FicWad

Chapter Six


Winter became Spring, and Llewellyn did not return to the village. Dow holed himself away in his home, would not hunt or join in the festivities of Paganing or handfasting or anything else that happened. He sobbed, and slept, cold and alone, haunted by terrors of a man far larger than he, leering and breathing heavily on his neck.

Irving and Uryen were constantly at his door, trying to draw him out of his reclusive state. Seamus, who had found him delirious in the woods, was ever on his stoop, talking softly to him through the sway of his door, until night came and he was called away to his wife and children.

In late spring, Rhia bore a child. He she called Garient, and vouched fitfully for his father's name, though few believed Llewellyn to continue on in the world they saw; the rumors of his passing over to Tir na-nOg were loud and vile to Dow's ears, especially with this news that he had begotten a child.

He returned to his hunting, if only to distract himself. Whenever Rhia was near him, she was vile in her flaunting of her son, cooing over him and sending Dow a venomous glare. Surely, by then, she knew of the curse Dow had attempted upon her and her womb. He ignored her as best he could.

As Samhain rolled about lethargically to the changing of the leaves, Dow retired one late after-noon to the clearing where he had met Llewellyn, all those long year ago. Slowly, he stripped away his clothing, and sat in the middle of the clearing, his legs crossed and sword stuck between his ankles and waist.

He sat, watching as far about him as he could. His trance was shallow, pensive and relaxing. There were no thoughts of young Garient and vengeful Rhia, no thoughts of dead Kai and Roland, nor of Seamus and his growing brood. No thoughts of Drostan; or Irving and Uryen; or even Gwyn and his new woman.

There was, however, a thought of him, and what might have been, if all things were not so tumultuously played by the Old Ones. There was Llewellyn there, smiling and laughing and ever-bright, and he was in love all over again.

A rustle in the brush made him rise slowly from his trance without moving. His eyes darted fitfully to the sound, which settled into nothingness, and he sighed a little.

"What a fool you are, Dow of Draga," he berated himself, shaking his head and swearing under his breath. "What a fool."

"I see no fool here. Only a worrywart."

He flinched, and rose with his sword in a fluid movement that, years ago, would have toppled him and had him blushing in his embarrassed, nude state.

Llewellyn smiled, as if from a dream, favoring his left side generously. He was black and blue, bleeding from innumerable places. Dow stared for a long, fetted moment, before laughing incredulously at him.

He grumbled, "This is a dream-vision."

Llewellyn looked down at himself, and chuckled a little. "Would I not be in a better state then, my little stag? Aye me, come and help a man, will you? I ache."

"Surely." He stepped forward, prepared for his hands to go straight through Llewellyn. But he was solid as always, firm and surprisingly smooth under his touch.

He gathered his clothes but did not dress, directing them through the back to his home. Llewellyn was surprisingly sure on his feet, but willingly draped half over Dow's naked form. There was no mistaking the tripping of his fingers as absent idleness, and Dow did not delude himself very much.

He dressed in only breeches, and gathered water from the well in the square, returning to Llewellyn's side quickly. Slowly, he washed each cut and bruise, until there was nothing else to clean, and he simply stroked the cool rag over Llewellyn's battered flesh.

"You have a son," he blurted nonsensically. Llewellyn stared at him for a moment, before nodding a little. Dow nodded as well, and continued, "Rhia calls him Garient. I hope he will not keep the name. He looks very much like you."

"I am sure." He didn't say anything else, but stared at Dow fitfully, as though trying to figure how to say something.

Dow did not allow him to speak. He smiled very sadly, and shot at him, hugging him tightly about the neck and sobbing into his shoulder, vouching his worry and sadness over his lover's absence. Llewellyn rubbed his back soothingly, cooing and quieting him, kissing his brow and cheeks, and finally his lips, tender and strikingly wanton.

It was an easy thing to fall together into Dow's bed, and he smiled at his ginger lover, caressing his face gently. "I missed you so, 'wellyn."

"I am here now," he vowed firmly. His eyes were intent over Dow's face, taking in every new line and crease and absent freckle across the fair skin. "You are well, my stag? I have thought of you most."

"They said you were dead," he said, shaking his head a little. He hugged Llewellyn tightly, sobbing a laugh into his shoulder as his fingers tightened in his shirt a little. They kissed tenderly, their fingers idle and still on warm flesh.

Dow kept his eyes shut, trying to relish Llewellyn's weight over his hips; the feel of his skin under his fingers; the smell of his clothes; the warmth of his body as they slowly wrapped themselves together in Dow's beddings.

They were silent, and simply together. And when Dow woke in the morning, expecting his dream to have ended, he was pleasantly surprised to have Llewellyn's sinuous arms cascading around his waist.

He managed to escape the embrace, and set about a light morning meal. His attention was torn to Llewellyn's dowsing face; and to the new, still pink scars that traced his arms and torso. Llewellyn woke slowly to Dow's eyes, and smiled dreamily across the room at him, pushing aside the temperate veil of sleep and the physical veil that separated the two 'rooms' of Dow's home.

"Did you sleep well?" Dow asked quietly, dishing his meal into small clay bowls and handing one to Llewellyn as he grabbed the wine and settled back on the mattress.

"Far better than I had without you." He kissed him gently before taking a bite of the food. His smile was small and shy. "You cook well for a man without a woman."

"I've had to. Too much of my mother's and sisters' cooking. If I had not, I likely would've starved." It was quiet jesting of course, but still elating to say. He'd never cooked for another before. To have Llewellyn be the first . . .

It seemed tragically infantile and poetic. They ate in silence, and cast aside their dishes when they were done, still passing the wineskin between them.

They tumbled to their tryst and love easily, rolling about through Dow's blankets to hide their nudity sensually, stealing easily stolen kisses and caresses. And after a time, Dow bent to Llewellyn's pressing need, and shuttered his eyes to the quiet pleasures they shared.

As they lay together afterwards, Dow traced a scar on Llewellyn's arm, and said, "You should return to Rhia." Llewellyn kissed his brow gently, then his nose, and then his lips, far less gently than before.

"I am dead, am I not?" he asked with a quiet laugh. "I shall stay with you then."

"You cannot," Dow insisted, shaking his head and turning away. "Now, you have a son. She is your Wife, 'wellyn-."

"And you are my love."

"But not to whom you have fasted your hands." He splayed those hands, and entwined their fingers, staring at the subtle contrast. Llewellyn murmured wordlessly behind him, kissing his neck and shoulder gently. "I will always love you, 'wellyn. But Rhia . . . she needs you, now more than ever."

"Do you wish me gone, Dow? Has it been so long as to fall out of love-?" He spun, and pinned Llewellyn by the shoulders to the mattress, sneering down at him. Llewellyn stared up with pale, unabashed eyes.

"I fell for you when first I laid eyes on you in that clearing," Dow said, "and have loved you since. I loved you when you were chasing women about shamelessly, and when you were too afraid to tell your father, and even on the night you took Rhia as your wife. I have loved you since I have been a man. And you doubt me?"

"The change of a year can do this to someone."

Dow slammed his fists into the giving fabric on either side of Llewellyn's head, and screamed wordlessly at him. Then, he climbed from atop him, and stumbled about, across the floor in the nude, until he fell before his alter. There he sat motionless and speechless, even as Llewellyn came and wrapped about him tightly.

"What would you have me do? If I go to Rhia now, I will be hers until I am dead."

"Someone will know," Dow said softly. Llewellyn shook his head against Dow's back, his hands firm and hot against his chest. "Someone will know you are here."

"If I go to Rhia, I will be her Man and her son's Father. And if I stay here-."

"You will be dead, 'wellyn," Dow interrupted, turning to look at him, "to all but me."

"Am I not?" He shook his head. Llewellyn's hands tightened on him a little, slid low so his arms could circle him completely. With his eyes shut, he inhaled Dow's gentle smell, and sighed gently. "You are giving me away to everything, Dow."

"I know that," he whispered, tears beginning to color his voice.

"We may never be like this again."

"I know."

Llewellyn was silent for a very long time, before gently asking, "May I stay until I can grow the courage to lose you?"

"You may stay as long as you'd like." He wanted to say something else, wanted to say that the courage would never come. But his lips and voice failed him, and all he could do was feel Llewellyn surrounding him and stare at the goblet on his alter.Llewellyn's courage seemed to grow quickly on the careful tutelage of Dow. And, in the Spring when Garient turned into his second year of being, they bore a second son, which Rhia called Mordred.

It was with resplendent effort, after that, that Llewellyn would find time to slip away to Dow's side. Rhia knew of this, of course-"It's the curse of motherhood," Llewellyn had sagely uttered as Dow had passed him the wineskin; "They become far too knowing of their husbands and their sons."-and did her best to stop Llewellyn's visits to Dow. He would have none of it, would some times make a point to flaunt his attractions before Rhia simply to see her eyes writhe with annoyance and silent fervor.

After all, she was a wife now, if still a woman of Rhiannon. Her duty was first to her husband, and that duty entailed the bearing of his sons as he saw fit to lay with her. Truly, she could do nothing more of Llewellyn's attractions than complain to the counsel.

So it was that the counsel finally beseeched her annoyance, and came upon Dow. More properly, Uryen and Draga came to his home one late evening as Llewellyn lay sprawled before the alter, bare of his shirt and itching to remove the last of his clothing.

It was awkward for a moment, before Uryen smiled kindly, and asked for Llewellyn to leave them for a while. Llewellyn thought of staying for a moment, before spying the knife on Draga's hip and the protective look in the old man's eyes. He grabbed his shirt, kissed Dow passionately, and wandered out with no word.

Draga was the first to speak. After striking Dow across the face firmly, he grabbed the young man, and shook his shoulders powerfully.

"You are with a man, and that I can be greatful and understanding of, for I have known this passion. But that is a man which you cannot have. He has a wife. He has two sons. And yet you keep his company."

"He keeps mine," Dow insisted, shaking his head. "I have asked him to stay with Rhia, but he will not."

"From what Rhia says," Uryen broke, crossing his arms over his chest, "it is you who is stealing her husband. She wants you banished."

"I have done nothing wrong." Draga shook him again, and Dow snarled, throwing his father off powerfully. "I have not! Llewellyn choses to spend what time he has with me. I am not a woman with spread knees, and Rhia should be greatful of this. Llewellyn will never bear bastards."

"This isn't the point, Dow! Llewellyn has dedicated himself to Rhia, from the first time he laid with her."

"You mean Fionn dedicated Llewellyn to Rhia when he forced her upon him," Dow hissed venomously, shoving Draga away from him. "If Llewellyn wishes his time spent with me rather than Rhia, than obviously she is not much of a wife."

"You doubt her?" Uryen asked, sounding almost aghast. Dow snorted, his angry pride and vengeful spirit in high repose.

"If she were such a woman as to keep her man as she should, than Llewellyn would not wish my company. They have been married for many years now. And they have two sons."

"Fionn's son spends his time with you rather than Rhia!" Draga rumbled, his eyes blazing. "How is he to have sons when he finds his time with other men."

"Ask him yourself! I don't see why I am the victim of her hate when he is the one leaving her bed." He shoved past Draga then, and stormed out the door, snarling under his breath and seething.

Somehow, he found himself in the forest, and sighed. It seemed to be the only place to find comfort, when the days and nights were too long and strained with lies and anger. Llewellyn was in their clearing, pacing ceaselessly. Dow wrapped himself around him gently, nuzzling into the length of his hair.

"What do they say?"

"Rhia wants me banished for your inability to love her." Llewellyn shook his head, and turned in Dow's hold. His arms rose about his shoulders, pulling him close and refusing for some time to release him.

"What will we do?" he asked idly. Dow looked at him, and sighed a little. His fingers traced the scar on his face.

"We could leave. Just for a while. Until Rhia forgets her hatred."

"She will never forget."

"Then we will never return." Llewellyn smiled, and bent to kiss Dow softly upon the mouth. They stood that way for a moment, lips barely touching and wrapped in each other's embrace. A soft breeze came through, rustling their hair and clothing. Dow brought Llewellyn close to his chest, and vowed painfully, "I wish you were mine."

"I will always be yours, my stag." His hands were gentle on his back, his words soft. Dow sobbed a little, and tried desperately to believe.