Bloduewedd (novella/long)

[-Ember]

I do not remember being flowers. My first memory is of warmth on my face and a voice saying, “Well lad, will she do?” Opening my eyes I found myself lying in a meadow, circled by three men, two older and one a youth. It was one of the older men who had spoken. Stretching, I sat up and examined the men. The older two were golden haired and fair of feature, but they were as outshone by the youth as the sun outshines a lamp. He was gold and bronze, with piercing eyes of midday blue. Heavy golden jewelry hung from his neck, his wrists and his waist. His cloak was of several colors and woven of brightly dyed, good thick wool. He stared at me in obvious pleasure.

“She will do quite well, my lords. To think you created such beauty from flowers....I am in your debt.”

“Meadowsweet for sweet love, happiness and peace. Broom that she be pure of heart. Oak flower for luck and a fruitful marriage. A lovely maid, a lovely mix. She should be a lovely, sweet thing. Not a bitter herb in her. June is such a lovely time for a wedding too.”

“Everything about her is so perfect! What is she called?” The older men looked at each other. Finally the younger of the two spoke.

“Well, seeing as she is yours Llew, why don‘t you name her?”

“Hmmm... well she is as fair of face as the flowers from which she was formed. Blodeuwedd?”

“A lovely name for a lovely maid.” The eldest replied. “Let’s take her home. Goewin will see that she is properly clothed and schooled to her role.”

As the youth wrapped me in his cloak the younger man turned to the elder. “So Math, now that the boy has a wife, he’ll need some way to support her...”

* * *

Llew’s story begins with his uncles Gwydion and Gilvaethwy. At the court of their uncle Math resided the maiden Goewin. A geis lay upon Math that, save when he was at war, his feet must rest in the lap of a virgin. Such are the ways of magicians; their reasons are not those of normal men. Goewin was the virgin upon whom this burden fell, generally a biddable maid, but fiercely loyal to Math. Gilvaethwy desired her, but she preferred Math and rejected his advances. Ill with longing for that which he could not possess, Gilvaethwy turned to his brother for a cure. Gwydion declared that this would not do: he would see that Gilvaethwy had her. Math, however, stood in the way. He would not let his foot-holder be rendered inappropriate. So a plan was conceived whereby Math would be forced to war and Goewin left alone. Through trickery and treachery Gwydion acquired the eneminity of Pryderi, and Math went to war to preserve his realm. While he was away, Gilvaethwy raped the maid. Well aware of what their uncle’s reaction would be when he discovered their duplicity, Gwydion and Gilvaethwy fled.

Math’s anger was as great as feared: a noble man, Pryderi, and many a warrior of both the lands, had died so that Gilvaethwy could slake his lust. Goewin was spoilt. Math wed her to assuage her honor, for he had failed to protect her. The insult against him was unavenged, however. For months the fugitives were sought, and finally returned to the court in shame. As they had behaved as beasts, they were sentenced to live as beasts. A year as stag and doe, a year as boar and sow, a year as dog wolf and bitch. Each year one would bear a child of the union. At the end of the three years the two were returned to human form.

Math still lacked a foot-holder, however. Hoping to regain his uncle’s favor, Gwydion approached his sister Arianrhod...

* * *

At Math's palace we were greeted by his wife, Goewin. She was lovely and
sweet and, upon Math's request, quickly bustled me off to the ladies wing that I might be made presentable while the men discussed what lands Math would grant Llew after the wedding. Handmaids gathered around her like chicks 'round a hen as she entered, all clucking. Unused to such commotion I tried to shrink into the cloak, but was soon stripped of even such meager protection.

"You," she commanded, gesturing toward a cluster, "find something to fit her. Something that will match her coloring. You," gesturing to another set, "ready a bath and lay out the combs and cosmetics." Turning to me her voice gentled. "Now dear, lets look at you. Why you're a lovely little thing! As delicate as a blossom. No wonder Llew claimed you. Such bright eyes. I've never seen such a green. You'll make a lovely pair. You're so pale you'll be silver to his gold, moon to his sun. Here, now soak in this for a bit...we'll scrub you as fresh as spring flowers. The young lord won't be able to take his eyes off of you. So well mannered...so quiet. What a good girl you are! However did they find such a one as you? You're so perfect it's like you're made for him." Her voice was like a stream's: gentle, constant, and unrelenting. I was grateful. All I had to do was nod as she bathed and dressed me.

All too soon dinner was announced. Dressed and pinned and painted I was pulled to the main hall. There I was announced as "the affianced of the Lord Llew, the Lady Bloduewedd," and seated next to Llew, who smiled at me and clasped my hand. "Easy, my love," he whispered. "I know this must be a bit much for you now, but I'm here and you'll get used to it in time. Soon enough we'll host such feasts of our own. I will rule the Cantrev of Ardudwy, and you, lady, will be at my side."

Unsure of what was expected of me, this being my first meal, I followed Goewin's lead; delicately picking at my plate, smiling and giggling. I could hear the comments of other diners...

"She's so dainty! It will be a wonder if the first child doesn't kill her."

"Pretty thing. Wonder if she has a sister?"

"She's too quiet. Thinks she's to good for us does she?"

"Naw, just scared, poor thing. Look how pale she is."

"Wherever did they find her? I've never seen anyone like her. Definitely a foreigner."

"Lucky girl! Any of us would give our eyeteeth to marry Llew."

None too soon the meal ended and the ladies left the hall. "Go with Goewin, dearest," Llew told me. "Do as she bids and you won't go wrong."

* * *

No one, save perhaps Gwydion and Arianrhod, know why she agreed to his plan to make her Math's footholder. She was ever one to do as she choose. All agree that it was a mistake, however. When Math asked her, "are you a virgin?" she replied, "I do not know but that I am." People still argue as to whether she was. One such as Goewin had been? Questionable, even doubtful. Few would deny, however, that she was one in the other, older sense of the word. No man had possessed her.

Math was not pleased by her answer. Again the accounts split. Some say that he merely lay his wand upon the floor and bid her to step over it, which she arrogantly did. Others say that he struck her with it across the thighs. The result is not debated, however. An infant, a boy child, fell from her and lay squalling upon the floor. Math claimed him. A second something fell as well, a lump of matter, but it was hidden away by Gwydion before it could be seen.

Arianrhod was outraged of course. It was not rape as had occurred to Goewin; such was a matter of muscle and blood and pain. It was instead the forcing of the other sort of virgin, a matter of power and choice and pride. She was humiliated, but not humbled; she gathered the tatters of her dignity to her and stalked out of the court, vowing to have no more to do with brother or uncle.

The babe claimed by Math was Dylan: his tale is not relevant here. The lump hidden by Gwydion was put in the chest at the foot of his bed and forgotten for a time.

* * *

"No, no, no!" Goewin was scowling again. "How many times must I remind you, Bloduewedd? Tiny steps. It is not a race. The point is to glide, not to cover ground. I simply do not see how they expect me to make a lady out of you in the time they've given me." She held up a hand to silence my apology. "I know, sweetheart. You try. But you must try harder. In but a week you will be wed, Llew will be lord of the canter of Ardudwy and you will grace his court. How they expect you manage is beyond me, but manage you will. If you wish to not fail in your duties, attend to me. Now...try again. Remember: glide."

I had placed under Goewin's tutelage after a few initial near disasters made it clear that I was not yet prepared for court. Inexperienced as I was, I was forced to follow whatever examples were available. Not all of my choices of role models had been appropriate. Realization of my lack had come as a shock to Math, Gwydion and Llew, forcing a hasty re-evaluation. The wedding had been pushed back to the solstice, Goewin told of my creation and I began to learn the skills necessary for a lady of my station.

If anything, I was more confused now than I had been before Goewin had taken charge of me. Why could I not be as others? I did not understand this concept of "being a lady." Why could I not speak in much above a whisper when anyone save my attendants was present? Why must I only nibble at my meals in the Hall? Why, dear gods, must I glide?

"Well, not good yet, but better than you were." Goewin sighed. 'At least you won't embarrass yourself at the wedding. You shouldn’t shame yourself or your lord too badly there. Afterward I just can’t be responsible for. Not that you’d do it intentionally. I don't think you've got a drop of maliciousness in your body. You're just so impressionable, dearest, and haven't a bit of sense when it comes to choosing role models. Enough. Let's try sitting again, shall we? Remember: ankles crossed, guide your skirts..."

It wasn't just the behavior of the non-ladies that lead to my confusion. The Lord of Dyved, Pryderi's heir, had visited shortly (no more than a week) after my introduction to Math's court. Despite the intervening decades, relations were still strained between the two. After all, Math had slain Pryderi and housed, even put in positions of honor, the man whose treachery had made it inevitable. Gwydion was conspicuously absent. To honor the visiting lord, the bards sang of his grandmother Rhiannon: how she had defied her father to court Pwyll and how she had helped deceive her betrothed that she might wed him instead.

When I asked Goewin about it, she made it clear that the lady Rhiannon was not a good example. "She was a fey thing, sweetheart, and her actions are not guides for normal women like you," and her voice hardly faltered, "and me. Pay them no heed." I quickly learned not to ask. For all she worried about bards recording shame, there were few ladies they could tell of whom she approved. Branwyn perhaps. Not Rhiannon, obviously. Not Etain, who had left her mortal husband to be reunited to her faerie lover. Certainly not Deirdre, who had suffered exile with the man she loved rather than suffer marriage to the man she did not.

As I was clearly unable to recognize the differences between a good example and an ill one, I let myself be led by Goewin in all things. She taught me deportment, the laws of hospitality, the rudiments of sewing and weaving and cooking and healing. In short, she taught me all that I would need to be a proper helpmeet to Llew. I was a quick learner, lacking any bad habits to unlearn, but it must be remembered that she was trying to teach me all that a lady would normally have begun to learn in her earliest youth. There simply was not enough time for her to form me into a proper lady.

* * *

After a few months Gwydion was awakened one night by the wailing coming from the chest at the foot of his bed. He opened it to discover a golden babe crying within. Rushing the boy to Arianrhod did not regain her favor, however. Far from it. Still incensed at her relations for her treatment before the court, she cursed the infant to never have a name save that which she gave him then banished him and Gwydion from her castle.

While the boy grew, Gwydion plotted. At last, satisfied with his plan, he disguised himself as a cobbler and the boy as his young apprentice. Arianrhod was lured out that the cobbler might fit her foot. As Gwydion worked on the shoes, She watched the young boy play. Following a particularly dexterous shot she exclaimed "the young lion has a skillful hand" and Llew was named. Gwydion revealed himself, but had hardly begun to gloat when the furious Arianrhod cursed the boy yet again: no arms would he own until she had armed him with her own hands

Again Gwydion plotted. Llew grew skillful in all the arts of war, but could not obtain arms of his own. Finally, satisfied with his plan, Gwydion and Llew returned to Arianrhod's castle disguised as a bard and his apprentice. They gained entrance without difficulty. That night Gwydion conjured forth the image and sounds of an approaching war band. As the castle lacked warriors, housing only Arianrhod and her ladies, she sought out the bards to see if they would help fight in defense of her home. "Gladly, milady, if you provide us with arms" replied the elder. When they were obtained, he waved her over to the lad. "He is more inexperienced that I, Lady. Help him arm himself, I can manage alone." Once they were armed, the threat disappeared. Gwydion revealed himself and his ruse. The enraged Arianrhod pronounced her final and most terrible curse: no wife would Llew have of any race then upon the earth.

Despairing, Gwydion went to Math. And Math devised a plan.

* * *

Llew paused and gently stroked my hair, then resumed the unlacing of his sleeves. "My lovely little flower-face, I've waited too long for you. Have you longed for me as I you?" I raised an eyebrow questioningly as I stared up at him from my seat on the edge of the bed. Goewin had helped me undress earlier, leaving me in nothing but a shift held on with a single simple knot.

"Don't be afraid," she'd told me. "From all accounts Llew is a gentle man. He'll
hurt you no more than any maid is hurt in her first bedding. Don't struggle, don't fight him. Just relax and let him do as he will. It will be much easier on you that way." She hugged me close suddenly, tears streaming down her face. "Come to me in the morning, I'll tell you everything else you'll need to know then. I've come to think of you as daughter; don't be afraid to ask anything. Promise you'll come to me before you go?"

Finished with his sleeves, Llew pulled the shirt over his head and added it to the pile of boots, trews, and overtunic. "My innocent little bloom, I'll have to teach you what I mean, won't I?" He smiled softly, bent and caressed my cheek. His closeness, and muskiness, was suddenly disturbing and I pulled away slightly. "Not afraid are you?" he asked, and I could hear the concern in his voice. "Don't be afraid, dearest." He sat next to me on the bed, wrapping his arms around me, kissing my neck then resting his head upon my shoulder. "There is nothing to fear, my sweet. Just relax," and he paused to kiss my throat and fumble with the knot on my shift, "and I'll show you...."

* * *

Math suggested they build Llew a wife. After some thought they decided to build her of flowers, and eventually settled on three. Meadowsweet, oak flower and flowers of the broom. With these they could build a maiden Llew could not fail to love. Years passed, until finally Llew came of age for a wife. In earliest June, while the broom yet bloomed, and the oak and meadowsweet had just begun to flower, they gathered what they would require and left for a secluded meadow where they could perform the necessary rites. They molded the flowers into a maid as lovely as any they'd seen. Hair of palest gold, like moonlight. Skin as soft as rose petals, as fair as any lily. They had intended to make the eyes an amethyst hue, but, being weary, settled for all the greens of her vegetive source. She was made for Llew to love, and Llew did indeed love her.

Had they thought to make her such that she would love him in return, they would have added a fourth herb. Some sun-worshipping flower that would faithfully turn to him, basking in his glow. Calendula, perhaps. But they did not think to make me such that I would love Llew.

* * *

I was working on a tapestry when I heard the belling of hounds. Glancing out the window I realized it was almost dark. Whatever nobleman followed the hounds (no peasant could afford to run a pack) would require shelter, and hospitality required that I offer it. "Ladies, we must prepare for a guest. I must change, rooms must be readied...."

Llew had left that morning for Math's castle. Something to do with trade, I believe. He would be gone for a month. In the almost a year since we had wed I had come to appreciate his absences, although this was the first of this length. Do not misunderstand me: I did not dislike Llew. I simply did not love him as he did me. He was, as Goewin had claimed, a gentle man. He was not, however, a considerate one. Our lovemaking was not an onerous duty, but it was nonetheless duty, not desire. He never noticed the difference.

Before dinner it was my habit to walk in my garden. It was the first place I had felt drawn to when we had arrived at our new home. The former lord had had no lady, and, save for a small bed of herbs, it had not been maintained. Something about the overgrown vegetation had called to me. I had needed tame most of it, but in the process had shaped it to my needs. It was a quiet place of sun and shadow, and one where Llew seldom came, and then never for long. Our potential guest had never materialized, so it wouldn't matter if I got a bit dusty. I frowned, looking a patch of wilting meadowsweet. "Sisters," I murmured, "wilt thou not grow for me?" The pure white stag that chose that moment to bound over the hedge came as complete surprise.

At its heels a pack of hounds tore through my hedge. I screamed, of course. The stag leapt over the far wall, the hounds tore at the stone and ivy, baying their disappointment. Following behind the hounds came a dusty, cursing huntsman. Leaving his horse on the other side of the hedge, he clambered though the break his dogs had made. He started toward the hounds, calling them off, but paused when he saw me.

“My lady,” he breathed, staring at me. For some reason I couldn’t help but note that he was standing in the center of the patch of meadowsweet. Warriors, having heard my scream, came running. Catching himself, he bowed. “I apologize for the intrusion.” He was tall, with dark bronze skin and midnight hair. His eyes were as dark as the sea on a moonless night. “They stag turned, milady, and the hounds did not heed me when I attempted to call them off.”

I waved the warriors off. "No lasting harm has been done, my lord. As it is almost dark, will you join us? It would be shameful to turn you out into the night."

He stepped closer. "Gladly milady. If I might greet you properly....?" I held out my hand. He gently caressed it as he took it, his lips brushing the back of my hand with an intensity I had never before felt in the gesture, eyes never leaving mine. Abruptly he released it, and I found I could breathe again. "I'll just get my horse, if you will excuse me?" I nodded and gestured for one of the men to assist him.

The huntsman was revealed to be Lord Goronwy of Penllyn, a neighboring cantrev. Throughout the meal I tried to fight it, but found myself tracing the line of his jaw or watching the way his hair shift as he turned his head, or, most damning, the movement of his lips as he spoke or ate or drank. I could not help but recall the feel of those lips against my skin. He was not unaware of my attention. Catching my eyes upon him, he'd hold them with his own, as if daring me to look away. Then he would select something from the table to toy with. He would slowly stroke the side of his goblet then trace the rim, ever so slowly around, around and around, his eyes locked with mine, then bring it to his lips for the lightest kiss of a sip. Or a piece of fruit: cupping it with one hand, he'd rub the skin with his thumb--back and forth, little circles--then bring it up for a tantalizing little nibble. Rub, nibble, rub, nibble, rub, bite. He'd wink, with a little quirk of a smile, then turn to immerse himself in conversation. I counted myself quite lucky that he could think of nothing suggestive to do with the bread.

I excused myself from the meal as early as etiquette would allow, retreating to my garden. It had been my sanctuary, but now the marks of his entrance were all over it. The ivy his dogs had torn from the wall. The hole in the hedge. His footprints in the meadowsweet. I was starting to tidy things up a bit, retraining a piece of ivy on the wall, when I felt a hand light upon my shoulder and run down my arm as he throatily whispered "my lady."

I spun around indignantly. "Sir! I'll have you recall that I am a married woman."

"I am not likely to forget that you are a woman," he chuckled, reaching out as if to caress my face. I caught his wrist before he could touch me.

"Sir! I am the wife of the lord of this cantrev. This is highly improper." With a twist of his arm I found my hand trapped as his had been but a moment before. He pulled me closer.

"Tell me you feel nothing," he challenged hoarsely. "Tell me that you cannot feel this burning between us and I will walk away now."

"I...I cannot." I answered, barely audible, tears in the back of my eyes. He smiled, pulled me closer, and kissed me. I returned it, pressing myself against him, arms wrapping around him as if of their own volition, and pulled him down atop the herbs. The fragrance of rosemary and basil filled the night air.

* * *

For a time Llew lived happily with his flower-bride. One day Llew went to visit his kinsman. While he was gone his wife saw a stag pursued by a pack of hounds, and sent off a page to inquire who it might be. "It is Goronwy the staunch, Lord of Penllyn," the lad reported. Lord Goronwy took long enough in killing and cleaning the stag and feeding his dogs that he was only able to make it back to Llew's castle before nightfall. "We will be disgraced for letting this chieftain go elsewhere and not asking him in," said Llew's wife. And all agreed and Goronwy was invited in. When he and the Lady Bloduewedd looked at each other, however, there was not a part of her that was not filled for love of him, nor a part of him without love for her. Immediately after supper they retired to the bedchamber. The next morning Goronwy sought to leave, but she begged him to stay. He agreed, and that night they plotted as to how they might be together forever. "Feign affection for your lord and discover how he might be killed." Goronwy bade her. The next morning Goronwy again sought to leave, but again the lady begged him to remain. "I will, though I fear the return of your lord." "Then I will let you go tomorrow," she said, and she did.

When Llew returned, Bloduewedd did as Goronwy had asked. Pretending concern lest Llew should die before her, she begged him to tell her how he might be killed, that she might guard against it. Touched, Llew told her. Bloduewedd sent to Goronwy straight away, who began work on the special weapon required.

* * *
"Llew, would you ever leave me?"

"Never, my love. You are my heart. I could not leave you short of death."

"What if another took me away?"

"I'd gather every man loyal to me and hunt down the scoundrel who had stolen
you from me."

"But what if..." He pressed his fingers to my lips, silencing me before I could finish. What if I was not stolen?

"Now dearest, have I given you cause to suspect I don't love you?"

"No, I was just wondering what would become of me without you."

"Nothing short of death will take me from you, love. And I am not an easy man to kill. My uncles have seen to that."

"They have?"

"Yes. I can only be killed by a weapon made at all times and none, in a place that is neither indoors nor out, on dry land or on the water, when I am neither ridding nor afoot, clothed or unclothed."

"That is a riddle, my lord."

"Can you not answer it? No? Well 'all times' means the weapon must be a full year in the making, that it experience a full turn of the wheel in it's creation. 'No times' means that it can only be worked on during the holy days, the days that are not really in time. 'Neither indoors nor out' can be achieved with a bathhouse, well roofed but with walls open to the winds. If it is built on a riverbank it is 'neither on dry land nor on the water.' If I wear but my trousers I am 'neither clothed nor unclothed', and if I stand with one foot on the edge of the tub and one on the back of a beast, I'll be 'neither ridding nor afoot'. See? Quite unlikely. You've nothing to fear, my love. We'll be together a long time yet. Sleep, and put such things from your head."

Letting him think he'd comforted me I resettled myself on the pillows. Llew kissed my forehead, murmured something like "that's my girl," then rolled over and went back to sleep himself. I, however, had not received the answer I had sought. It was clear, however, that he would not release me short of death. Knowing this, could I fail to act upon it? It was the only way to be free of him. Finally I resolved to send to Goronwy. I could not continue like this.

Goronwy had stayed for two more nights before I sent him away. He had begged me to go with him, but I had refused. He begged me to reconsider. I reminded him I was married, that it had been a mistake. He denied it, pleaded with me to flee with him, claiming nothing would be better even should Llew pursue us to the ends of earth. Still I refused. Finally he departed, but bid me send to him if I should change my mind or should I find any way that we might be together. I spent the rest of the month trying to remove him from my thoughts, determined to be a proper lady and wife. I regretted my actions. Llew deserved better than this of me. Goewin would have been so ashamed. Memories lingered however, ghosts of his touch, of the way he spoke, of the way he laughed. They did begin to fade, though, and I began to hope that I might be able to be happy as Llew's wife again.

When Llew returned I went out to greet him in the courtyard. He swung down off of his tall white stallion and swept me into his arms for a kiss. For a moment I was shocked by my lack of response. Although my head had accepted that there would be nothing, my heart and body had not. The void between us was emptier than it had ever been. As always, Llew did not notice.

"Here, sweetling. I brought back presents for you." He gestured to one of his men, who pulled a bag off the cart. "Open it carefully," he warned. Inside was a bale of shimmering green silk. "It reminded me of your eyes. If you hurry, perhaps you'll be able to wear it by midsummer. Which reminds me. I know it's early, but here. Happy Anniversary dearest." He pulled an ornate necklace, gold and emerald, out of where he had tucked it in his shirt. "Let me put it on you." As he closed the collar around my neck, I knew I was trapped. I would spend the rest of my life lovelessly bound to this man.

I'd tried to resign myself to it, I really had. But duty simply wasn't enough anymore. The solstice came and went and I felt as forlorn as ever. I concealed it as well as I could, but even Llew was starting to notice that something was wrong. Then, one evening the bard sang of Deirdre. I was startled by my response. I envied her! Not just the years in exile with her love, albeit years of deprivation. I envied her death as well. I spent hours staring out of our window at the stars before Llew found me and pulled me to bed. I'd never thought about death before. What would happen to me if I died? Would my body revert to flowers? Would my soul find an afterlife? Did I even have a soul? Was the magic of Math and Gwydion strong enough to provide me with a human soul as well as form? And, what if Llew died? I had been created for him. At his death would the magic dissolve, leaving a pile of petals on the floor? What if he simply left me? Would I survive that? What would happen to me without him?

Llew's response did not answer the questions I had wanted to ask. It was made clear, however, that my only hope of freedom lay in Llew's death. I would send a message to Goronwy.

* * *

The weapon was a year in the making. When it was completed, Goronwy sent word to Bloduewedd. Going to Llew, she again feigned concern for him. "My lord," she said to him, "I fear I do not truly understand how it is you might be killed. Will you show me, that I might better guard against it?" Llew agreed. A bathhouse was built, a goat brought, and when all was ready, Goronwy hid nearby. Llew came, and stood with one foot on the edge of the tub and the other on the goat. Goronwy rose from the bushes, flinging the spear. It struck Llew, piercing him so that the head remained within him. With a flash of light and a horrible screech, Llew turned into an eagle. He rose into the sky, screamed, and then flew away.

Once Llew had disappeared, Goronwy and Bloduewedd returned to the castle and made love. The following day Goronwy subdued the cantrev of Ardudwy. Gwydion, hearing of this, determined that he would search for the boy. Over all of Gwynedd he searched.

* * *

Llew posed, one foot on the edge of the tub and one on the goat. He half turned and light heartedly smiled and waved at me. "See how unlikely this is? What are the chances that I'll ever do this again, Bloduewedd?" It was then that the spear hit him. He clutched it in disbelief, stared at the blood on his hand. He turned to me, one hand held out beseechingly, falling as he turned. His eyes were full of questions. Goronwy came over to me, wrapped an arm around me possessively. As he realized my betrayal, I saw something in Llew die. He tore out the spear with a pained scream, turned into an eagle and flew away.

I watched him go, weeping with both relief and regret. Goronwy held me, and we returned to the castle.

* * *

One night Gwydion stayed with a peasant household. As one lad entered the head of the house asked him if the sow had returned. Curious, Gwydion asked if the sow strayed. The boy told him that, in the morning, nothing could hold the beast once the sty was open. She would run into the woods and not return until nightfall. Strangest of all, though she ate nothing of what the farmer provided, she was the best feed of all the swine. Gwydion asked the boy to wait until he was present in the morning before opening the sty.

The next morning Gwydion followed the sow. She led him to the foot of a mighty oak, where she bent and fed. Looking closely, Gwydion realized that she was eating the rotten flesh and maggots that fell from an eagle perched at the top of the tree. He sang, calling to Llew, and the bird came halfway down. He sang again, and the bird came to rest in the lowest branches. Singing a third time, he brought the bird to his lap, where it became the badly injured body of Llew. All of the best healers were brought, but it took a year for him to be healed.

* * *

"Lord Goronwy,' the messenger began, "It has come to the attention of Lord Math and Lord Gwydion that you have laid claim to both the lands and wife possessed by the Lord Llew. They demand that you relinquish Ardudwy and restore the Lady Bloduewedd to their care."

"Relinquish Ardudwy? Never. And the Lady Bloduewedd will receive no better care than I can provide."

"My lords Math and Gwydion bid me remind you that, should the tales that have reached them regarding the death of their nephew be true, they will use every force at their disposal to destroy you. All of Gwynedd will follow them to avenge the Lord Llew. Earth and sea and sky will tremble at their coming."

"What? No threat of magical retaliation? I more than half expected to be turned into an animal. Perhaps a hind? Or a wolf? Maybe even an eagle."

"My Lord, I am sure they would honor you with no more than an exalted form than a dung eating worm."

"Be gone from my court. Tell your lords that I am quite happy with both Ardudwy and Bloduewedd. They will have neither as long as I live."

The messenger bowed mockingly. "I bear also a message for the Lady Bloduewedd from the Lady Goewin. She bids me ask you Lady, are you happy?"

"Out!" Goronwy thundered. "Tell the Lady that of course my Lady is happy. She is with a real man now. Not the mewling milksop of a lad all your lordships' magic could not preserve."

Goronwy was no diplomat, I reflected. At times it was hard to tell if he loved me or Ardudwy more. He was a sensuous man and fully appreciated the luxuries provided by the coffers of Ardudwy. Time together had failed to lessen our passion, however, and I knew he paid no heed to the women that followed his ostentatious displays of wealth. I don't think he ever wondered. He had us both and was satisfied.

"The question was for the lady, my lord,” insisted the messenger.

"Tell her," I said, cutting off Goronwy. "Tell her that I do not know but that I am."

* * *

When Llew was recovered, he turned to his uncles. It was time to revenge himself upon Goronwy and Bloduewedd. Math and Llew gathered together the forces of Ardudwy. Gwydion went ahead. When Bloduewedd hear they were coming, she gathered her women and fled toward a mountain fortress where she might be safe. Her women, however, were so afraid that they kept looking behind them, and all drowned while crossing a lake.

Overtaking her, Gwydion declared: "I will not kill you. What I will do is worse. I will transform you. You will be a bird, but because of the shame you brought to Llew you will never show your you face during the day, and all the other birds will hate and attack you. You will be a bird but you will not lose your name. You will ever be known as Bloduewedd." And he turned her into an owl.

* * *

I had taken refuge in an oak atop a hill when Gwydion found me. I had hoped he might pass me and seek elsewhere. I know not if he had followed a trail of broken twigs and scraps of fabric or if some more subtle sense had lead him to me. I was alone. When they had heard that the lords were coming all of my ladies had refused to leave. What had they to fear, one pointed out. They had not betrayed their trust. So I had fled, with no real idea of where to run. Anywhere that would keep me from Gwydion. Math was more or less just. Llew was young but principled. Gwydion, Gwydion would use whatever means possible to get his way. Gwydion was ruthless. And, of course, Gwydion was the one who found me.

From the base of the tree he called up to me: "Lady, Bloduewedd, won't you come down? I won't hurt you!"

"No!" I replied firmly. I knew better than to trust his promises.

"Lady! Bloduewedd! I swear I mean you no harm. Please, won't you come down lady? Llew still loves you, you know. He's willing to forgive you. Come down, lady, and we'll go home and fix things."

"No!"

"Lady, do you resist for Goronwy's sake? He is dead, milady, slain by Llew. He died cursing your name, died claiming it was woman's wiles that lead him to this end. Do you think there is anywhere you can go, anyone who will have you? What kin have you save us? You are clearly unwell, lady. Come down and we will take you home and make you better. We will make everything right again."

"What do you mean? Unwell? Make me better?"

"This is not how we made you to be, Lady. Something has clearly gone awry. Let us fix it. You and Llew can be happy. Just come down and let us make things right." I was actually tempted by this. So easy to say that I had gone awry, but could be fixed. A wave of a wand, maybe a quick chant, and all would be fixed. I would be the lady Goewin had hoped for. Sensing my hesitation, Gwydion continued. "Llew understands that you were not well lady. It is our fault. We left you alone, poor muddled maid. How were you to resist the wiles of that silver-tongued scoundrel? We'll fix you up, help you forget. All can be as it was, milady. Won't you come down, Bloduewedd?"

I began to. I had actually begun to come down from the tree. But something stopped me. 'Everything can be as it was'? It was easy enough for him to look upon that as a golden time. They had always thought that it was happy and proper and right. And they would fix me to believe it too? I would go back to that, never recalling that there was more, never wanting more? I would go back to it and be happy? And Llew, Llew would love me that way?

"No!"

"Thrice you have refused me, lady, and I'll not ask again. I'd rather you came on your own, but as you will not, I've other means at hand." And Gwydion began to sing. His voice was as sweet as story claimed. I did not hear more than a few words, "Oak," "Bloduewedd" and "hill". Suddenly the branch I was on snapped, and I tumbled halfway down the tree before I could catch myself. It was no coincidence. Gwydion had turned to magic, as ever he did when words did not avail. Again he sang. I held tight to the stout limb I had landed upon, expecting full well what indeed came. It broke. I fell to the lowest branches, still clutching the limb, stripped of twig and leaf by the fall. Again Gwydion began to sing. I, however, had had enough. One more song would not only put me on the ground, it would put me under his power. Grasping the branch I leapt out of the oak, swinging with all my might."

"No! No! No, no, no, no, no! No more! I'm not yours to play with like this. Damn you, you bastard! I'll not be a submissive 'lady' like Goewin! Nor will I retreat like Arianrhod! Damn you! I'm not yours to twist into any form you choose. Curse you Gwydion. No more. No more! I have had enough!"

He avoided the unwieldy branch easily enough for the most part, though at least one of my wild swings connected solidly. It was over soon enough: he was a trained warrior and I was not. He pinned me to the oak, pried the limb from my hands. Panting, out of breath, I spat in his face.

"Lady, you will regret that," he hissed, wiping the spittle off with his free hand. "Not mine to twist, say you? Well, perhaps I should make amends. That form you now wear was one I twisted you into. Shall I fix that? Yes, I think I shall."

How does one describe the feeling of all of ones component parts dividing? If there are words to describe the agony, I know them not. Gwydion released me, and I fell to the ground, biting my lip to deny him the pleasure of my screams. Clutching at the roots of the oak I managed to breathe one word: "No."

Tears flowing, I forced myself to my knees. Gwydion stepped back, clearly at a loss for response. "No." This time it was a little stronger.

I grabbed hold of the oak, pulling myself to my feet, and took a single tottering step. "I am not yours Gwydion. Nor am I Llew's. No more, Gwydion." Looking past him, I saw the rocky hillside slope steeply down toward the valley. Gwydion was just a step away, right on the edge of it. I knew what I must do; I knew what I had to do to be free of him. "No, Gwydion. I was never flowers." And I took the final step, leaping past him like Deirdre to death and to freedom.

* * *

Messages were sent to Goronwy demanding compensation for the injury Llew suffered. Nothing would satisfy him, Llew claimed, save that Goronwy stand as he had stood and Llew throw the spear. Goronwy asked if any among his men and kinfolk would take the blow in his stead, but all refused. So Goronwy went to the bathhouse. Claiming that he had been lead astray by a woman, he asked that he be able to hold something between himself and Llew. Llew agreed that it was fair. Goronwy picked up a stone, but the spear pierced both stone and man. Llew soon regained control of Ardudwy, and the land prospered again.

* * *

I saw Goronwy's corpse hanging from the castle walls. Would it surprise you to hear I did not morn his loss? I had loved him, it is true, but only as Llew had loved me. I had never really known him. He completed me, and I loved being complete. It was not him that I loved. I mourned, but what I mourned is that I never knew him and never would. The illusion I had loved was no longer needed. I was whole now. I was complete of myself.

From inside the hall I could hear the minstrels playing and warriors laughing as the celebrating their victory. Math was there, as was Gwydion. The men clustered around them, singing and joking, hoisting aloft wine or ale depending upon their rank. Llew did not appear to be inside. It did not matter. It was not him who I had come to make amends to. Circling around, I made my way to my garden. Though it was not him I sought, it did not surprise me to find Llew there. He was standing in the center of the garden, looking at nothing in particular. I landed softly on the wall before him.
"I thought you might come," he said, smiling a faint sad smile. "He told me what happened. How, as my death had changed me into an eagle, yours transformed you into an owl. I never knew, Bloduewedd. Why did you never tell me? I have no songs to bring you to me. I do not yet possess the magic of my uncles. But will you not come to me? Please, Bloduewedd, will you not come to me?" I shook my head slowly and firmly. Voice harsh, he continued. "I loved you, you know. I love you yet. I won't let you go that easily, my love. Though you stay ever outside of my reach, I will follow you as sure as the sun follows the moon. We will be together again." Inside the feast continued, a bard raised his voice in song, warriors laughed with their ladies. Overhead the moon shone bright, reflecting in the tears in Llew's eyes. "Upon my name, lady, and upon yours: I will regain you."

Did he know what he swore, I wondered. Did he think he spoke to the flower-face he had named one July morning? The innocent lady who had been his to mold? Could he even begin to understand who I had become? Could he love me as I was, not as I had been? Who was it he sought to regain? The maiden he had known was dead, and the one she had become he had never possessed.

"Bloduewedd," he whispered beseechingly. "Bloduewedd."

"Who?" I asked, and knowing he could not answer, having done what I had come for, I leapt off of the wall, wingtips brushing his face in blessing, forgiveness and farewell. The skies were mine now, and the stars within my reach.