#medrawd

He prowled towards me, his inhumanly bright blue eyes alert and filled with fire. His steps rang out through the oppressive silence, every imposing peal containing the dolour of a funeral bell. A maniacal slash of a smile contorted his face and, as he loomed closer, I recognised the rich tang of iron enveloping him, the stench of it making me recoil. Mud encrusted his bloodied armour, an amber rust cocooning him like blood-choked sand, and he lovingly set his sword down on the floor as he crouched down to see me better through the gloom.

“Do you know what it’s like?” He hissed, a small frown creasing his forehead as he spoke. “To be born a bastard? To become collared by your birthright, lashed to fate, something you have no control over? To see your father treat his knights better than his son? To see him flaunt his power over your mother, over his first love? Have any idea what that’s like, my lady? It destroys you. I’m grateful to your sister for allowing a man such as I to marry her then, Gwyn. But perhaps I should address you as sister now? Or would you prefer me to address you as ‘step-mother?’”

“You’re insane.” I hissed. A cold chill ran down my spine, making me rattle in my chains. “You can’t be Arthur’s son. H- He would have told me, I’m sure. I knew my husband. I knew your supposed father, Medrawd, you scum.”

He tossed back his head and laughed amusedly before he shook his head. “Your words do wound me, my lady. Truly. Such ineffectual strikes.” His humour leached away, replaced with a cold mask that gave his skin a winterish chill. “Yet the same cannot be said for when you wounded my wife with your fists.”

“She deserved it.” I hissed, noting the way that he gritted his teeth at my answer, and how his breathing quickened. Every muscle was taut, a coiled spring, even as he deepened his breathing to try and calm himself so as not to strike me. “By the Gods, you both did! Fach deserved every slap she got.”

“Just as your husband’s pathetic tin soldiers deserved every slash and stab of my army’s swords. Your husband squealed like a boar when he died, I’m ashamed to say. I did so hope he’d have had a regal end, similar to the one my mother told me to enact. Alas. He choked on his own blood. But, perhaps, you might do me the honour instead? I have just breached your kingdom’s defences after all and - since I have no need for a wife now that I have your sister - I’m sure your death will suffice. I am sure that Fach will be delighted. And who knows, if I’m lucky, your death might even send Myrddin out of hiding. Is he taming dragons again, I wonder? He was always so foolish in that regard. An addled magician, cloud-headed and careless.”

“Watch your tone, boy,” I said, trying to ignore the way my voice wavered. “Or I will make you.”

He barked out a laugh and I wondered then if Medrawd had noticed the tears that pooled in my eyes. Or the way that I trembled again as though I was in the throes of a sickness? Gods, I prayed with all my might that he was as unobservant as Arthur had claimed before his untimely demise.

Alas, fate, it seemed, was not so kind.

“Ah, forgive me.” Medrawd’s voice was taunting. A smirk twisted his lips, breaking open the scab at the corner of his mouth. A thin stream of blood ran down his mottled cheek as he leaned closer, his rancid breath hot on my face. “I’d forgotten that you were still the ruler of this land. Of course.” He laughed, a harsh, grating sound akin to the clamour of my chains. “I suspect that you’ll punish me just as soon as you can get out of your restraints then, hmm? Don’t worry, Gwyn, I’ll wait for you. My mother always said that I was patient - as does Fach, as it happens.”

I growled, low and warning, my hands curling into fists. Without a second thought, I hurled myself forward in a vain attempt to reprimand him, only to find myself thrown off balance by the chains that still held me in their unyielding grip. With a shriek, I stumbled with my hands outstretched, only succeeding in righting myself at the last second.

The smirk that he had worn throughout our conversation only grew as he stood up, his blue eyes twinkling in my epicaricacy. “Oh, Gwynhwyfar, such ferociousness over a mere jape!” He waggled his finger at me, tutting. “I thought such a well-born lady like yourself would have impeccable manners, hmm? Gods, what did my father ever see in you? You're nothing more than a yowling bear cub, desperately clawing at the bars of her cage.” His armour clinked, singing mockingly like caged birds, as he picked up his sword. There was an air of carefulness upon him again, one that gave an implacable smoothness to his expression, and his eyes shone with childlike curiosity. “Please, don’t trouble yourself getting up on my account. Although, I do think your chains might prevent that, don’t you?” He tittered again, his eyes suddenly darkening, his voice demanding. “But, tell me, one last thing before I depart - do you think this sword suits me?”

My brow furrowed at his question and I found myself irked by his question. “Why, Medrawd? T'is a sword. A child could craft a more remarkable one out of Rowan.”

His jaw clenched as he took a step into the torchlight. It offered up a scant glow and did little in the way of affording me light with how far away the turncoat guards had placed it from my cell, and I had to strain my eyes to see him.

And then, with one fluid motion, he held out the sword for me to observe.

I leaned forward, curiosity hot in my blood, tempered though it was by my derision. Why was he so insistent on having my opinion? What need did he have to know what I thought? So he could taunt me again? Well, let him.

Let him.

I examined the blade and crossguard, finding both to be dull, covered in the mud of a battlefield. Scrutinising it further, I found that blood encrusted the groove down the centre, and further tracks of rusty red dribbled down it, adding to its morbidity. The hilt was caked in blood also – although the circular pommel was still free of mess, enough for the raided indent of a golden bear to shine through. Raised carvings of bears and winged, clawed creatures that I could not identify adorned the top of the chipped blade, crafted out of tarnished silver.

If only I could see them up close…

I strained against my chains again, gathering just strength and momentum to push them to their breaking point to reach a finger between the prison bars. Tenderly I traced one, feeling the cool metal beneath my fingertips, the raised edges of the designs warming beneath my skin. A wingtip slowly formed, my brain etching in the lines where the silver had been chipped away. And then, a forked tail. A raised leg, a forked tongue. A roar. And slowly, agonisingly, a dragon formed.

A blood-red dragon.

With a jolt of recognition - and I knew that Medrawd could tell that I recognised the sword for he gave out a small, gleeful laugh as I did - I sprang forward, flying off the bed, my chains rattling with taunts.

A bevy of memories swam through my mind, each piercing my heart. I recalled how Arthur had laughed giddily when I’d gifted him it as a wedding present.

How he brandished it with confidence, raising it high above his head as a lad, his dark eyes shining as he vowed to defend our land.

And then, the steady weight of it in my hands as Arthur had instructed me on how to defend myself, his sturdy body warm against my back, his musk thick in my nostrils.

Its blade sparkling in the firelight as I’d cleaned in our chambers, listening to Arthur vent his frustrations, his dreams, his wants as he paced about.

And Llacheu - bright, golden Llacheu, gone before his time - his laughter bubbling in joy as Arthur taught him how to parry in the courtyard…

And now…

And now my husband and son were no more.

Tears itched my eyes. I wanted to remain calm, to be the dignified queen that I was always told to be, but I could not stop myself. Rage suffocated me, constricting my chest with all the heaviness of a boulder.

“T’is Caledfwlch,” I answered hoarsely. “And you wield it with all the inelegance of an inexperienced slinger.” At Medrawd’s affronted huff I pressed on, the chink in his demeanour emboldened me.” What, you think because Arthur did not accept you in life you can mould yourself in his image instead? Brandish his sword in the vain hope that his kingdom will be yours?”

For a moment, he said nothing, his nostrils flaring in anger as he exhaled slowly. “My question, Gwynhwyfar. You have not answered it.”

I shook my head, gritting my teeth, biting my to guess. His eyes were alight, revelling in my grief. A glossy smoothness of pride broek over his sharp features as he chortled, the noise making me silently seethe. I am ashamed to say that at that I broke down, my queenly mask all but slipping off, crashing to the floor.

“I – You bastard!” There was a tightness in my chest as I fought to control my breathing, even as it hitched hysterically. Cold, shocked tears ran down my cheeks as I was suspended there, frozen.

That he would stoop so low…

That he would desecrate Arthur’s body…

With a guttural roar, I threw myself at him, forgetting that the chains were attached to my arms as well as my feet and I stumbled again, only regaining my balance at the last second. “You-!”

“You’re hysterical, my lady,” Medrawd’s tone was a physician’s. Honeyed with a warmth that was as deceitful as he was. He stared at me the way a mother would a simpering child and I wanted to curse him in frustration.

Instead, I spat at him, positively preening at his disgusted yell, “You bitch!”

I laughed loudly, the noise echoing around my dank cell, trying to hide my smirk at his reaction. “My apologies. I'm afraid that I don’t quite know what came over me. It’s just that I thought that you might like some water to clean your sword with. Forgive me if my actions were misconstrued, my dear brother-in-law. Only, you see, my chains prevent me from giving you a bowl.”

Medrawd glared in response as he set about wiping my gift away with a muddied gauntlet. With a displeased huff, he turned to leave, gracing me with a cold silence as he strode to the dungeon door.

“Goodbye, Medrawd,” I hissed, straightening. “May my husband’s sword give you the recognition you sought, for his kingdom will not. It’ll take time. But I’m a patient woman, brother. Don't worry. I’ll wait.”