FicWad

Chapter Seven


It happened, nearly a week before Dow's twenty-seventh birthing, that Rhia bore Llewellyn's third son. He she called Carey, and doted upon dearly. This was in fact her trend now, for it seemed-to her, as to everyone else in the village-that this son would be her last with Llewellyn. His days were spent longer with Dow than before, his scorn of his wife obvious, though his sons were prolific enough.

On the Bealtaine of Dow's twenty-seventh birth, they lay together in their clearing, Llewellyn's elder two sons beating at each other with long reeds to mimic their father's sword and axe. Llewellyn gnawed a stalk of grass from the fields beyond the forest, his arm casually tossed over Dow's shoulder as the younger wove cords for Uryen.

"How do you think Garient will become as a man?"

"Very much like you, I would think," Dow murmured, looking over at the oldest of the boys. He did look a great deal like his father had in early youth, but with brilliantly flaxen hair and a gentle face comprised of sharp, unchildish lines. Dow nodded a little, and said again, "He will be very handsome."

"If you were to have a daughter, I would very much like to see them wed. They would bear beautiful children." Dow snorted a little.

"It's a bit late to be asking daughters of me, 'wellyn. My one time with ladies has long since past."

Llewellyn was silent for a time, playing with the slack of the cord Dow braided and half watching his sons. At times, he'd call out to them as they began to roughen each other too badly, or when they looked in danger of wandering off.

"And what of Mordred? He looks more like his mother than me. I fear for the hearts of the girls."

"I fear more for the boys."

"You would!" Llewellyn laughed, smiling at his lover playfully as he teased his hair about in every which direction it would go. Dow stuck his tongue out playfully at Llewellyn, and received a rough kiss for his troubles.

Garient and Mordred were watching when they pulled apart, the younger giggling behind his hand and the older tilting his head in speculation, bouncing his reed-sword on his shoulder.

"Papa," he grumbled, all man and little boy, "why don't you kiss Mama like that?"

"Because Rhia is my wife. And Dow is the one who I love." The simple way he explained it made Dow flush a little and return to his braiding. He heard the boys return to their playing, and started only a little when Llewellyn gently caressed his cheek. "What's wrong, my stag?"

"Do you have to be so . . . blunt with them? They're only children."

"Children understand love better than men and women do, Dow. They can understand that I love you differently than them, or than Rhia. And they will not judge."

"But they will tell Rhia." Llewellyn huffed a little, and casually fell back on his elbows. His hair wreathed around him a little, concealing the slight signs of age and showing only the young boy he had been those twelve Bealtaine's prior.

"You're frightened of her."

"I am not!" Dow snapped, but the flush on his cheeks said otherwise. Llewellyn grinned, rolling onto his side and draping an arm over Dow's thighs, his hand creeping perilously about.

"You're frightened of my wife."

"If I were, it would be for good reason," he buckled, squirming as seeking fingers trailed over his ribs. "Of course your father would chose a woman of Sin for your wife. She's as formidable in battle as I am."

"My strong stag," Llewellyn murmured, his fingers moving in fleeting, light caresses that tickled more than soothed. "You're as scared of my Rhia as you are of the Woads."

His teasing fingers slipped under Dow's tunic then, and danced over his ribs in treacherous patterns. Dow bucked and weaved, trying to drive Llewellyn's hands out and save what dignity he had to spare. But Llewellyn-older and larger and braver than he-was atop him in a flash, his slim fingers tickling along the muscle and bone, drawing raucous, barking laughter from Dow in long, gasping peels.

"Come boys!" he called as his sons looked on, grinning like the fiend he was. "He isn't much of a fight."

"'w-wellyn!" Dow gasped through his laughter. Llewellyn cackled at him merrily, and soon his sons, with great battle cries, were on him as well.

They wrestled about on the ground for a while, until the boys untangled themselves, and curled about each other in a far corner of the clearing. Llewellyn remained cast under Dow's persuasive weight, humming quiet reels under his breath and combing his fingers through his dark hair gently, at times coming away with twigs and leaves and other debris.

For a time, they rested in the soft, warm light of the clearing, until Dow awoke to the sounds of someone slowly approaching, and lifted his tired head from Llewellyn's chest.

He was caught and thrown by a swift kick in the jaw, and swore violently, waking Llewellyn and his sons. Rhia glowered down at him, Carey balanced on her hip and her face a livid mask of scorn. She extended one finger slowly toward Dow menacingly, her lips curling into a sneer.

"I can stand the lose of my husband on the occasion that he will come to my bed," she growled down at Dow. "But if you come near my sons again, son of Draga, I will do more than boot you about."

"Rhia, let him be," Llewellyn groused, pulling Rhia's arm roughly. She backhanded him away, whirling to glare at him as well. Dow supposed it would have been comical, the look on Llewellyn's face, if he had not been rather petrified with the idea that Rhia might bring about the end of the world upon them.

"I put up with many things from you, son of Fionn, but I will not put up with the soiling of my sons with your deathly ways."

"'Deathly ways'? What is this, Rhia, some message from Rhiannon? Am I a poor warrior and husband now because I provide for you and my sons?" Dow suspected Rhia's sneer only worsened with the words.

"The Old Ones do not look upon this with happy eyes, Llewellyn!" she vowed vengefully. "One day, you will see. Garient, Mordred. Come away with me."

"But Mama!" Garient whined. Mordred was a half-breath behind, grabbing Llewellyn's hand and holding tight. Rhia scowled a little, grabbing Garient's arm and pulling him to her skirt. "Mama, I want to stay! We were only playing!"

"Garient," Rhia snapped. She turned her gaze back to Mordred, who curled around his father's legs a little, staring up at her with fright coloring his brilliant cobalt eyes. "Mordred, come away with me."

Mordred shook his head, his fingers tight in the stiff hide of Llewellyn's boots. He gently scooped his son into his arms, and held him close. Garient managed away from Rhia's hold, and clung to Llewellyn's belt desperately; his gaze darted to Dow, who slowly shifted closer to Llewellyn and his sons, entrapping Garient comfortably.

Rhia glowered at him hardest, as though this were entirely his own doing, and huffed. She hefted Carey on her hip a little, and hurried from the clearing with quiet, angry murmurs spilling from her lips.

In a fleeting moment, Dow thought he saw tears on Rhia's face."Rhia? May I come in?"

She looked up in a start, staring for a moment at the young gentleman standing at her lintel, and wiped at the soot on her face lightly. In the far-background, the sound of children could be heard. Her belly was full with yet another child. For a moment, she didn't react to his presence, before gesturing him slowly in without a word.

"What's this about? I don't feel like being harassed by my husband's mistress."

"I'm not his-!" Dow forcibly stopped his boiling anger, and settled silently at Rhia's table. He didn't speak for some time, tracing the contours of the top with his eyes and then his fingertips. She sat across from him after a moment, bracing her back a little.

Dow finally asked, "How are you feeling this time?"

"I'm in a little pain," Rhia admitted, her voice a little strained and forced. Dow nodded; his sisters had been in pain with their sons as well.

They were silent for some time, until the sound of Rhia's kettle overpowered the noises of her sons, and she stood slowly. Dow jumped to his feet, offering his services quickly and easily. She stared at him skeptically, even as he smiled and explained living in a family full of beautiful pregnant young women.

He strained her water over some herb leaves, and handed the lightly steaming cup to her with a soft smile which she did not return. She did admit that the tea was far better brewed than her own, her eyes carefully away from Dow's face; he thanked her softly.

From the next room, there came a terrible cry, and out from the swing ran Garient, all a-bundle of nearly adult energy. His pale hair was tied back from his handsome features, and his grand-father's sword was held high in the air above him, being waved down at his two younger brothers.

"Garient, put Fionn's sword away," Rhia ordered hotly. Garient turned and gave her a sharp glare he must have learned from his father. His gaze slipped to Dow, and he stilled, slowly lowering his sword.

"Why are you here?"

The cold nature of his voice removed the handsomeness of his features, leaving only the pale reflection of his father's face. Dow grew cold for a moment, casting a glance toward Rhia. Her gaze was trained on her tea.

"I was here to speak with Rhia," he explained, trying to keep his tone light and unhurt. Garient watched him closely, and shrugged absently. Mordred, from behind Garient, shot him a much colder look. Dow sighed as they disappeared back into their room, and cast a glance over at Rhia.

His tone was nearly icy when he said, "You've taught them well."

"Llewellyn hates me for it." Her hand traveled nervously over her swollen belly, and she looked at Dow, almost accusingly. "I wouldn't change it for the world."

"Why do you hate me so?" Dow demanded, his hands clenching unconsciously at his sides. Rhia stared at him for a moment, before standing very slowly to her full height. She was little taller than Dow, but she seemed much smaller; her shoulders were bowed, her face a little wane and drawn. There were tears in her eyes.

"Fionn told me that I was to make his son an honest man, and I have tried to the best of the abilities Rhiannon has given me," she prefaced. Her voice held none of that firm conviction Dow had come to know her for when she continued: "When I saw you together, the night of our handfasting, I knew that I would not be alone in Llewellyn's heart. I could have accepted that."

"So what can't you accept about this, Rhia? Please. I don't understand."

She fumed for a while, her fists tight at her sides, before she gestured wildly at herself, and demanded, "What do you see, when you look at me?"

Dow blinked, and answered honestly. "I see the mother of three beautiful boys, and more to come. I see the woman who I feared would steal the only true love I've had in my life." He grabbed her hands, and emphatically told her, "I see a woman I would be proud to call sister, were I to have borne a daughter instead of a son."

"You bore a son?" Rhia asked, apparently enraptured by the idea. Dow flushed a little, and shook his head with a shy laugh.

"Another time. I don't understand what you're worried over though."

"Do you know what I see, son of Draga?" Dow shook his head slowly. "I see wrinkles, and gray hair, and marks of my child bearing. I no longer see the beauty of my youth. I see a thorn in my husband's side, when he would rather be with you."

She was silent for some time before saying, "You told Uryen and Draga that Llewellyn would never bear bastards. And for that I am thankful for your love of each other." Then, she shook her head. "But he will never look at me in the same way he looks at you. You will scar, perhaps, and grow gray with age. And I will degenerate with his sons."

Dow stared at her long and hard for a moment, before pulling her close by the wrist, and wrapping her tightly in his arms. He cooed gently, bringing his hands to her hair and stroking gently down to her back, where he rubbed softly.

She shoved him away, tears bright in her eyes.

"I do not want your pity, son of Draga. I want what is mine." She sat heavily back in her seat, and sulked over her arms for a moment, before darkly growling, "Leave now, son of Draga."

"Rhia, I only-."

"Leave. Or I shall have my sons less well behaved than I'd like them, to escort you out."

Dow left without another word, and wondered when he'd gone wrong in his idea of courting Rhia's good favor.Blae stared at Dow hard, across the expanse of the young gentleman's table, his young gaze far too intelligent. He would be seven that year, the youngest of Rhia's sons to date.

Dow wasn't quite sure why Llewellyn had brought his youngest over. It might have had something to do with Rhia taking the elder three out to her home village to visit her family. But Dow hadn't asked, and wasn't about to now.

Llewellyn laughed a little beside Dow's ear. "He likes you."

"He's trying to turn me to stone." It only made Llewellyn's laugh a little darker and deeper.

"And he just might. He's already very strong. I've been thinking of his quest for his Coming of Age already."

"How was Arca's? I never did ask."

Carey had chosen the name Arca nearly a week after his Coming of Age had been completed, and had come to his parents with the knowledge of the name deeply ingrained. They had not contested in the slightest, but had congratulated him on such a proud name to match him. Dow supposed it was the best of the names Llewellyn's sons had taken; before Arca, Mordred had become Sherod, and before him Garient had become Kynan.

He wondered, as Blae stared at him intently, what the little boy would take as his name.

Llewellyn's arms fell slowly around Dow's shoulders, and he kissed the side of his neck gently. Blae made a quiet little sound, and then giggled a little; his eyes changed from harsh stone to sparkling gems in an instant.

"Papa!" His voice was so high and sharp, almost biting. He stood on his chair and reached across the table as Llewellyn nibbled on Dow's neck a little. "Papa, don't eat him! He's funny!"

"Tastes a little odd too," Llewellyn quipped. Dow flushed, and smacked his lover firmly in the side. But Blae was laughing a little, covering his mouth with both hands as he knelt on the table. The ginger straightened, and grabbed his son-they looked even more alike that Kynan had looked when he'd been Garient, with their fiery hair and fair faces.

Blae stumbled as Llewellyn put him on the ground, and then pulled at the tall man's belt a little, grinning up at him.

"I haven't got it."

"Yes you have, Papa! Can I?" Dow cocked a brow at the antics, supporting his chin on his palm as he watched them with the same intent that Blae had shown a moment before.

Llewellyn shook his head firmly, but was smiling. Blae tugged at his belt again, his tiny hands digging for the sling-bag on his hip, which Llewellyn darted out of the way quickly. He whistled a tune, grabbed his son about the waist, and swung him upside down; Blae shrieked and laughed, and kept reaching for that pouch.

"Say hello to Dow, chickadee." Blae smiled at Dow, and waved energetically at him. Dow smiled, and waved back with a chortle, his chin still heavy on his palm. Once more, tiny hands dove for the sling-bag, and Llewellyn sighed a little. "Very well, chickadee."

He dug into the bag, and pulled out a highly polished bit of granite he'd collected some time ago, far enough back that Dow's recollection of it was vague and blurry. Blae grinned, and took it with eager hands, settling himself into the corner to inspect and spin the stone on the hard floor.

"He wants your rock?"

"He's an odd and powerful child, Dow." His arms went back around Dow's shoulders, and his kisses returned, softer than before. "If anything should happen to us, to Rhia and myself, I want him to come to you."

"'wellyn," Dow groused, turning his head a little to catch his lover's eyes. Llewellyn smiled, and kissed him tenderly.

"I don't trust my father not to worry his mind away with horrible tales of me, and the same goes for Rhia's family. You are all I have to keep my son a good man. I would want him to be a good man."

"He will be. At your hands."

Llewellyn nodded, but didn't look convinced.