was deafening, people around the room and on their feet apparently thrilled with the proceedings and Awen didn't hear a single word of it. It felt like the bottom had dropped out of her stomach, or maybe just the world itself; the shock gripped her, shearing away any emotional response she might have had and leaving her incapable of doing anything but stare completely blankly at Rhydian. Their eyes met for a long moment, and then he started talking again, his voice completely lost under the furore.

"Well, as you can still see my mouth," he said, as Awen read the words straight off his lips. "You're a Liaison Officer, obviously. And you're covering Casnewydd, Wrecsam and Aberystwyth for now." His lips spread into a grin suddenly. "And you get to keep the Sovereign, obviously. As long as he'll have you."

Responses lined themselves up in her head, got bored as she didn't say them and left again. Rhydian laughed gleefully, watching her.

"But you weren't expecting this," he said, amused.

"No," Awen whispered, almost to herself. No, no she hadn't expected... this. It... no. No, she hadn't.

She couldn't feel her skin anymore. Was that bad? Was that a bad sign? Although, she'd noticed she couldn't feel her skin anymore, that was progress from a few moments ago at least -

Rhydian plucked a sheet of paper from the table in front of him and held it out, and Awen moved on autopilot to take it, her legs moving as though they'd forgotten what knees were. She took the page and stared at it blankly for a moment, until her brain got bored of waiting and started reading without her. It meant she was about halfway down the page before the content registered, and then she had to go back and do it again -

Masarnen Wing Promotion Status: Approved.

All members hereby promoted to Approval Officers, with licence to apply for any other positions they wish. Mandate to include the training, examining and certification of Wings and individual Riders of all ages once training is complete; age group specialisms are welcome. Primarily to be based in the Union but with frequent trips to the home Cities of the Wings under review to conduct examinations of prowess in a known environment -

Awen stopped reading, and placed a hand against the dais to hold herself up. All of them approved! They were staying together! And oh, Caradog was going to be pleased; he spent at least half his free time at home challenging random Riders to fights, now he got to do it as a job -

She glanced across the Hall to them where they were ecstatically jumping all over each other and hugging each other and - Awen's eyes narrowed - crying, at least in Llŷr's case. She was definitely going to call him a girl in a minute. Adara probably already had.

It was soothing, and helped to push aside some of the numbness. If he was as happy as he looked, actually, Caradog was going to be pretending he had something in his eye in a moment, Awen thought, moving back to her original position as Rhydian began the long call for silence. And Llio would be crying unabashedly because she had 'sweet' stamped on her forehead anyway, and Eluned would be jumping up and down a lot, and Adara wouldn't have stopped talking. And -

Good gods. She was a Councillor.

How the hell had that happened?

"If you could all wait until later to loudly shout your opinions?" Rhydian called above the noise, and it slid into being quieter not entirely instantly. He lowered his hands again as it died down to a mere background hum and nodded. "Thank you," he said, and smiled. "Which largely concludes this meeting. As I say, the posting is effective immediately so you'll need to go and sort out a new uniform next, after which I'll see you in my office. Dismissed, everyone."

He Saluted her.

"And thank you, Councillor," he said.

Cymru - Chapter 53

Having spent ages trying to write the next part of this story and it just not happening, I on a whim yesterday thought I should put the information I was shoehorning in into a different chapter for Madog to react to. Suddenly, I managed to write a chapter. Funny how these things work. It's fairly short, but gods damn it I just wanted it up so I could write the next bit now, so here it is. Enjoy, losers.



MADOG

Dylan was practically clawing at the Council Chamber door like an abandoned puppy by the time Madog quietly eased himself out through them, trying not to disturb the incredibly important conversation within. It was so embarrassing, Madog reflected. The ante-chamber was fairly large, and currently lined with unnerved-looking Riders of all levels, talking quietly to each other through the shock and trying to work out which way was up; but Dylan was totally irreverent. As the door clicked softly shut again he leapt forward, fuelled by his frustrated desire for knowledge, and made a spirited attempt to seize Madog by the lapels, a move only thwarted by his not wearing any. It meant he ended up gripping Madog's shoulders and pinning him to the door instead.

"For the love of gods, what is happening?" he all but screamed. Madog blinked. "Eifion's taken her! Where! Why! What's going on?!"

"I..." Madog stared at him for a moment, the wildly untameable hair, the frantically roving eyes, the still-haunting scarring, and sighed. He pulled Dylan into a hug, ignoring the tension. "Indulge me for a moment."

Dylan's response was an interesting half-mewl, half-hiss of frustration, but he did as he was told, his forehead dropping petulantly to Madog's shoulder before his entire body went still. Madog stared blankly across the ante-chamber, not seeing the Riders as they all watched him hopefully for news. Awen's speech had shaken him to the core. He'd spent the last few days already thinking she was beyond amazing at this job; now he knew she was. And... she'd been right. And he'd known that. And he could never have done that.

"What's happening?" Dylan pleaded. He'd probably never been this out of the loop before, Madog thought. "What did she say? What did they say? What are they saying now?"

"She said they'd failed Cymru," Madog said, astonished.

"What?"

"She said she'd saved it from them because they were about to turn us into our worst nightmare," Madog carried on, dazedly. The chamber had gone silent, everyone listening, and he realised the door was open and his words were carrying into the hall beyond, and the ears of the crowds out there. Dylan had frozen in his arms. "She said they'd forgotten whose side they were on. And that they were letting Flyn stay because it was easier and they didn't want to fight. And that they'd done so in front of the Audience envoys, who were going to go home and tell the world that the Union was weak and ineffective, so they'd know they could now try attacking Cymru. And that... that they'd damaged Cymru more than the Saxons ever could, and that the Council had become as bad as Saxons."

"Good gods," someone said faintly. Dylan very nearly wrestled himself free and stood back a step, staring at Madog. It was such unexpected behaviour that Madog nearly just stared back at him blankly, but he caught himself in time. Everyone was shocked. Everyone was expecting someone in authority to take charge and tell them what to do; but he knew for a fact that every Coucillor was currently sitting in the room behind him asking themselves where they went wrong and each other what to do next. Which meant the Alpha Wingleader collar was the only authority anyone was going to see for a bit. He couldn't afford to fall apart.

With an effort, Madog pulled himself back together, and watched with immense pride as Dylan visibly did the same, picking up his cue.

"That's the worst report ever, boy," Dylan sniffed. "But fine. What did they say?"

"Well, Gwyn made the classic error of telling her she didn't understand the threat the Saxons represent," Madog said wryly, and grinned as Dylan burst out laughing. Around them, the silent, nervy Riders started to calm down a bit, more fascinated than horrified. "To which Awen's response was to outline his easy career in which he never fought a day in his life. No one knew where to look."

"I'll bet," Dylan grinned evilly. "So? What else?"

"Well, once she'd finished they all basically agreed with her," Madog recounted, running a hand through his beard distractedly. "Except - funny story - you know that meeting you, Awen and Aerona had with Rhydian?"

He did, it seemed. Dylan's eyes roved the wall and doors behind Madog quickly.

"Thought so," he said solemnly. "That's why Eifion?"

"Yes," Madog said, shaking his head. "For five minutes."

"Say again?" Dylan's eyes whipped onto him, limiting their range to a brisk search of Madog's face only.

"Eifion gets five minutes with her," Madog said, savouring the sentence and all that it meant. "And then Lord Gwilym gets three hours, because Rhydian reckons he's the victim. While in the meantime... the Council try to work out what to do next."

"Ha!" Dylan shoved the fingers of both hands into the mass of curls on his head, looking on average up at the ceiling. "Right. Okay. What are they thinking? What's the debate so far?"

"Non-existant," Madog said grimly, glancing at the door. "They're just analysing her arguments at the moment. I think they're trying to get a grasp of how much damage control is needed."

"Yes," Dylan said, staring upwards. He seemed to be thinking fast. "Ha. Yes. Witnesses, that's the trouble. What they do next has to take that into account, so everyone gets the right impression. That's lame paint. She can't be Alpha Wingleader now."

"Can't she?" Madog asked, bewildered. "I think she's just proved she should never be removed from station ever again."

"Oh, Madog," Dylan said, patronisingly. "One day when you're older, you'll understand. Alpha Wingleaders are supposed to just seem noble and strong and as thick as planks, like you."

"Dylan," Madog said wearily. "I am certainly not above smacking you into a wall right now, intense situation or no."

"When are you?" Dylan asked morosely. "You abuse me so. I'm right, though, you dystopia. You aren't really meant to have a personality in your Sovereign's eyes, remember? You're just supposed to be a direct line to Union opinion. Now everyone knows Awen thinks like an individual and reads diaries and you're not allowed to do that because everyone says so. It's a damaged rep. No good for Alpha Wingleader."

"Damn." He hated it when Dylan was right. It encouraged him. Madog sighed, and rubbed his eyes. "Academic, though, I take it."

"If she's not purified," Dylan nodded, turning and scanning the silent crowds of Riders behind them for no reason Madog could fathom. "Yeah, she's dead in a few days. Limits the options, though, because whatever they do with her needs to be public and symbolic."

The world was watching, Councillors. And it would have to watch the consequences. Madog winced.

"What do you think, then?" he asked. "Hasten the execution?"

The ambient temperature dropped a few degrees.

"Maybe," Dylan said indifferently, waving a hand as though the whole thing was simply an academic exercise to him. Madog wasn't fooled. "Probs. Or make a big point of demoting her to somewhere quiet and out of the way of politics, somewhere in the Union itself. A Guard or something, like. It's a problem, though."

So were the Riders listening. He could feel the emotions, riding high on the words of their conversation, and they were Not Happy. Awen had forged a support structure out of every Rider in the country, it seemed, but it wasn't helping right now.

"You know, all you do is tell me problems these days," Madog said disapprovingly, putting his hands on his hips. "I thought getting a girlfriend would cheer you up."

"Oh, because I'm the realist," Dylan said, putting on his best put-upon, long-suffering tone. "Don't worry, Madog. You're a Wingleader, you're meant to be as thick as a pla-"

Smacking Dylan upside the head was always so satisfying, but it was even better than normal by dint of being Necessary For Public Morale. Madog grinned as Dylan yelped and leapt back, the tension in the room abruptly winding down a notch or two at their informality.

"I told you," he said sternly. "And I don't mind finding a runway to push you off. Now: what's the new problem you've decided on?"

"Madog!" Dylan rolled his eyes, rubbing the side of his head just out of arm's reach. "It's not my problem, plank boy! Gods, I hate you -"

"Dylan," Madog said evenly, his eyes on the ceiling, and Dylan huffed.

"Fine," he said, rolling his eyes. "Awen was right. That's the problem. Even if they demote her to show that they are Anti Alpha Wingleader Deviance, the reputation of the Union is still broken because they were willing to let Flyn go in the first place, like losers. Okay? Are we done? Can I go now?"

"No," Madog said automatically, but his heart wasn't in it. Dylan, damn his eyes, was right again. Awen couldn't stay as Alpha Wingleader now; they'd have to demote her. But if they did, it basically cemented the image of the Union being an intransigent corporation of idle bureaucrats who cared more about their own status than anything else...

"You're a loser, too," Dylan declared off-handedly. "I'm hungry, Adara ate all of my snacks. Can we go?"

"Certainly not," Madog said archly. "We're staying to learn the fate of our friend, you social reject."

And then his brain caught up and smugly underlined the word 'friend' a few times for him, and Madog felt old suddenly. She was a friend, he realised wearily. He'd never had one before. There were always other tags to apply, a hierarchical stage to observe, or just a lack of the correct shared affinity. But he liked Awen. She was a friend.

"I want everyone's assurances they heard that," Dylan was saying, looking around at the nervously-smiling Riders assembled in the room and watching them. "You all heard him call me a social reject, yes? Everyone heard that verbal abuse?"

"Of course they did," Madog said. "And they agreed. Now-"

"Move!"

The snarled fury of the voice echoed in from the corrider, sliding in through Madog's ears and freezing his blood, making his fingers clench involuntarily by his sides. All eyes snapped to the door into the hallway where the movement of Riders frantically getting out of the way arrived in a wave, and Dylan spun around and gripped Madog's arm, pulling him to one side of the door -

"Follow him in!" Dylan hissed as the angrily striding footsteps approached. "It's okay; go behind him, he won't notice you."

"In that mood?" Madog said, his voice low. "You think I'm risking that?"

"Then go now!" Dylan said. "Quick! Be in there already! We need to know what's happened!"

Bloody Dylan, Madog thought. Responding to him when he suggested plans with that urgency was a conditioned response, and it over-rode his fear of Eifion long enough that Madog found himself darting back to the door and slipping inside the Council Chamber just before Eifion himself arrived in the ante-chamber. Someone was talking, Madog noted over his hammering heart. It was a Low Councillor, whatever she was saying punctuated with an expressive arm gesture every three words, but he didn't listen. A few people looked his way as he grabbed the arm of the Guard Rider standing beside the door and pulled her quickly to one side, ignoring her startled, questioning look -

The door slammed open with a reverberating crash, slamming through the space the Guard had been standing and into the wall behind it, and Eifion strode in like the wrath of the gods, his rage lending him a youth and speed that didn't belong in his aged frame. He bore down on the dais holding the High Council like a hurricane, silencing the rest of the room.

"Thanks," the Guard Rider whispered, beside Madog, squeezing his arm, and then crept away to close the door again. He barely heard her, his eyes on Eifion. You watched Eifion when he was merely bored. Now he was incandescent.

"Eifion," Rhydian said carefully, leaning forward. "Is there - ?"

"He started counting," Eifion snarled, his eyes almost bulging, "while we were still here!"

The silence oozed.

"Ah," Rhydian said. No one else even breathed. "So -"

"So I hadn't started!" Eifion roared, flecks of saliva flying from his mouth, visible in the sunlight. "And yet he stopped me! And will you allow this?"

Dangerous, Madog thought dizzily. Rhydian was only tacitly in charge of the Council, not its actual head; challenging that now...

"No," Rhydian said calmly. "We'll speak with Lord Gwilym."

"Good," Eifion hissed, triumphantly, taking a step back toward the door. "I won't -"

"But there's a problem there, bach," Gwenllian said, leaning forward suddenly, and Madog found that, somehow, his chest could get tighter. "When you say you hadn't started, do you mean that -"

"One strike," Eifion said coldly, his pale eyes trained on her venomously and warningly. Gwenllian nodded.

"That's a start, see?" she said. "The sentence was passed that Lord Gwilym would time out five minutes. By the time you get back down there that'll be up, now."

The silence was toxic, and so thick it could have strangled a horse. Madog felt light-headed, and realised he hadn't breathed in a while. In his mind Gwenllian was suddenly lit up and surrounded by happy bluetits and blackbirds while flowers grew at her feet. Who went against Eifion? Good gods! She must have been semi-divine herself, Madog considered dizzily. She was just smiling serenely now, taking the full force of Eifion's lancing glare as he focused all of his hatred onto her, and -

Eifion drew himself up, the rage apparently converting into the cold of winter, and he stared at the Council for a long moment.

"I see," he said at last, and Madog tried not to shake at the sound. Eifion was terrifying beyond all reason, he felt. How Gwenllian wasn't fleeing the room was anyone's guess. "Then I suppose I shall have to be content with a caution for Lord Gwilym. Am I needed here?"

"You'd be invaluable," Rhydian said neutrally, lifting a page of notes and scanning it briefly. "We've a lot to discuss now, we could use a full High Council."

"Very well." Eifion walked back to the dais, his walk suddenly sedate and composed, but Madog could see the cold fury in every movement. Quickly, he darted back to the door, and before Eifion had retaken his seat to face the Chamber Madog slipped outside again, the relief as the door clicked closed behind him almost overpowering -

Dylan was standing two inches away from his face, watching him brightly.

"Well?" he asked chirpily. "Why anger happen?"

"I loathe you," Madog declared, and pushed Dylan away. "He only got to hit her once. Lord Gwilym counted from the point Rhydian told him to, apparently. For which he'll get a slap on the wrists, but that's it."

Dylan burst out laughing, and a low mutter rippled out across the room and into the corridor beyond.

"Owned!" Dylan crowed. "Oh, he's good, this one! And he said he couldn't do politics?"

"Repeatedly," Madog grinned. "He's a natural, I think. I give him ten years until everyone just votes him into being Monarch or whatever it was Flyn wanted anyway."

"Yeah," Dylan said contentedly, and turned to lean against the wall beside Madog, his pose the extremely relaxed state of a man who hadn't just been in a room with a wrathful Eifion. "So you know your Phoenician?"

"Would you stop calling him that?" Madog asked wearily, moving off the door and leaning back too. The focus had moved off them by now, he noted; the Riders in the room and beyond were all discussing Awen's rescue from Eifion's clutches in astonished mutterings, leaving Madog and Dylan to just stand around and Be Authoritative. "He has a name, you ingrate. What about him?"

"I found out what he wanted from his Audience," Dylan grinned, and Madog couldn't help but smile fondly. "You know sugar?"

"I'm aware of its existence," Madog shrugged.

"Well!" Dylan said emphatically. "He said he wanted to talk about beet sugar specifically to the Union, which I thought was odd because it's a boring conversation topic and they already trade small amounts of sugar here so what could he want -"

"I refuse to believe your reports to Rhydian are this bad," Madog interrupted. Dylan snorted.

"Only marginally clearer," he said, in a rare moment of complete honesty. "Now listen, young man. Sugar is a very expensive crop, and so the best stuff comes with a guarentee that it won't go rotting within a fortnight, right?"

"I believe you."

"Good, you should, I'm excellent. Now, Hannibal, turns out, owns a very successful company."

Madog thought of the silk ropes.

"He's very rich," he nodded thoughtfully.

"Yeah," Dylan grinned. "Except you're wrong. He's not very rich. He's very rich. Know why?"

"No?" Madog offered.

"Trading standards!" Dylan said gleefully. "He started with his sister, and they decided that the surest way to business success was to be different from the rest of the market, right? So people would remember them. So firstly: no slaves."

From the very beginning. Madog grinned.

"He did tell me he didn't approve of slave trading," he said reminiscently.

"He doesn't," Dylan confirmed. "His sister wrote a paper on the merits of free labour for a surrounding economy, apparently. And it worked out for them; trading in slaves is labour- and resource-intensive because, you know, feeding and that, so running commodity ships is faster and easier. And more lucrative, if you sell right. He clever man."

"He is," Madog said thoughtfully. "Okay. So what -?"

"Well," Dylan said, in the tone of a serial gossip. "There's the thing! That's only part of the mandate. No slaves, and high quality. They run a lot of food ships, and that's the back bone of the business because they're so good at it. They can put high guarentees on their food not rotting immediately. Do you know what a Phoenician trading city is?"

"Heard of them," Madog shrugged. "But - well, aren't they cities built in other countries? Run by Phoenicians, used as trading ports, built on foreign soil?"

"Yeah, largely," Dylan nodded, scanning the carpet. "They're what the Phoenician Empire is made of. They only have, like, three cities of their own. Their empire is commercial, see. Anyway; the idea is, they own the city and run it accordingly as a massive trading port. They have deals and things with the farmers and landowners and such that live around the city, so each one produces a few specific commodities that the Phoenicians will own and can then sell on, but then that's it. Phoenician city, foreign country. Which is strange to you and me, Madog, but it just goes to show it would be a funny old world if we were all alike."

"Stop feigning wisdom and finish the damn story," Madog told him. Dylan Saluted irreverently.

"Phoenicians have been asking to build a trading city in Cymru for centuries," he said. "We said no because we have no space and anyway, that was the Wars. We've been very territorial for a long time, because we're all very dominant and need castrating to calm us down. But Hannibal uses trading cities a lot because that's how he operates his produce business, see? See? He only transports any given foodstuff, like, two hundred miles or whatever. Less time at sea equals less time to rot. People pay him more money for the quality. Clever, see? Ahhh."

"Yes," Madog said cautiously. "But I'm positive you haven't yet explained -"

"No, I haven't, shut up," Dylan said. "He wants to sell sugar here, right? Sugar beet would grow in our soils. So, he wants a trading city here to do this."

"What?" Madog stared at him. "Surely he knows we'd never agree?"

"Of course he does," Dylan said, rolling his eyes. "So he hasn't asked for one. He's adapted it. Because, you see, what he cares about here is the sugar, not the city all to himself. So, he wants a trading scheme with a City - or town, as long as it has a port he's not picky - whereby he will give them his sugar beet and and plans for the processing to get the sugar and his brightest smile and maybe a quick session in bed with him since he's so highly recommended by you, and then they will sell it exclusively to him, for which he will never pay below minimum market price. And it's sugar, it's a good price. And then he sells it on. See?"

"Wait, so..." Madog stopped, thinking. "So he'd entirely control the Cymric sugar trade? We'd produce it, but couldn't sell it amongst ourselves without him?"

"Exactly!" Dylan said brightly. "Which literally doesn't matter, because it's sugar! It's a luxury additive that only Courts could afford anyway! Also, he'll be the one selling the excess on to Erinn or wherever. Good earner for him, excellent earner for the unemployed farmers and distillers of Port Talbot and Pen-y-Bont."

"Good gods." Madog thought about it. "That's... pretty good, actually. Will the Council say yes?"

"No," Dylan said. "Because they already have! Ha! Yeah, it's going ahead."

"I think I might throttle you," Madog told him conversationally, and received an unabashed grin. "Or maybe I'll just trade you in. The Councillors in there do not know which way is up at the moment. I'm sure they'd let me."

"Oh Madog," Dylan intoned. "But who would you cry to then?"

"Anyone else," Madog declared; but his eye was drawn, hawk-like, to the movement at the entrance to the corridor, and as he watched the petite figure of a Rider shouldered it's way surprisingly efficiently into the room -

"Aerona!" Dylan said brightly, standing up from the wall and reaching out to her. "Awesome! What's happened?"

"Massive news!" she exclaimed, bounding across and into his arms. She was out of breath, Madog noted, her eyes wide and filled with an irrepressible urgency. A silence in the assembled Riders had followed her in, and they all watched intently at her words. "Seriously! It's Awen -"

"Is she alright?" Madog found himself asking sharply, and Aerona barked an incredulous laugh, short and shocked.

"She's been purified!" she said, and the entire world crystallised around them all, transfixed on the impossibility of what Aerona had just said. "He did it! She's fine!"

The whispering began, spreading backwards from the room, and this time Eifion himself probably couldn't have stopped it.

"But... how?" Madog found himself asking blankly. "That's not... that's never happened before."

"I know!" Aerona said, and laughed, the sound of sheer relief. "And it was intensely traumatic, it really was. But it's done! She's safe again!"

"My gods." Madog stared at her. "That's incredible."

"Yeah," Aerona giggled. "The Wing are all there, anyway - oh, except Adara, who has gone to see Owain. We might need to hastily get approval for her, actually. But she's back to normal again now! Or, well, in one sense."

"Madog," Dylan said suddenly, his voice urgent, and Madog glanced at him. He was scanning the far wall, his scarred eyes lightning-quick as he thought, his grip on Aerona tight. "You have to go in there, right now, and tell them."

"Really?" Madog said, eyeing the door in trepidation. "With Eifion in that mood?"

"I know," Dylan said, and actually looked at him. "But you have to go and tell them! I think there's another option we haven't considered. But you have to tell them before they decide anything, quickly! Important, boy! Go!"

"Some days," Madog told Aerona levelly, "I can't quite work out which of us is in charge after all."

He put his hand on the door handle as she giggled and swallowed his nerves down.

"I hate you, Dylan," he muttered, and went in.

"... quite the issue," Rhydian was saying, his head in one hand. "It's the publicity of it, Gwen. It has to happen in front of everyone who was at that trial, back in the Great Hall, with all due ceremony and officiality, because it's going to be all about the message."

"Yes," Gwenllian said calmly. "I just think it has to be the right message in that case."

Gods, Eifion was looking at him... Madog fixed his eyes on Rhydian instead and strode purposefully towards the dais. It was like magic; suddenly every eye was being drawn to him, fixing on him as he went. He hadn't quite reached the middle of the room when Rhydian finally looked up at him.

"Leader," he said calmly. "Do you have something to add?"

"Rhydian," Gwenllian muttered. "It's not Open Day on Alpha Wingleaders giving us their opinions, bach."

"Gwen," Rhydian said wearily, and Madog found he was suddenly seeing a lot of himself and Dylan there. "Leader?"

"I have news, Councillors," Madog said, halting where he was. The middle of the room was fine! No need to get too close to Eifion. "Awen has just been purified."

He might as well have dragged in a foreign dignitary, stripped them naked and made them dance. Half the room suddenly exploded into speech, more than loud enough to hide the abrupt silence of the other half, who stared at him in astonishment. Rhydian sat bolt upright up on the dais, the weariness falling from him like a cloak, while a good three or four of the Alpha Wingleaders threaded their way swiftly past the seated Councillors and out of the room. Madog drew in a deep breath and waited, silently. Any second now...

"Councillors," Rhydian said clearly over the noise, and it died away. He looked down at Madog, suddenly all authority. "Thank you. Leader: are you sure?"

"I was told by someone who was," Madog nodded. "And I trust her to have brought the right news -"

"And who was it?" Eifion asked sharply. Madog ignored the stab of adrenaline.

"Aerona Celynnen," he said, and a quiet ripple of approving muttering quickly spread through the room. Madog wasn't surprised. She was an Intelligencer, after all. For all he knew she played gwyddbwyll with them all on a daily basis and won.

"Very well." Rhydian sat back in his chair, clearly thinking. Mererid actually smiled at Madog.

"Thank you, Leader," she told him. "Your information is appreciated."

"We owe you a pint!" Gwenllian said brightly. "Pub later? Although you have now complicated things, you bastard."

"I both accept and apologise, Councillor," Madog said, Saluting. "Next time I'll send Dylan if it helps. You can throw things at him."

"Can and will," Gwenllian grinned. "That'll make up for not swimming. So, children? Her death is no longer inevitable. In the short term, obviously."

"No," Rhydian said clearly, and looked at her. "The right message, hmm?"

"Sound," Gwenllian grinned. "I was hoping you'd say that."

Xentrix

Cymru - 52

ADARA

"I'm sorry!" Owain screamed, heaving against the chains.

"Not yet," Adara said mildly.



***

Cymru - Chapter 51

AWEN

The air in the corridors was beautifully cool on the bare skin of her arms and face, but it did little to soothe the hammering of her heart, the jangling of her nerves. It was a strange dichotomy: the adrenaline seemed to have all but replaced her actual blood, making her already overwrought senses spike and causing her to jump at every shadow, every noise; and yet she also felt… calm. As though she was drifting on the currents of the sea, waiting to see what would happen.

Which she was, Awen supposed. The choice was made. The stress was gone. Admittedly in a few minutes she'd face the consequences of it; but, for now, she felt almost free. It was good, Awen reasoned. She wasn't supposed to make big decisions like that. She was supposed to just endure whatever came her way. That had been her entire life so far, so it was far more comfortable to just be awaiting the punishment than deciding whether to earn it or not.

"Good afternoon, Leader." The Guard Rider outside the cell sounded slightly surprised, a question in his voice. Awen smiled and Saluted.

"Afternoon," she answered. She sounded wonderfully steady. "Could I see Owain? It won't take long."

"Of course." He unlocked the door and pulled it open, revealing the mostly-empty rows of cells within. "Do you need me to come in there, or -?"

"You're going to be needed out here," Awen smiled wryly. "In about four minutes at maximum. Thank you."

She stepped through, the door clicking softly shut behind her, and walked down the aisle.

The cells weren't much different from the ones in the room Flyn had been held in, really; there were five to each side, they were spacious enough for cells, and only one was actually occupied, the rest standing with the doors open into the wide aisle. Awen stopped in front of the only closed one, and stared at its inmate.

"I thought you'd never come," Owain said quietly.

Chains ran from his wrists, ankles and neck, anchoring him to the back wall. He stood up from the bed where he'd been lying and moved forward to the edge of his locus, in the middle of the cell. The light struck the remains of his face, and Awen sighed. His nose had clearly broken in several places, leaving it even wider and more misshapen than it had already been, and was still blotched with red and purple. He had two black eyes, the skin slightly swollen around them still. And if that wasn't a fractured cheekbone Awen would be extremely surprised.

She leaned against the bars of the cell behind her and sank to the floor, her knees drawn up to her chest. Owain regarded her for a moment, and did the same, stiffly.

"You woke up, then," Awen stated. She couldn't take her eyes off him. Owain gave a half-smile, and shrugged awkwardly.

"Unfortunately," he said dryly. "It would have been better for me if I hadn't, of course. My life will soon not be worth living."

"I was going to kill you," Awen said. "Eifion stopped me."

"Thank you," Owain nodded.

There was a pause. She pulled distractedly at the hairpins, lining them up one by one on the floor beside her as her hair slowly came loose.

"I miss the you I knew," Awen said, and wondered properly why she was even talking to him. "The person I thought you were. I miss him."

"I'm sorry," Owain said softly. It was difficult to read his face properly given how mutilated it was, but he did actually seem… sad. "I mean, not for… But I didn't want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you."

"You cut my throat," Awen smiled sadly. "Be assured that hurt."

"I didn't want to -"

"You still did it."

There was a silence, both of them looking away. It was so weird, Awen thought. There wasn't so much water under the bridge as a deluge had swept the bridge away, but even so; she couldn't stop trying to cross the bloody river at that point, wishing the bridge would come back, that it could be rebuilt. It was almost comfortable talking to him again. It was sick.

"There were things that needed doing," Owain said after a moment. "That this country needed. And only I could see them. I didn't want you to -"

"I'm a spy," Awen said, and laughed at herself, covering her face with her hands. "Gods! I've wanted to tell you that for years. And here I am."

"What do you -?"

"I spy on people," Awen said, pulling her hands away abruptly and forcing herself into a straight face. "Everyone. Everyone in the City-state of Casnewydd, at every walk of life, although before this week obviously not Riders. There's a… a network of us, one in every Wing, everywhere in the country. I've been doing it since we were about eleven."

Owain stared at her.

"No," he said slowly. "You would have said. You would have told me."

"You didn't tell me what you were doing," Awen said. "Of course I wouldn't. It's a secret network, anyway. None of us have ever been allowed to tell anyone. I only am now because we're both about to die."

They were both quiet again. The last hair pin came out and she sat still, lost with nothing to occupy her hands.

"Funny, isn't it?" Awen said at last. "We've managed to become the single worst command team in history. I used to have these nightmares in which I'd lose everyone in battle. And now they've all survived, and here we are."

"Yeah," Owain agreed quietly. "What'll happen to them?"

"They'll be fine," Awen smiled. "I've already written up my recommendations. First choice is for an Evaluation Team, so they all get to beat up new Riders and call them unfit for service."

"Good."

There was another pause.

"Why you?" Owain asked hopelessly. "Really? Why you? Why are you here? You're supposed to be at the trial."

"It's over," Awen said, her heart beating harder as she thought about it. "Or ending now, in any case. They were going to let him go."

"You did find it," Owain breathed, staring at her intently. "I knew you had, I knew - you showed it to them?"

"Of a sort." There was a bubble of hysteria building in her throat, that she had to wrestle with to keep down. "I made Lord Gwilym do it, so they had no choice."

"Oh my gods." He scrubbed his hands across his face wearily, a comfortingly familiar gesture that Awen had seen him do a million times. "Oh gods, Awen. They'll kill you."

"Yeah."

"Do you know what you've done?" Owain asked sharply, his head coming up suddenly. "Do you know what will happen now? They'll -"

"Owain, I can think of three different ways in which we could control Saxonia right now," Awen said tiredly. "Just off the top of my head. Not all of them involve genocide, either. I know how badly Flyn manipulated you, but he's not our only chance at life."

"I wasn't manipulated!" Owain spat. "He's got -"

"He talked you into murdering four people," Awen said harshly. "You know how? By telling you that you were 'unique', and Cymru's only hope, and the only one who could read between the lines and see what had to be done. A six-year-old could have made you do it."

"Oh, fuck off." Owain grinned, savagely. "You know my favourite thing? You're saying all this, Awen, but you've just done exactly the same thing."

"Have I?"

"Oh, I should have told you, that's your point, isn't it?" he said, shaking his head. "I should have told the Union right back at the start. I should have just trusted them to make all of the right decisions, even though I knew they wouldn't. But look at what you've done! You knew straight away that Flyn would walk, or you would have declared the assassinations to the Union days ago. You kept them secret because you knew! You knew what they'd do, and that it was the wrong decision."

He smirked and sat back, triumphant.

"There's no difference between us," he said. "You'd just like to think there is."

"I tried to make a choice I didn't have," Awen said simply. "You refused to make the one you did."

"That's just semantics," Owain said, but Awen shook her head.

"Then you're overlooking the important part," Awen said quietly. "You did what you did believing you'd get away with it. I did it knowing I never would."

He was silent again, the slightly-sulking silence that he always got in an argument when he didn't know what to say next. She didn't speak either. It wouldn't be long now. The nerves made her fingers shake, the sick feeling of dread twisting in her stomach.

"You should run," Owain said after a few moments. "They'll be coming now. You don't have much time."

"I never run," Awen said mildly. "I knew what I was doing. If I'm going into the songs as a traitor I'll at least do it with the honour to accept the consequences."

"Unlike me?" he asked sourly.

"Your words," Awen said, shaking her head. "Make of it what you will."

"Bitch."

"You always say that."

The familiarity of the lines was almost too much, and for a moment his gaze caught hers, and Awen yearned passionately for her life of a week ago when everything was fine and her family was still intact. Suddenly she wanted to cry.

And then she saw Gwïon's face, his lifeless body while he was still breathing, and the hatred was almost overwhelming.

"Were you really with the Sovereign?" Owain asked quietly. Awen closed her eyes.

"Yes," she said, swallowing the lump in her throat, and she laughed bitterly. "Although probably not now, as I just made him carry the order for his family's deaths around for four days and nearly made him burn them. And that's after failing to prevent said deaths in the first place."

"Yeah, that's not famously the secret to happiness," Owain grinned. "Was he angry?"

"I've no idea." Awen opened her eyes and traced the lines on the plastered ceiling. "I left before he even had the envelope open. He's… incredible. But no one is that incredible that they could just forgive something like that. I used him. And I did it with his dead parents."

They paused again, and finally, just on the edge of hearing, they could make out the sound of a lot of people shouting in the distance, getting slowly closer. Awen shivered. Gods this was going to hurt. Eifion had happy dreams about the times he was allowed to just let go and do what he liked, and she was about to give him such a time.

"Please run," Owain said suddenly, standing. "Please! Don't let them do this. Just go, make it to a runway and jump, even! It's better than the alternative."

"No," Awen said, smiling softly. "And it wouldn't be better if they caught me en route."

"Then do it here!" Owain begged. "You're still armed! Just cut your throat or something. Or get the keys quick and come in here, I'll break your neck. Don't let them do this!"

"You never got it, Owain," Awen said, shaking her head. "Riders don't run. It's not for me to choose. It's for me to accept, and be grateful for the privilege."

"The privilege of being tortured to death?" Owain said frustratedly. "That's what you'll be grateful for?"

"Yes," Awen said quietly. "And this is why you were never a Rider."

He stared at her for a moment, the sounds of the mob coming closer; and then he dropped to his knees, his gaze unwavering.

"You were always too good for us," Owain whispered. "I wish I'd realised how good."

"I was never good enough," Awen said. "I wish I'd known by how much."

"You -"

But Owain never got to finish that sentence, because at that moment the door crashed back against the wall, screaming on its hinges, the sound instantly snapping Awen into a crouch on the balls of her feet and in strode -

Awen froze as Gwilym marched in, the force of his anger shrouding him like a cloak and making him seem at least three inches taller. The Guard Rider from outside was following hurriedly, his expression one of vague alarm. Gwilym saw her and smiled grimly, his stride unfaltering as he continued in his path towards her. Awen swallowed. Dammit he was pissed off, and she could hear the sound of the oncoming crowd clearly now through the open door, maybe twenty seconds away -

"Give me the keys," Gwilym commanded, holding a hand behind him to the Guard Rider who looked suddenly utterly bewildered.

"I can't," he said blankly, and Gwilym plastered on a fake bright smile as he drew level with Awen.

"Oh, really?" he said. "Sorry, let me rephrase -"

Whatever it was that had kept her from attacking him for days was, thankfully enough, still working; so when he suddenly bent down and shot an arm out towards her Awen simply froze in place, meaning that he pulled the hunting knife from her belt without any opposition at all and straightened -

And put the knife to his own throat.

"Give me the gods damned keys," he told the Guard.

Awen went from crouching to standing so fast she was relatively certain she hadn't actually passed any intervening stages.

"But -"

"Give them to him!" she shouted, horrified. Panic gripped her in a vice. That was a really bloody sharp blade, and he was holding it against his throat -

Suddenly under order from a frantic Alpha Wingleader and an extremely angry and suicidal Sovereign, the Guard hastily scrambled at his belt, ripping the keys off and all but hurling them into Gwilym's free hand.

"Good," Gwilym said, the anger back. He looked at Awen. "Cell behind you, in there."

She almost leapt into it, staggering backwards. Quite a lot of the background noise was made up of people shouting now, Owain included, but Awen couldn't make out any of it over the mind-consuming panic that was making her ears ring. The Guard ran back to the door and out, probably to find someone with better authority whose problem they could be, and Awen hoped wildly that the crowd could hurry up and arrive. They sounded like they were only just outside. Someone would be able to stop Gwilym. They must…

He shoved the cell door next to the one she was in closed and threw the keys inside, and before Awen had had time to focus on what that meant he stepped into hers with her and pulled the door closed behind him.

Automatic locks, the useful Rider inside her head who was still paying attention told her. He's locked you both in, and now you can't get to the keys either.

"Well, that gives about a minute of extra time," Gwilym said cheerfully, although the cheer was wallpaper over the wall of his anger, so it wasn't quite as jolly as normal. "Right! Oh, and here's everyone else."

And finally the wrathful tide of Councillors and Guard Riders and such appeared, and Awen had genuinely never seen anyone as angry as Rhydian.

"Open the door," he snarled to Awen, who looked at the keys in the next cell helplessly.

"He threw them in there," she said blankly. Gwilym grinned.

"Back up," he told her, and Awen went until her back hit the wall.

"Oh, Rider," Eifion murmured, his voice under the general blanket of noise sending a thrill of terror through her. "Oh, you're not helping yourself, I promise you."

"Get over here," Rhydian ordered with the force of winter. "Right now."

"But -"

"Councillors," Gwilym said, rolling his eyes and turning around so they could see him, and there was a comical moment as they all drew back an inch, seeing the knife. "She really can't right now. Leave her alone."

"Someone fetch some kind of pole," Rhydian told the crowd behind him, not taking his eyes off Gwilym. There was almost a dam at the door as people scrabbled to obey. "A broom or something, to get those damned keys. Sovereign? Could you please not do that?"

Gwilym turned back to Awen and closed the gap between them. His expression was urgent, searching; he put his free hand on her hip, and Awen froze, heart almost jumping into her mouth, her fingers doing their best to dig through the stone wall.

"Sorry," he said, his voice suddenly soft, the switch from angry to calmly compassionate so abrupt it seemed another person had turned up to live in Gwilym's head with him. "It was the only way I could think of getting you here quickly enough to avoid them. Are you okay?"

Sentences warred with each other in Awen's head.

"I keep it really sharp," she managed after a few moments, and finally, mercifully, he lowered the bloody thing and offered it to her.

"Sorry," Gwilym said again, smiling, and Awen took it and threw it to Rhydian, who caught it with a grim nod. Which was a relief; she wasn't going to be punished for that, at least.

"Right," Gwilym said authoritatively. "Anyway, are you okay?"

"Why do you care?" Awen asked. It was possible shock was setting in. She was staring at him now. She didn't usually. Gwilym sighed.

"Oh," he said. "Sorry, but I'm going to have to speed us up a bit again -"

Which was the only warning she got before he'd pulled her inescapably into his arms and kissed her, deeply and passionately, in a cell in front of half the Union.

He broke it off. Awen couldn't speak.

"Now," Gwilym said. He hadn't let go. She was pinned against his chest. "Are we clear on where I stand? Can we move on? We don't have much time."

"Your parents!" she almost shouted. She wasn't ready to move on, it seemed. Although her internal Rider was, and was Not Pleased that she was holding up the important briefing with emotions. Gwilym sighed frustratedly.

"Yes, my parents!" he said. "You just avenged them! What more could I possibly want from you?"

"But I nearly -!"

"No, you didn't!" he almost shouted back. "You were always going to make me read it! Don't you see? Whatever needs to be done, whatever the cost! That's you, Awen! That's why Owain wanted so badly for it to be him! Now can we please move on!"

"It's not long enough," someone called to the side, aiming a broom handle at the keys. "Can we -?"

"It would be long enough from the other side," Rhydian commanded coldly. "Put it into the cell. Awen? Get over here."

"I can't," Awen said helplessly, feeling Gwilym's arms tighten around her. "He's not -"

"You can out-manoeuvre a Sovereign," Rhydian snarled, and as panic at the very thought sailed up in Awen Gwilym rolled his eyes and looked back to face them again.

"She's unpurified!" he snapped, possibly the only person in the world who would have challenged Rhydian right now. "She is terrified of snapping near me and accidentally killing me, so she is not about to risk trying to fight me off! Gods damn it, why do none of you understand each other…"

He turned back again before Rhydian could answer and caught her gaze, his pale eyes boring into hers.

"Now listen," he ordered her. Awen obeyed. "They're about to drag you up to the Council Chamber, where clearly they'll demand an explanation of why you did it. And you have to tell them. All of it. Understand?"

"That was the plan," Awen said nervously, and Gwilym shook his head.

"No," he said firmly, "it wasn't. You were going to go and be all deferential and apologise and just say that you thought it was the right thing to do. Do not be apologetic, Awen. Do not defer. Don't tell them what you thought. Tell them what you damn well knew was right, and tell them why. Tell them why you were right and they were wrong."

"You want me to tell the Council why they were wrong?" Awen stared at him. "When I reach Annwfn would you like me to explain to the gods how they should really run the world, too?"

"Switch your brain back on," Gwilym almost begged, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against hers. "Awen! You're better than this! Right now, the Council are angry, and they're mostly angry because you've just upset their entire world. First Owain, now you! They see you both as having betrayed them, like there's something wrong with your Wing. If you don't make them understand, they will continue to think until the end of their days that if any Rider, ever, disagrees with them, it's simply a betrayal. And the next time this happens - and there will be a next time, because they won't be able to learn from it - whoever is in your position won't act! They will let the monster stay! Do you understand? We will become the thing we hate! This is your chance to stop that. To help them see that they need to draw the line in the sand, and keep us good."

And he was right, Awen thought with horrified fascination. It was only half a job done at this stage. They needed to see why. And if they still disagreed, then that was the Union's stance, but… they had to know.

But oh good gods it was going to hurt more.

"Okay, she breathed, her voice strangled, and Gwilym smiled tiredly, his arms tight.

"It's not over yet," he murmured. "And I'm not losing you."

"I - " She stopped herself before she just earned her instant execution anyway, but Gwilym knew. He threaded his fingers into her hair, the sensation agonisingly glorious, and held her close for one last moment.

"I love you too," he whispered, almost crushing her against his chest, and then finally let go and stepped back.

"Finally!" Rhydian said in the voice of wrath. "Now get the keys back."

They'd pushed the broom into her cell already. Awen darted around Gwilym and grabbed it quickly, her heart hammering. It was entirely possible, she reflected, that this would be the last time she ever got to use her fingers. Or her knees. Or her eyes. Eifion was humming to himself, a sound that filled her with terror every time she heard it, and she scrabbled to block it out as she hooked the end of the broom handle into the ring on the keys and lifted, letting them slide down to her. She stood and detangled them, and as Gwilym took hold of her upper arm she hastily threw them to Rhydian.

"You're not going to want to stay," Awen said urgently. The sound of the key turning in the lock seemed deafening. "This won't be pleasant."

"You'll attack if I'm not here," Gwilym shrugged. He looked darkly angry again, watching the Riders outside. "And I'm not leaving you, Awen. A sentence I seem to have to say to you astonishingly often."

"I'm sorry," she said distractedly. The door swung open, and in came Rhydian at the head of the tide. "I'm sorry."

She just had time to raise her chin, meaning the punch that would have impacted with her eye caught her cheek instead. The pain exploded along her cheekbone and jaw, her teeth throbbing, the copper taste of blood filling her mouth as the force of it snapped her head to the right, straining the muscles in the left side of her neck and sending her off-balance, falling -

- she overrides the pain, her senses spiralling in to focus on the moment, logging the people surrounding her now on all sides and marking the distances; she lands on her palms and braces, ready to spring -

Gwilym's hand wrapped itself around her shoulder and Awen snapped back, letting herself drop to the floor properly, lying on her stomach. She closed her eyes. Come what may, it was far easier to stay non-aggressive if she couldn't see the angry people around her. And she could focus on Gwilym's hand, on his presence beside her -

"Arms back," Rhydian's voice commanded above and behind her, and Awen did as she was told, the restrictiveness of the high collar making it slightly awkward. The sensation and sound of tearing leather informed her that he was ripping away the covers over the wristblades, although he yanked the remains painfully off over her hands. He unbuckled the blades themselves considerably more carefully, a reprieve Awen was appropriately grateful for. "Make a fist."

She did, and felt the leather slide restrictively up her arm, ending about an inch below her armpit and wrapping tightly around her balled fingers, imprisoning them uselessly. The process was repeated for the other arm, and as she felt her wrists being clipped together Awen braced herself -

Not quite enough. As Rhydian jammed her elbows together and secured them she couldn't quite bite back the yelp that escaped her throat, the pain shooting through her shoulders and burning a path to her elbows. Which was a shame, because Awen was trying her hardest not to traumatise Gwilym too much. If he was going to insist on coming along she would have to do considerably better at not being in obvious agony, because it was really going to get much worse.

"Done," Rhydian said curtly, and he grabbed the clip holding her elbows together and hauled her up to her feet with it. Awen screamed only mentally. Gwilym rose with her, his hand apparently glued to her shoulder. "Sovereign. Would you mind guiding her up?"

"Not at all," Gwilym said coolly, and Awen swayed into his arms as Rhydian let go.

The walk to the Council Chambers was, simultaneously, both the longest and shortest of Awen's life. Gwilym walked beside her, one arm wound around her waist and under her arms while his other hand rested on her shoulder, giving the strained muscles a very, very light massage that settled her nerves no end. They were surrounded by a ring of Guard Riders, all moving silently and seriously and who kept looking at her, as though nervous to get too close. How weird was this for them, Awen wondered? They'd probably never had to escort a Rider in their lives, and then in the past few days there was first Owain, now her. The world had shifted.

The Council Chamber was full. Naturally enough, the Full Council had been convened into the seats, every one of them watching her stonily as she was marched into the centre of the floor and left, the Guard Riders withdrawing and politely but firmly directing Gwilym to the side. Between the seats and clustered around the doors as they were finally wrestled shut seemed to be every Alpha Wingleader in the country, all displaying some stage or other of shocked curiosity. Awen caught Madog's eye, and he gave her a smile just shy of heartbroken. She looked down. Madog: he'd been a revelation in the last few days, too. She'd never had someone who was simply a friend before, no other tags. They were even on first name terms now, almost like normal people -

"Shut up," Rhydian declared, and everyone hastily shut up. Awen breathed in deeply to steady herself, and straightened. Time to be convincing. No time to look shaky now. "Right. Explain, Leader."

She met his gaze, saw the sheer depth of his rage, and jumped into it.

"You were about to show the whole world that the Union is a pointless and ineffective force that can be manipulated and outwitted with consummate ease by the people it's supposed to police, Councillor."

There was a collective in-drawing of shocked breath as she failed to be deferentially submissive.

"Sorry," Awen added.

"You're sorry?" Eifion hissed, leaning forward. His eyes were almost alight, a strange fusion of anger and delight. "Indeed? For which part, Rider, the act itself? The presumption? Or the punishment?"

She almost laughed.

"The punishment?" Awen repeated, scornfully. "You think I didn't know what would happen, Councillor? You think I'm surprised and saddened by this response?"

"I think you must be," Eifion snarled. "Because be assured, Rider, I will make very sure you find new ways to scream, and I fail to see how you'd have defied the Union and your country had you known that."

"Because I'm a Rider, Councillor," Awen snapped harshly. "My needs are irrelevant, a fact that you personally have drummed into me for the last thirty years and that I believe inherently. And, let me make myself perfectly clear: I may have defied the Union. But I in no way defied Cymru."

Argh, argh, why was she saying these things? It was blasphemy! Being unpurified, that was what was doing it. Clearly she could no longer trust her own brain to not provoke Eifion. He was going to melt her at this rate.

The angry murmur of the Councillors flared up, and then hastily quietened as Rhydian stood, his icy glare across them all like a lance. He looked down at Awen, and she just controlled the wince.

"Eifion, try not to speak," Rhydian commanded. "Awen, calm down. And explain."

Awen looked at the floor for a moment, breathing deeply to try to settle the sick feeling of nerves.

"I told you before, Councillor," she said at last, looking back up at Rhydian again. That was better. Nice and steady, breathing… "I know Flyn, I know his ambitions and I know his motivations. His plan with Coenred was to let him conquer all of Saxonia and then depose him, taking the throne for himself. And he wouldn't have stopped there. It would have been the Angles next, after that, and Alba. Then Erinn. Then Gaul, and Celtiberia, and on, and on and on, because that's what he is. He wants an empire, all under him. He wants the Union under him. He doesn't care about Cymru except for what it can offer him."

"Yes, Rider, astonishingly, we all knew he isn't a prize specimen when we voted," Low Councillor Gwyn said witheringly from the side. "This was taken into account, in fact -"

"Well evidently not, Councillor, since you were giving him his first conquest," Awen responded, in her strongest you-are-a-completely-retarded-idiot-manchild tone, and then mentally screamed at herself. "He's malicious. He's remorseless, and ruthless, and uncaring, and he has never in his life viewed anyone else as another human being, which we call 'sociopathy'. He's a monster, and it was bad enough that he was left in charge of a City-state in the first place. And his citizens have paid the price for us leaving him there. As have Lord Iestyn's."

She glanced briefly at Madog, who nodded grimly, his eyes hard.

"But now they'll pay the price for your interference," Gwyn said acidly. His accent was thick, western Archipelagan if Awen was any judge, tinged with Erinnish, and it made his condescending tone even stronger. "Don't preach at us, Rider. This character reference was taken into account. What we tried to stop was the greater threat of the Saxons, which you don't seem to be able to understand -"

"Gwyn," Rhydian said, standing suddenly, his tone urgent, but it was too late. The anger flooded Awen, rage and hatred combining as she stared at Low Councillor Gwyn, her body turning to face him of its own accord.

"I don't understand the threat of Saxons?" she snarled, and the room fell silent. "Did you seriously just say that? Did you just accuse me of not understanding a Saxon threat?"

"You don't -" Gwyn began, his voice hard; but this was worse than with Eifion. She had no control now, it seemed. Now her anger was speaking. Awen watched it dazedly from the back of her brain.

"Since I was fifteen not a week has gone by in which I haven't fought Saxons!" she almost roared. "I don't remember what it's like to not dread the border warnings! I've seen people, children, elderly, literally torn apart as they cowered in their homes for the sake of a sack of flour! I've spent days, literally days after raids helping children reassemble their parents' bodies out of the pieces they could find! I've had to kill people, Cymric people, to save them from a death that would otherwise have been a week of excruciation! And you, 'Councillor'? What the fuck have you ever done that compares to that?"

He stared at her, unspeaking. Awen plunged on.

"Nothing," she answered for him, forcefully and contemptuously. "You sat out in your island City, threatened by no one, until you got your nice easy promotion. And now you sit and chat about politics and military threats as though you have a damned clue what you're talking about. You don't, 'Councillor'. I do. So don't you dare ever suggest that I don't understand a Saxon threat again."

The silence rang, and curiously, Awen found suddenly that she didn't care. Probably she would once the anger drained away properly, but right now, she was seething, using it as energy. It was like being in battle, but without the screaming and the blood. And she was properly shaking.

Although she'd violated a massive social norm, there. It was terribly bad form to suggest there was any sort of difference between active and non-active Riders. The line she'd crossed was a few miles back.

"My apologies, Leader," Gwyn said carefully after a moment. "I simply meant that in order to eliminate the threat Saxonia now represents we need -"

"Don't try to justify your compromise to me," Awen interrupted contemptuously, her voice cold. Good gods she was tearing a strip off of poor old Gwyn. He probably didn't deserve it. "You compromised. All of you. And I don't mean the situation. You compromised us, the Union, this country. Fifty years ago, we were at War, Councillors. The kind that requires a Teutonic capital."

Gwenllian snorted, grinning. Rhydian didn't even look at her. He was watching Awen carefully, studying her, examining her.

"The Wars spanned hundreds of years," she went on. "Despotism, we had. Each leader stepped in, did what they liked, acted as they wanted and then was deposed by the next when they went too far. Over and over again. And they could act as they liked because there was no law. They were the law. That's the kind of system that means things like human breeding farms can happen. It was ended only when, finally, a country-wide law was instigated. A way for leaders to behave, that they weren't allowed to break, and that they wouldn't be allowed to break. The Union would stop them. We would keep the people safe from them. We would unite, and finally let our society evolve. And since then, we've had peace for fifty years, there are people in our country who have never known war, and we're famed the world over for our advanced society and technological prowess. And soon for our education."

She glanced at Gwilym, who was watching her proudly, his mouth smiling slightly.

"We're getting a university," Awen said, looking back again. "And all that, all that progress, happened because of what the Union did. Because of the laws we upheld, and the line we drew in the sand, and the stand we took to say, 'this is not right'. Flyn broke those laws."

She looked around at them all. Interestingly enough, they were all staring at her, fascinated. Well, they'd probably never seen a corpse talk for this long before.

"He crossed that line," Awen went on harshly. "He did what wasn't right. And instead of stopping him, instead of doing your jobs, instead of being the law, you bent to accommodate him. You compromised. And in so doing you endangered this society more than Saxonia could ever dream of managing."

"He would have been watched for the rest of his life," Rhydian said neutrally, watching her analytically. Awen raised an eyebrow.

"What does that matter?" she asked archly. "That won't regrow Iona Morgannwg's fingers and it sure as hell won't undo what he did to Alis. And it won’t deter the next Sovereign. There are two things you haven't considered, Councillors."

"Which are, bach?" Gwenllian asked gently.

"This is the Union," Awen snarled. She was swaying slightly now, the force of her vitriol pouring through her. "We are Riders. We are on the side of the country, and a country is made of its people. We are on the side of those who have been the victims. You all stood to try Flyn earlier for the rape of Alis Morgannwg, for the torture of Iona Morgannwg, for the death of Nerys Morgannwg. And not one of you – not one of you - ever bothered to meet either of them. To look them in the eye. To know what you were defending."

There was a whispered muttering, just on the edge of hearing. Awen ignored it.

"Secondly," she said firmly. "The primary reason that no other country even considers attacking us or politically manipulating us in any way is the reputation of the Union. We’re the envy of the world for it. Ask a Viking, see what they say. Ask a Phoenician. To them, we are an unstoppable force, unflinching in our defence of our country, uncompromising in our duty and totally, completely incorruptible. And the world was there, watching the trial, Councillors! We’ve just completed the Audiences. The envoys of the world were watching, and you were about to send them home with the news that, actually, they’re wrong. We don’t stand unflinching in the defence of our country. If it gets hard-“

Her voice became mocking, disdainful. She was definitely dying in about twenty minutes’ time.

“We blink,” Awen said witheringly. “We keep the monster so that we don’t have to fight. It’s not us who has to suffer the consequences, after all.”

There was a deathly, stunned silence. Maybe they’d take it in turns with the flensing knives, the still rational part of Awen’s mind thought in dazed trepidation. Had she really just said that? Really? To the Council? She hadn’t realised that was even her opinion.

There was a heavy pause, no one meeting anyone else’s eyes, and then High Councillor Idwel leaned forward.

“We acted to keep a war away, Leader,” he said quietly. “Away from here. As you’ve pointed out, you’re an expert in Saxon warfare. Do you honestly believe that if they all attacked us, en masse, surrounding the country, they wouldn’t claim massive casualties before we halted them?”

“I honestly think we could stop that from happening in the first place, Councillor,” Awen returned coolly. Idwel sighed wearily.

“Do you?” he asked, his tone defeated. “I’m truly sorry, Leader, but I don’t. They are a race of people bred to hate us. It doesn’t matter what we do, what we say to them. In their eyes we are the enemy. I don’t see such a people changing their minds, and being dissuaded.”

“Councillor,” Awen said venomously through gritted teeth. “I am begging you to see the irony of what you just said.”

“Leader-“

“The thing you hate about Saxons is that they’re all, without exception, racist and unwilling to change that opinion?” Awen repeated sarcastically. “Please. Please see the irony. You have become what you hate.”

She looked around them all. No one met her eye.

“You have made the Union into what it hates,” Awen said, staring at them all. “Flyn’s greatest victory, maybe. Look at yourselves. You’re exactly what you all swore to defend against.”
And the anger finally leaked away, and Awen just stood, exhausted. She was so tired, tired of living on her nerves, tired of worrying, tired of second-guessing herself and feeling like a traitor and wanting her life back and waiting for a quiet execution. Well, she ought to get one now, at least, she reflected numbly. Certainly she’d earned one in the last twenty minutes or so. Although it wouldn’t be quiet anymore.
The silence gradually gave way to a quiet muttering, the sound alluringly soft like a summer breeze, tugging soporifically at her. She tried not to sway on the spot. Maybe if she insulted Eifion a bit they’d hurry it all up. Certainly if they made him wait much longer he was going to just make a start here with whatever was lying around, like the curtains or maybe the pens.

“Awen,” a voice said quietly under the murmur, and she looked up. Rhydian was watching her intently, his expression mostly neutral, but there was an edge there of something gentler that Awen was too tired to identify. She watched him back, waiting for him to speak.

“You should have told me,” he said softly.

“I’m sorry,” Awen said tonelessly. “I asked you if I could just kill him, do you remember?”

“Ah.” Rhydian sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes. I do. But do you remember what I told you after he –“ He jerked a thumb at Madog, who had the grace to look embarrassed – “decided he was too bloody clever by half and messed up my system? And you didn’t tell me?”

“I know, Councillor,” Awen said wearily. “I knew what would happen."

Rhydian sighed again and looked down, his head in his hands. Something a bit odd was happening here, Awen reflected. No one was shouting at her. They really should have been by now, especially since she'd just told them all that they were as bad as Saxons; and yet, although a quick scan of the room revealed an awful lot of unhappy faces, the only muttered arguments were happening between Councillors. Occasionally one would accidentally catch her eye and then look away, guilty and embarrassed. They weren't expressions she'd ever seen on Councillors before.

And meanwhile more than a few of the Alpha Wingleaders were openly staring at her with something akin to awe, and that just seemed like a lack of solidarity to Awen. She wouldn't have made them feel awkward and uncomfortable when they were waiting to be tortured anyway.

The world had shifted again, Awen thought, lost. No one was acting like they were supposed to. The security blanket of normalcy she'd been craving for days was gone again, with nothing to anchor onto. Instinctively she found herself looking at Gwilym, and found that his eyes had still been on her. He smiled softly, that break-and-I'll-put-you-back-together expression he had, and Awen wondered how the hell anyone that perfect could exist.

"Right."

Rhydian's voice echoed through the chamber as he stood, silencing the background murmur that had ceased to be a whisper and become more of a 'hum'. Everyone looked at him, including a grateful Awen. Councillors acting authoritative; that was good. That was what they were for. That was normal.

"Leader," Rhydian said steadily, regarding her. "I told you not two days ago that if you hid something pertinent to national security from me I'd let Eifion play with you. And you disobeyed that order."

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck wearily. Eifion looked delighted.

"I can't allow Alpha Wingleaders to pick and choose which orders they want to obey," Rhydian said gravely. "Particularly this close to Owain. It sets a dangerous precedent. But; your reasons were entirely noble, and the consequences of your disobedience seem to have just saved Cymru from going down a path it shouldn't."

"Which has given us quite the headache, bach," Gwenllian told her. "We're going to be at this all day now. And I wanted to go swimming today."

"Gwen, I swear, one of these days I will push you off a runway," Rhydian muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked at Awen. "She's right, though. We're not sure what to do with you. But, as I say, you disobeyed a direct order, which can't go unpunished. Which you know."

"I do, Councillor," Awen said tonelessly. She didn't look at Eifion.

"Very well," Rhydian said. "You can take the punishment while we discuss your ultimate fate; you'll go with Eifion now for another lesson in pain processing that is to last no longer than five minutes -"

What?

"What?" Eifion said, startled. "Five minutes?"

"Five minutes," Rhydian repeated, supremely unconcerned at the number of people staring at him. "Your claim, Eifion, doesn't seem to me to be as great as Lord Gwilym's."

"What?"

"Mine?" Gwilym asked blankly. "What do - ?"

"She made you hide the murder of your family," Rhydian said calmly. "That officially makes you the victim of her crime. So, five minutes with Eifion as the Union punishment followed by three hours with you, Sovereign, to do as you will. This is an organisation for justice, afterall."

The murmur was back, more than a few people grinning; although Eifion looked like he'd just swallowed vinegar. Awen's head swam. Did they not realise? Had they not heard Gwilym, down in the cells? He was inexplicably happy with her. He wasn't going to do anything to her. Although Eifion was now going to really get creative if he only had five minutes -

Rest of the Wing, rest of the Wing, her internal Rider screamed frantically, and Awen's head snapped up.

"Councillor?" she said quickly, wrestling the panic from her voice. Rhydian gave her an impassive nod. "Would you agree that since the crime was mine alone the punishment should be too?"

"Definitely," Gwenllian broke in, leaning forward. "No torturing anyone else, Eifion. You'll make us look unjust."

Eifion's nostrils flared, his eyes fixed on Awen.

"Absolutely," he said coolly, rising from his seat. An almost reptillian smile twisted his lips as he decended from the dais, moving towards her. "I shall focus my efforts entirely on Leader Awen."

The fear blazed up in her, gripping her heart icily and leaving her light-headed. Her breathing had gone shallow, Awen could tell, but she couldn't control it; every nerve in her body was bracing for fight-or-flight, and it was all she could do to halt her reaction to a single step back, away from Eifion as he approached, his smile filling with lazy, sadistic enjoyment -

Gwilym's hands caught her shoulders and she froze, her fingers flexing vainly against the leather as she automatically tried to clutch at him. Eifion stopped maybe a foot from her and caught her chin with one hand, raising her head sharply. It didn't raise far. The edge of the collar halted the back of her skull, digging in painfully. Awen very carefully didn't make a sound.

"Well then," Eifion purred. "Five minutes, eh, Leader? We'll have to make sure it's quality and not quantity."

"It should be timed," Gwilym said behind her suddenly, his voice strong. Eifion's gaze slid to him, eyes sharp. "If it's only going to be five minutes, Councillor Eifion will need to know when to stop. And I'll need to know when to start."

"Good point," Rhydian said neutrally. "I trust you can do so, Sovereign?"

"Oh, yes." Gwilym sounded almost bright, and one hand vanished from her shoulder for a moment. "See? I have a watch."

"Very well," Rhydian's voice said, and it sounded to Awen almost... careful. " You stop the moment he tells you to, Eifion. Give it five minutes, Sovereign. Off you go."

"Off we go," Eifion smiled, his gaze snapping back to Awen, and finally he let go of her chin and swept abruptly away, signalling the Guards. "Come along then, Sovereign. The sooner we start, eh?"

"Perhaps," Gwilym agreed as they all fell into a procession behind Eifion, out of the hall. Gwilym was looking at a brass pocket watch, a slight smile under the neatly clipped beard. For once, Awen didn't try to decipher it. Walking was hard enough. Her legs felt like they'd turned to wood.

There were more staring, silent Riders outside, none of whom made a sound since the procession was headed by Eifion. The Wing could have been there. Awen wasn't sure, her eyes watching the floor exhaustedly.

"I don't understand," she muttered to Gwilym as they marched down the corridor outside. Her heart was beating so loudly it must have been audible to everyone else, and it took an effort not to stumble. Gwilym's hand tightened on her shoulder. "I don't understand why they're doing this."

"Because they're Riders, Awen," Gwilym said, giving her a slightly odd smile. "Whatever else they may be. You've just told them that they've failed Cymru. And, you know, you were right and that. Now they feel incredibly guilty and indebted to you for saving the country from them. Well done!"

"From them?" Awen asked, panicky. "That's what - ? But I didn't! I saved it from Flyn!"

His arm slid around her waist under her arms again and pulled her tightly against his side.

"So long as you can agree you saved it," he grinned happily, "you can argue it was from rogue bears if you like. You're making tremendous progress! Well done."

"I definitely don't understand why you're doing this," Awen said fervently, ignoring him. "Are you angry with me at all? You must be."

"It wouldn't be fair to be," Gwilym said thoughtfully. "You think as you've been trained to think. You act according to that. And I know how guilty you felt about it."

He shrugged, as though that explained everything and made it all okay. Awen stared at him.

"And anyway, as I say: you were always going to make me open it," Gwilym said, smiling at her. "So that explains everything and makes it all okay."

"I let them die," Awen said flatly. "In the first place. It's very specifically my job to make sure my Sovereign doesn't have people murdered."

"Oh, come on." Gwilym grinned, although his eyes were hard. "That was Owain again. And we've been over this. It doesn't matter what the consequences are - you couldn't have seen what happened to him. You therefore can't be responsible for what he did either."

"That's very logical, Sovereign," Awen sighed, morosely. "I wish I worked like that emotionally."

"Don't we all," Gwilym laughed for a moment; and then he looked at her, his gaze soft and intent all at the same time. "Listen, Awen," he said gently. "We can talk about this all day, but you're right; you can't make yourself believe me. So see it this way: they died, and they shouldn't have. But you, and you alone, avenged them. You made it right. Their murderer is now facing a rather satisfyingly grisly end. That's because of you."

"Yes," Awen said reluctantly as they navigated a staircase at surprisingly high speed. For an old man Eifion could really move when motivated. "But that won't bring them back, Sovereign."

"Then you might like to consider all of the people you've saved," Gwilym said gently. "How many people don't need to be brought back because of you, do you think? How many lives, how many communities are around because of you? And those are directly your fault."

"In here," Eifion said, and Awen looked up. He was smiling nastily at her, holding open a door; she blinked and looked around, and found they'd entered the Interrogation Sector without her noticing, the ornate decoration of the main corridors replaced with bare plaster and stone. The rooms at the end of the corridor linked into the medical centre and Haf was standing in the doorway to it, arms crossed and eyes narrowed as she watched Eifion. Awen took a deep breath to steady herself. Well, if Haf was already on hand, it would make immediate medical treatment far easier afterwards. That was a definite plus. Although given the girl's expression it was a minor miracle Eifion's eyebrows hadn't combusted.

She stepped through the door, and carefully kept her eyes on the stone floor rather than the rows of instruments on the walls. It was a comparitively small room, about six metres square and utterly cheerless. A small drain was set into the floor in the corner, and there was a lit brazier to one side. Five minutes, Awen thought firmly. Just five minutes, and Gwilym wouldn't let it go over. She could take that. She'd taken far worse. It was just a test, really, that was all -

"Over here, then, Leader," Eifion said, the dark delight almost tangible. His bony hand gripped an upper arm and pulled without warning, reigniting the pain that flared across her shoulders and making Awen's heart produce a spirited attempt to exit her body via her ears; but Gwilym's hand stayed on the small of her back as she was yanked forward. Grimly, Awen gritted her teeth and let Eifion drag her into the middle of the room. Five minutes, she thought sternly. Just five minutes. It was fine.

"Chain her ankles," Eifion commanded, and a Guard Rider stepped forward, his square face blank. "Together and to that ring in the floor. Hurry up; the Sovereign doesn't want to be holding her forever, I'm sure."

Gwilym's look was pure venom, but he simply glanced at the watch and said nothing. Awen watched Eifion as he prowled one wall of implements, ignoring the sudden weight of the chains as they were clicked into place. The nerves were making her feel nauseous. It was the waiting, she thought distractedly. Waiting to see what would happen was so much worse than it actually happening, and waiting for Eifion to choose what to do was -

He reached out a claw-like hand and lifted down a chain-whip, and mentally Awen swore as viciously as she could. Chain-whips weren't used for beating people, not as such; a surface that hard generally resulted in splintered ribs and such, which wasn't really ideal. But metal heated up so easily. Awen watched defeatedly as Eifion laid the length of chain into the brazier, the flames caressing the links. She could take an awful lot of pain, really, but gods she hated burns. Which Eifion knew, of course. And it was the sort of injury that lasted long after five minutes.

"Right," Eifion said, that disturbing happiness still evident as he crossed the room back to her again. "Nearly ready to start. Now -"

He reached up above her, and Awen heard the sound of metal moving through a pulley. A suspension hook? she wondered gloomily. Probably. Eifion was generally keen on them, and it was a logical way of keeping her still in the middle of the room. She felt something being attached to her wrists, braced herself with a spike of adrenaline and closed her eyes -

Her arms were hauled upwards hard, still tightly sheathed and joined at the elbow behind her, and for a second the pain in her upper arms and shoulders was so great Awen couldn't actually breathe. It was like fire sweeping through, the abruptly stretched nerves screaming a path from shoulders to wrists, making her bound fingers tingle and flare at the damage. The tendons felt torn. Instinctively she tried to step forward, to give herself space to bend slightly and alleviate the strain, but the chain on her ankles didn't move, tipping her forward and leaving her upper body weight actually hanging for a moment on the damaged muscles -

But she couldn't scream. She wouldn't. Even as Awen scrambled to centre her weight back onto the balls of her feet and off her shoulders as much as possible she was still bent at somewhere around forty-five degrees, very much facing the floor, and her loose hair had fallen forward to effectively blinker her; but she could feel Gwilym there, the most important thing in the world currently and already suffering. Awen heard the sharp intake of breath, felt the hand he still had on her ribcage tense up in horror, and bit down on the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.

It was fine really, she thought dizzily. Now that the original trauma was done the nerves were adapting, accepting the pain and letting her mind refocus. She'd definitely felt worse. And anyway...

Well, to be honest, there was the far more pressing matter of breathing. That was the trouble with stress positions - if the body could function as normal it wouldn't be a stress position, and currently her lungs were not at libety to inflate as they were meant to be. And that bloody collar wasn't helping. It pressed unrelentingly against her throat, the stiff leather forced back by her arms but unyielding. Awen gritted her teeth. The overall effect was almost enough to panic her, the depleted oxygen levels leaving her light-headed as she was reduced to a shallow, rasping breathing that just wasn't working -

Awen wrestled her mind to an approximation of calm, and just focused on getting air into her thorax. It was good. It took her mind off the pain.

"... damage has it done?" Gwilym was demanding sharply to her left, and she listened out with half an ear, the two activities taking up her concentration sufficiently to ignore the throbbing agony in her arms. "Will that have torn anything? Dislocated anything?"

"Oh, no," Eifion said lazily behind her, and Awen's skin crawled as she felt one of his hands push roughly between the skin of her back and the jerkin of her uniform, the flat of a knife blade following it before tearing away the leather. "If she weren't as flexible it probably would have, of course, but we train them gymnastically."

"Of course," Gwilym said sourly, taking out and checking the pocket watch with his free hand again. The other slid around to the side of now-exposed skin, out of the way of Eifion's knife. Awen tried not to tremble. "Silly me. This is perfectly safe."

"Ah, well." Eifion's smile was audible, bypassing Awen's blinkered vision. His feet started to come into view as he worked his way around her. "I never said it was safe, Sovereign. A lot can be done in five minutes."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Councillor, but those are the words of an evil man."

"I do a job, Sovereign," Eifion said baldly. He stepped in front of her, and Awen's vision was filled with the view of his body from the stomach down, his hands and the knife. She twitched. "That's all. It's simply expertise. And Leader Awen here could tell you the same thing. She's trained in interrogation herself."

"You have me confused with some sort of gullible idiot, Councillor," Gwilym said disgustedly. "I've no love of torture, I'll freely admit, but the difference between using it to obtain information from known criminals and using it because you like it is sickeningly vast."

"This is training, Sovereign," Eifion pressed on remorselessly. The knife ripped across the front of the jerkin an inch below the collar and he tore the rest of the leather away, dropping it to the floor and sadly leaving the bloody collar in place, although dazedly Awen reflected it was probably something of a blessing in disguise. Breath control was her primary pain processing technique, and currently she was being forced to adopt it. "The more Leader Awen experiences the more knowledge she gains, and therefore the more she can apply in her own work. And, of course, she'll think twice before addressing the Council like that again."

"Perhaps you weren't paying attention," Gwilym said, unimpressed. "The Council needed someone to address them like that."

"I agree." He hadn't moved from in front of her, Awen realised suddenly; and as the adrenaline streamed through her heart again Eifion's hand shot forward and took both braids in one fist. "But it doesn't change the fact that we have a hierarchy, Sovereign, that must be observed. Here, Leader Awen is not at the top of it. Something that she needs reminding of..."

His hand slid mockingly and inexorably down the plaits, moving towards the beads, and Awen blinked through the wave of nausea that swept through her, leaving her mouth tasting sour and skin pricked with sweat. Be objective, she ordered herself hastily. They're just bits of glass, nothing else; they're not attached, they don't feel, nor should you... But his hand was getting closer, and she felt dizzy, she felt sick -

Gwilym's hand descended like the wrath of the gods and gripped both sets of beads, enveloping them easily in his fist, and Eifion froze.

"You'll find," Gwilym said coldly, "that you don't have a right to those anymore."

The silence was deadly. Awen trembled, and thanked as many gods as she could think of that she could see neither man's face. Eifion's aged, withered fingers tightened in front of her, the knuckles turning blue, and she fought her voicebox to stay immobile.

"Yes," Eifion said after a moment, very carefully, and his hand slowly withdrew. "My apologies, Sovereign. I'd forgotten about your... relationship."

The relief was intense, and probably disproportionate given that he was about to burn the skin off her back, but Awen didn't care. If nothing else, she was leaving here with beads intact and unviolated. That was important. It mattered. And she'd have walked through fire for Gwilym in that moment.

"Are you okay?" Gwilym murmured softly as Eifion stepped away, vanishing from her tiny field of vision. He still had hold of the beads, the other hand holding the pocket watch. Awen shivered, and winced as it strained her arms. "Sorry. Clearly you can't talk. And, indeed, aren't okay. That was probably annoying."

She wanted to laugh, wanted desperately to see his smile. All she could spare was a weak snort, an act that felt like it used up far too much of the precious oxygen she was getting into her lungs as it was. The hand holding the beads moved forward and Gwilym's thumb ran tenderly along her jaw, soothing her slightly.

"Just hold on a bit longer," he said quietly, the hideous sound of metal on metal announcing Eifion removing the chain-whip from the brazier screaming along Awen's nerves, almost giving her heart a seizure. The watch moved subtley forward into her field of vision, slanted so she could see the face. "Just a bit longer, that's all."

"Only five minutes, eh?" Eifion said with cruel cheer. His footsteps came closer, every one making Awen flinch, her breathing trying to accelerate away from her; desperately, she cast about for something else to focus on, and stared at the ticking second hand on the watch. "Well, it can't be helped. Too much of a good thing, as they say."

It was a fancy watch, not of Cymric make - presumably Gwilym had bought it in some incredibly foreign place Awen had only heard of. The design was different from normal, though. It had more dials on the sides, and now that she looked at it, not enough hands. It only had one, and a static marker that could be moved around the clock face -

"Out of deference to your... relationship, Sovereign, I'll leave her otherwise clothed," Eifion said graciously. Gwilym sniffed.

"Magnanimous," he said.

Awen stared at the watch that wasn't a watch, the Intelligencer trying to decipher it. The numbers went to sixty. Not twelve - specifically sixty. The ticking hand was making a ticking sound, but it wasn't moving like a normal second hand - for a moment she thought it was stationary, before a concentrated stare just about picked up the slow movement. It was very nearly touching the red digit at the top, the number she now knew as zero; and the static marker to the side had been set to the number five -

It was counting down the minutes.

And it had already started.

"Right then!" Eifion said brightly. "Are we ready to begin, Sovereign?"

"No," Gwilym said sourly. "But you are."

The watch hand moved, so infinitesimally slowly, onto the red zero.

"Naturally," Eifion smiled, and the shadows moved -

It was difficult to tell at first whether the impact or the heat hurt more. The metal seared across the left side of her lower back, the force of the blow easily affecting the deeper muscles and clearly instantly bruising, the shock of the force resonating through her body. But impact pain faded. The burning did not. It raged on, an internal fire devouring the flesh.

Awen screamed.

She couldn't help it. It had been a while since she'd been branded or whatever, and the shock of it took her by surprise; but she strangled the sound and forced her mind viciously back to the breathing, ignoring the stars in her vision, the roaring in her ears, the blistering agony in her back that made her teeth jolt and drowned out the mere pain she felt in her shoulders and cheek. It was bearable, it was, she just had to dig deep, she just had to -

The watch made an odd sound, like a single bell ring, and was withdrawn from her field of vision.

"Excellent!" Gwilym said brightly. "Five minutes! She's mine now."

"What?" Eifion's voice was almost a snarl, fury and frustration combined. "Perhaps you misheard, Sovereign! I have been given five minutes, not five seconds of -"

The pain crescendoed in a new wave, overwhelming her defences for a moment and leaving her breathlessly hanging from the chains -

- the forest is cold, snow on the ground in patches and frost on the rest, the still air filled with rising steam from breath and bodies and blood, and they aim for her, four of them coming at once and from different sides, and she turns too slowly, the axe carving into her back and the next swinging down to cleave her skull and someone is screaming her name -

Gwilym's hands caught both of her shoulders firmly, the snap back to the present only marginally better, and Awen stamped down the wordless cry in her throat.

"... when he told me to in the Council Chamber," Gwilym was saying calmly and matter-of-factly. "Please do go and double check if you're unsure. But you were also told to stop when I told you to, Councillor, which I have. Do you have the keys, Rider?"

"Yes, Sovereign," the Guard Rider said uncertainly by the door. "Should -?"

"Do it," Eifion spat. "Give him what he wants. It seems that's the Council's wish these days. Very well, Sovereign. Enjoy your three hours."

"Thank you," Gwilym said mildly to the sound of retreating footsteps. The door slammed, and the Guard Rider appeared in front of Awen's eyes, unlocking the heavy manacles around her ankles.

"Well done," he said fervently, looking up at Gwilym. "I've never known anyone do that before, Sovereign."

"Oh, I'm fine-tuning my skills at annoying Riders these days," Gwilym agreed grimly. "How do we get her down without -?"

"Hold her." The Guard Rider vanished again, and after a moment Awen felt the chain holding her up tremor slightly. "She won't be able to stand just yet, but her arms will have to come down slowly."

Gently, so gently, Gwilym's arms wrapped around her, carefully supporting her and avoiding her back.

"I've got her," he said quietly.

"I'll start lowering it," the Rider's voice said. "Take her down to the floor, slowly..."

The upwards force that her arms had adapted to loosened, and the friction as they were lowered even an inch was enough to make her vision grey at the edges again, but Awen didn't care. It was a better pain than the burning, distracting enough to take her mind off it, and almost instantly she sagged in Gwilym's arms, feeling his strength as he held her up. What the hell was he doing with her? she wondered wearily for the eightieth time. All she'd done so far was use him, and yet here he was still, joyfully holding her up.

"I bet I know what you're thinking," Gwilym murmured as he gently guided her to her knees. "Stop it."

"I was thinking they should paint this room," Awen managed somehow, her voice strangled. Gwilym laughed.

"A nice relaxing green," he said. Her arms went through being horizontal blindingly painfully. "You never know, it may calm Eifion a bit. Should I bother asking how you are?"

Gods it hurt. Oxygen came flooding back to her lungs and all she could do for a moment was breathe, the sound rapid and shallow in the room, her skin covered in sweat as her body reacted to the pain.

"No," she gasped as her arms just about reached her back again. "It would only depress you. And you wouldn't believe me."

"Ah." Gwilym grinned, carefully lying her down on her side to start work on the arm restraints. "You've got the 'I've had worse' response lined up, then. You know you're distressingly beautiful even when suffering terrible trauma?"

"You know you're bloody weird?"

"And you're definitely not the first woman to say that to me," Gwilym said morosely, and looked up at the Guard Rider. "Could you fetch a healer, sorry?"

"Sovereign." The Rider moved swiftly to the door and then paused, glancing back at them hesitantly. "I... Leader? I just want to say - it's an honour."

And he actually Saluted her before slipping swiftly out of the door.

Awen stared, shock actually overriding the pain for a moment.

"Did he just -?"

"You're really going to have to get used to it," Gwilym said, a gleeful grin in his voice. "You did an excellent thing today. Above and beyond, they call it. Brace yourself."

Although that unfortunately reminded her of the burn, and for a moment the agony was so great again that she couldn't breathe and her head swam, toes curling and teeth grinding together. By the time she'd managed to blink away the spots and focus she found her elbows were now separate again as the gods had intended, Gwilym carefully holding her left forearm off her back.

"Thank you," Awen panted.

"You know, I didn't know a person's elbows could touch behind their back?" he said grimly. "Funny what you learn in a day."

"It's easier with women," Awen said tiredly, savouring the cold of the stone floor against her forehead. The door opened and the Rider returned with Haf, indigo robe swirling about her bare feet. "Shoulders are narrower. More of a risk of dislocation with men."

"Right," Haf said sourly, dropping to her knees imperiously in front of Awen and making her flinch. "Oh, he burned you. Delightful. And I see you're bearing it without doing anything so weak and human as screaming."

"I screamed," Awen said defensively, but no one was listening to her anymore.

"Yes, is that normal behavious for Riders?" Gwilym asked, aggrieved. "I mean, I can tell it's for me, but it actually unnerves me more."

"Oh, yes, they all do it," Haf said disapprovingly. "Show a Rider a fully-grown human being and they just try to protect them, whether they need it or not. Has she told you she's fine?"

"She told me she's had worse, in not so many words."

"I have," Awen protested, but no one listened.

"It would be pathetic if it weren't so heartbreaking," Haf declared. "Good news. I can fix this. We'll need to get her next door, though."

"Really?" Gwilym said brightly. "Excellent! Here -"

The leather slid off both arms, freeing her aching fingers at last and pulling one last explosion of pain from her shoulders as both Haf and Gwilym gently lowered her arms to her sides. The cool air of the room instantly chilled the sweat coating her skin, creating a welcome counterpoint to the fire in her back. Awen shivered, and closed her eyes. The last of her energy had gone, it seemed.

"Alright," Haf said, business-like. "Can you sit her up, Sovereign? I need her to drink this."

"Ooh, an exciting mystical concoction." Gwilym's hand found her hip and shoulder and rolled her gently onto her right side before lifting her. The burnt skin stretched, and Awen just managed to rein back from a scream to a whimper. His fingers tightened on her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. Awen shook her head.

"Not your fault," she managed. "It's... what did you give Flyn? Mutant birds, yeah?"

"Better!" Gwilym said brightly. Awen opened her eyes as Haf passed her a goblet, the standard smell of boiled plant coming from the water within. "Dancing ninjas! Or at least, dancing ninjas if those are what killed Nerys Morgannwg. He's getting what she got."

"Yeah?" Haf gave him an impressed look. "You're my kind of politician, Sovereign."

"You say that now," Gwilym said gravely. "Just wait a few years until I'm mad. Then I won't be."

"He doesn't like torture, either," Awen said. She stared at the goblet in her hands. Her fingers were just starting to develop pins and needles, and would soon be incapable of holding it, so she had to hurry; but after three attempts she was still no closer to getting her arms and shoulders to lift it to her mouth. "I don't... think..."

"Here." And suddenly, the hard edges were gone from Haf, her manner all compassion and gentleness. She plucked the goblet from Awen's unresisting fingers and put it to her lips for her, and Awen gave up. Even drinking was hard - her breathing was still faster than normal, and the collar pressed against her throat with every swallow - but after the first few mouthfuls she didn't seem to mind anymore. Gwilym's body was a solid, reassuring presence behind her, and Haf was holding the cup with just one hand, the other winding itself lazily and luxuriously through Awen's hair as she whispered something. Awen tried to listen, and then gave that up too. It didn't matter, she thought sleepily. It was comforting, whatever it was, and safe, and... and...

She drifted, warm and secure and content. She basked in contentment, wrapping it around herself and savouring it, letting go of everything else, and just... drifted...

Time passed, after a fashion. She couldn't feel it entirely, and had no idea how much, but it passed. She didn't mind. Something left her after a while, that streamed away and evaporated into the ether, but Awen didn't try to follow or reclaim it. She hadn't noticed it, but it was... better, now that it was gone. She was better. She gloried in the contentment, and let herself drift on, through time, undisturbed...

"Open your eyes, Rider."

It was a whisper, warm and compassionate, that reached her and pulled her gently back into her body; her back was slightly sore and her shoulders ached a bit, and her eyes slid open of their own accord -

It was the most beautiful thing Awen had ever seen. The colours were jewel-bright and breathtaking, the irridescence of a kingfisher's wing, azure and turquoise and grass and sea and amber flame, sunlight-gold, all swirling and whirling into intricate patterns that danced and evolved and sang to her, the singing of the silent harp. It was the beauty of innocence, of purity, of sacrosanct balance and hallowed wisdom, whole and complete and perfect enough that seeing it alone was a privilege, an honour, and -

- something hovered above it, between her and the water's surface.

It was dead, Awen thought. It was rotting, putrifying, the occasional glimpses of its flesh tinged with green and black as it flaked off the bone in clumps, but they were only glimpses because of the blood. And there was so much blood. It was black, coating the thing in a gelatinous layer that had to be at least an inch thick, possibly more, while fresher, redder blood oozed thickly from gaps, dropping into the pool -

The horror of it would have brought her to her knees, but she was dimly aware that she already was. She might have screamed. Certainly she tried to; just as she tried to lunge for the thing, to grab it, to drag it away from the sanctity of the pool, to stop its defilement. But she couldn't move. She could only watch, appalled and horrified, as the thing moved closer, ever closer, strings of blood dripping from it like saliva and catching on the swirling water where the colours changed, darkening and mutating into crimson and jet -

And then she saw the hands, and realised what it was, and she wanted to die.

It was true horror, Awen found. She raged, and screamed, and tore at her arms, but it didn't matter. She was only free to do so in her mind. Her body didn't listen, her eyes staying fixedly open to show her the vile atrocity of what she was doing as her arms neared the water -

- Gwion's dead-alive eyes watch her, a hollow accusation as a bear rears up behind him, snarling, its limbs contorting into Owain's leering battle-bright face -

- "You were betrayed twice," Madog snarls at her. "Once by Owain and once by the Union."-

"He wasn't your fault," a voice whispered. Awen whimpered, the water below her hands raging away from her, foaming almost in its revulsion, and she begged mentally for it all to stop -

- "You were always too good for us," he whispers, his face shattered, and she misses him, this murderer, this sick destroyer of everything good, and wants him to come home -

- "It's not him," Gwilym tells her, his hands merciful. "You miss the one you knew. You wish he was still the same, that's all" -

The water brushed her fingers, the cold chilling her to the bone, the kaleidoscope screaming its pain beneath her and Awen sobbed, clawing frantically at herself to stop but unable to -

- "Take this," she says cruelly, handing him his family's murder. "Don't open it unless I let you. Or perhaps I'll make you burn it -"

- "You were always going to make me open it," he says, his eyes looking straight through her, seeing everything she is and isn't. "That's who you are. How many have you saved?" -

The water closed around her wrists, boiling in its hatred and yet freezing her skin, the colours all gone and replaced simply with black, roiling and seething -

- The children stand in lines, blank and empty, an entire generation lost -

- "How many have you saved?" he asks. "Those are your fault too." -

- The Council stand in lines, watching her through masks of rage. "You over-rode us," one hisses. "What gave you that right?What gave you that presumption, Awen Masarnen?They will pay for your interference -"

"I have saved them from you," she declares defiantly, and she looks, and searches; but there is no remorse, not even its shadow -

The water roared around her elbows, the blood being torn away from her skin and into the maelstrom and Awen stared at it, her mind wheeling -

- "There's no difference between us," he says mockingly.

"I knew I'd never escape," she says -

- "It will never be equal," she begs him, holding him away at arms' length. "I can never tell you; you'd never know-" -

- "I love you too," he whispers, beautiful -

The blood spun away over the currents, rippling across the eddies and whirlpools before being torn beneath the riptides of the black water. It howled in Awen's ears, its song turned to screams, rejecting the pollutant and flinging it away, and still she couldn't move to spare it, couldn't stop -

The shadows moved, and just for a moment, just in the corner of Awen's eye, a meraden reared above her, its wings outstretched and hooves raised and she could feel Rhiannon's presence, her skin tingling from head to toe as the water roared up -

And suddenly it swirled, just once, and the black washed away, the blues and greens and golds streaming back in, and Awen looked down at her arms, clean and bare beneath the surface, and the tingle in her skin suffused inwards -

Peace closed about her like a fist.