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+--- Thread: Silverlight Terrace gobaith (/showthread.php?tid=32735)
gobaith - Llewellyn - February 07, 2019
The terrace is like a field of dreams, especially at night. The moonlight bounces off the snow, turning into a bright, glittering expanse under the vast curtain of dark, spattered with stars near and far. All is silver here, except for Llewellyn. The prince is golden, still, in this argent land; golden he always will be.
He pads down from the Moonspear and across the open ground, more restless than ever. His dreams have been growing more vivid and more terrible with each slumber. He sees faces long dead and places long fallen, things that have come to pass and things that will never be. All in stark detail, burning themselves into his mind—and take time to fade, even when he wakes.
His breath fogs on the cold air, and snow falls, the flakes gleaming white against the sun-glow of his pelt. On he walks, with no clear purpose but to clear his head. Maybe he will grow tired enough to sleep, eventually. Perhaps the gods of fate, or what have you, have willed him to freeze out here.
Or. . .
Perhaps God has something else in mind entirely. For in the sea of silver night, he sees the golden light of day, as if staring into a pond and finding his reflection.
He rushes toward it without thought.
He pads down from the Moonspear and across the open ground, more restless than ever. His dreams have been growing more vivid and more terrible with each slumber. He sees faces long dead and places long fallen, things that have come to pass and things that will never be. All in stark detail, burning themselves into his mind—and take time to fade, even when he wakes.
His breath fogs on the cold air, and snow falls, the flakes gleaming white against the sun-glow of his pelt. On he walks, with no clear purpose but to clear his head. Maybe he will grow tired enough to sleep, eventually. Perhaps the gods of fate, or what have you, have willed him to freeze out here.
Or. . .
Perhaps God has something else in mind entirely. For in the sea of silver night, he sees the golden light of day, as if staring into a pond and finding his reflection.
He rushes toward it without thought.
RE: gobaith - Seren - February 07, 2019
How long must she look before she gives Llewellyn up for dead?
The revolution is happening, and it will happen without her should she not return soon. They will find another ruler in his stead. Padrig, perhaps, for he is charismatic and kind. But Padrig, bless him, is not half the man she knows her brother to be—and she does not wish to be queen, either. It cannot be Padrig; it must be Llewellyn, it must!
With a huff, she begins to backtrack, going farther inland than she has before. She has kept to the coast, mostly, thinking that perhaps her littermate has found a home by the sea he loves so well. There is a whole world, however, beyond the waves, and she has barely scraped the surface of it. Seren cannot tarry long here, but she has to try, for the sake of Mynydd. She will never live with herself if Llewellyn still breathes and she cannot find him.
Alarm bells go off in her head as the faint murmur of a wolf in full flight across snow reaches her ears, and her head shoots up, her eyes flashing with panic as they search. It is so empty, mostly open land, and so, where—who—
There is a streak of gold headed her way, coming diagonally from the left. Bright as the sun.
She meets him halfway, and the two collide like stars,
And the explosion that results is one of tears and laughter—of complete and utter astonishment.
RE: gobaith - Llewellyn - February 07, 2019
Seren,he wheezes, completely at a loss for words. Tears so long unshed glimmer in his eyes and spill over, finally, when he blinks; he presses his face into her shoulder.
O, Seren.
This must be a dream!
After they weep for a while, Llewellyn pulls back, finally composing himself enough to look at his sister with the first smile he has had in moons. Seasons perhaps. He bursts out in laughter, completely taken aback.
Roeddwn i'n meddwl na fyddwn byth yn eich gweld chi eto,he says hoarsely, shaking his head.
Rydych chi'n fyw. Canmoliaeth i Dduw.He embraces her again, briefly, before tearing himself away once more.
Has she turned spy? She could not have. . . No. Not after what Ioan had done to their family. She would never. Would she not? He has been away from home for a very long time—but then, so has she, he assumes; Padrig did not live within the confines of Mynydd, last he knew.
Pam wyt ti yma?Llewellyn asks baldly, his tone growing a bit harsher. Edged with worry, no doubt, but it might come off poorly to anyone besides Seren, who has known his sullen attitude for so long. . .
Beth sy'n digwydd? Eich gŵr, eich plant? Ydyn nhw i gyd yn iawn?
RE: gobaith - Seren - February 08, 2019
Seren sniffles against him, scarcely believing him to be real. How many sleepless nights has she endured, praying for his safety? Praying that her brother was alive out there, somewhere? And now here he stands, as if he had never left.
She notices the sharpness of his tone, but pays it no mind; his words are most important. She shakes her head.
Maent yn iawn,she assures him. He likely believes there to be something sinister behind her actions. She cannot blame him for the supposition. Why hasn't she come sooner, after all? He must have the truth, all of it, and straight away.
Llewellyn. . . Mae teyrnasiad Ioan yn cwympo. Mae'r deyrnas yn gofyn am brenin wirb,Seren tells him, watching his face change from skeptical to astonished through the course of those two sentences. Her face breaks into a smile, the tears coming again as she delivers the next piece of news. Words he has wanted to hear since their childhood.
Maen nhw am i chi, Llewellyn. Maen nhw am i chi fel eu brenin.
The princess weeps, but this time with joy, standing under the glory of the stars with her brother as they ponder a future that has not been so bright in many moons.
Rhaid inni fynd adref.