Rhys Howells

RHYS HOWELL - LOVE LANGUAGE

Primary love language; physical touch: Rhys loves physical touch. It’s something that grounds him. It’s probably not appropriate, but he loves holding his wife’s hand subconsciously, his hand on the small of her back as they move about their house or events, just small consistent contact. 

Secondary love language; Quality Time: Rhys loves quality time with the people he loves. Even if it’s just doing nothing and they are in the same room, he’s content. Rhys has never been a big reader, but he loves listening to people read or even just taking a walk in the park or horse riding with someone.

Self Para 004 Leaving home.

Above the hedgerows, the moon hung low as Rhys Howell rode home through the light drizzle of rain. His cloak was damp from the mist and rain, and he could see Llŷr’s mane was also dampened by the environment. The sound of Llŷr’s hooves and brief snorts was the only sound Rhys could hear across the Carew roads. When Rhys finally arrived at his family home, the lanterns in the farmhouse were still glowing, barely, but they were still there. Once again, Rhys was late arriving home, but this wasn’t anything new. His family knew that Rhys was never one for timekeeping, especially when it came to his horse rides. Rhys dismounted Llŷr quietly in the yard, brushing the damp from Llŷr’s coat. He’d been helping Dafydd Evans mend a cart axle, and time had escaped him. Naturally, Dafydd welcomed Rhys to stay longer for an ale or two, and who was Rhys to decline?. Either way, Rhys knew that his father wouldn’t believe him. “We’re in for it now, boy,” Rhys said quietly. Llŷr gave Rhys a snort in response, causing Rhys to smile before he put Llŷr back into his stall. Even from the stable, Rhys could hear his parents arguing, but not loud enough to make out any of their words. When he reached the front door, he paused briefly. This wasn’t their normal argument. He’d seen his parents arguing before, his father with his signature set jaw and crossed arms while his mother usually sat, trying to calm things down with gentle words. “Please, Gethin, he’s done nothing.” Rhys heard his mother say as he crept past the kitchen. He’d made sure that his footsteps were light; he didn’t want to be caught in the crossfire. Rhys had made it to the staircase, only managing two or three steps when he heard his father’s voice. “I always knew he was a curse on this house. “Rhys has been nothing but trouble since he came into this world, and now I know it for certain.” It wasn’t the first time Rhys had been the topic of conversation or the cause of an argument. It was, however, the first time that his father had spoken with so much venom when he said Rhys’s name. Rhys lingered, pausing outside his bedroom door, trying to listen to more of the ongoing argument. His heart pounded as Rhys tried to be as quiet as possible. “...You’ve held this in for long enough, Anwen.” Was all Rhys could hear from his father. Their voices had gone quieter, but Rhys didn’t want to risk getting closer. “There was nothing good to come of it.” His mother said, sounding desperate and fearful almost, but sad overall. Rhys' heart continued to pound when he heard the kitchen door open. Quickly and quietly, Rhys practically dived into his room. Madoc, Rhys’s older brother, was already sleeping in their shared room. Their parents' bickering had become common; it stopped disturbing anyone else’s sleep. For a short while, Rhys lay on his bed. He stared at the ceiling, wondering what he’d done wrong this time. Soon enough, sleep had finally found Rhys, despite his mind racing.

The sound of the bedroom door crashing open woke up Rhys and Madoc. The two brothers barely had time to open their eyes when Gethin was looming in the doorway with a lantern in his hand. “Get up,” Gethin commanded. Before either brother had a chance to react, Gethin ripped away Rhys’s covers. Madoc barely rose up from his bed when Rhys was pulled out of his bed when he tried to speak. All he was met with was Gethin demanding Rhys leave the house. Anwen stood behind her husband, tears streaming down her face, clutching at her shawl. Rhys looked to his mother for answers, but all he could see was a woman, eyes wide with pleading. “Gethin, please,” she’d said softly, her hand placed on her husband’s shoulder. “He’s done nothing wrong.” Everyone could see Gethin stiffen beneath her touch. His face looked like thunder while his eyes bore into Rhys’s. “He doesn’t belong here,” Gethin snarled, his eyes never leaving Rhys.

Rhys had so many insults thrown his way, all from his father’s lips, but this was different. There was no shouting, no frustration, but there was something that he couldn’t recognise. Pure and utter disgust, maybe. “If you want me gone, tell me why.” Rhys tried to be calm, but his shaking voice betrayed him. There was a silence that followed, which felt endless. Madoc sat up in his bed; Anwen was behind her husband. Rhys and Gethin just stared at each other, one with confusion and the other with nothing but malice. “Da,” Rhys began talking until Gethin’s hand shot forward. All Rhys could feel was the stinging sensation across his face and the taste of blood in his mouth. His vision was a little blurred as Anwen rushed between them. Rhys felt his eyes start to burn, but he refused to let any tears fall. “He goes before I do much worse,” Gethin commanded once more, only this time to Anwen. Rhys reached for his pack, but Gethin had already snatched it away. “You’ll take nothing from this house apart from your horse. That’s not mine to take.” Llŷr was a gift from Rhys’s maternal uncle, a birthday gift on his eighteenth birthday, to celebrate Rhys coming into adulthood. Now, it was all he had to his name. Anwen sobbed while Rhys said nothing. All he could do was silently nod while his brother handed him a cloak. Gethin stayed close as Rhys moved through the house and down to the stables. Neither spoke as Rhys saddled his horse. Anwen was told to stay in the house while Rhys departed. Rhys was about to mount when Gethin took Llŷr’s bridle. “No one will help you,” Gethin said with a coldness that Rhys hadn’t ever felt.  “I’ll see to it that no one’s door is open to you, boy.” All Rhys wanted to do was ask why. Why did his mother look through the window as if she was consumed by something? Why couldn’t he say goodbye to his sisters.  More importantly, he wanted to ask why his father hated him so much. Rhys hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary, but he didn’t want to risk another hit. 

[ HOWELL FAMILY TEMPLATE ]

Residence:  Wales, U.K. 

Father: Gethin Howell (Ian Pirie)

Mother: Anwen Howell neé Walsh (Michelle Fairley)

Maternal Uncle : Cormac Walsh (Adrian Rawlins)

Older brother: Madoc Howell (Jamie Dornan)

RHYS HOWELL (Daniel Sharman)

Sister-in-law

Younger sister: Rhosyn Howell (Millie Gibson)

Younger sister: Carys Howell

RHYS HOWELL - PLAYLIST PART 1

Self Para 003. Printed in Scandals

The day started off the same. Rhys woke up before dawn and began working on cleaning the stables. The stable hands usually handled this task, but there was a cathartic element to it. The race would be tomorrow, and, like always, the horses were a little restless, but Rhys calmed them with a quick brush and soft assurances. Things were finally calm when an apprentice came running, waving the latest copy of Whistledown. It didn’t even take five minutes for any of them to read the first page, but the voices dropped to a whisper. When Rhys looked up, in between the brushing, he saw that most of them were looking at him.

Rhys took the issue from one of them, and his heart sank. Not only for himself, but for Virginia. She had more to lose than he did, and it’d be her that society would be laughing at. The thought of it made him want to vomit. Still, he didn’t have time to process anything before he was dismissed from the Royal Ascot, a place he’d given years to – all gone in an instant. He was allowed to pack his things, and his horse, Llŷr, was allowed to stay till the month's end. Rhys had bartered for that. Llŷr hadn’t done a thing wrong, so shouldn’t be punished. A few weeks to find him a new stable was better than nothing. 

There were rumours that Virginia had also been kicked out, and it struck him harder than he would’ve ever imagined. Rhys could handle dismissal, even the sneers from others, but not the idea of Virginia enduring it all. His chest ached with a hollow, relentless feeling as he imagined her on her own. Rhys had begun walking in the direction of the Thorne house, but he’d had the good sense to stop himself. He knew it wouldn’t do her any good to have him around, no matter how much he longed to go to her and offer what little comfort he had. His love had cost her everything, and he’d always known he wasn’t worthy of her. 

Cernunnos— The Lord of Wild Things

Cernunnos is the Celtic god, known as the Lord of Wild Things. Cernunnos is mostly linked with wild animals, the hunt, the forest, fertility, and regeneration, as well as the underworld. Looks-wise, he has the body of a man and has antlers on his head (most likely stag antlers). Cernunnos also means “horned,” which is why he is called the horned god. 

Cernunnos doesn’t have his own myths, and often he isn’t mentioned by name. His appearance is what is mostly mentioned throughout different myths in different cultures. One myth had Cernunnos protecting a great stag with golden antlers. He warned those who hunted the stag not to hunt for sport, showing that he was the protector of wildlife. 

Rhys Howell is no one of note. History will forget him because he has no great wealth or title, and he is okay with that. He is most himself when he’s surrounded with nature, be it with his beloved animals (mostly horses) or in his favourite place: Minwear Forest. Cernunnos is often found with coins, which could symbolise Rhys’s desire for money and trade.

Self Para 001. The Presentation.

When the news broke that all would be invited to the Queen’s Presentation, everyone thought it was a joke. A cruel trick to bring those without fortunes or titles to showcase them to their guests. And yet, when the week came, there wasn’t a soul amongst the staff at The Royal Ascot that wasn’t biting for the day off. Straws were drawn, and somehow, Rhys was among those who could go. Dressed in his Sunday best, Rhys was ready to attend. The cravat he borrowed was relentless, scratching against his neck as he waited to go into Buckingham Palace. Each member of the serving class was inspected for nits and fleas before being shoved through the servants' entrance and led up to the balcony. No one of Rhys’s social standing would be presented, nor did he expect to, as the ladies came in, Rhys couldn’t help but wonder if she was amongst them.

It had been three long years since Rhys had last laid eyes on her, on the very day they were torn apart with no inkling as to where the other would be. She was high enough in society that a presentation to the queen was expected, and for a moment, Rhys allowed himself to feel the familiar ache of missing her. Rhys was high above those deserving of a place within these walls, but still he leaned forward when the doors opened, unable to hear the announcement over the excited natterings of those around him. His eyes scoured the procession, with every giant feathered miss bowing before the queen; he rolled his eyes, but then it happened. For a second, Rhys thought he saw her, and his breath stopped as his heart dropped. Then the miss turned around, and it was a face unfamiliar to him. It wasn’t her bright smile or eyes that he had got lost in countless times. It was just another unknown young woman, eager to impress those around her. Rhys remained in his spot until the final curtsy, thankful that she was not amongst the women declaring themselves to a fictitious suitor.