A Promise Fulfilled: A Lonely Light
Gráigdeireadh, Eastern Aurinsay, the Brythonic Isles.
The Forth Day of the Eighth Moon, 606 AD.
She wasn't sure exactly when, but things had changed between the two of them these last few years. It was odd. It wasn't bad, or good, it was just... it was different. The two of them seemed to trip over their own feet and stumble over words when around each other, which seemed strange by itself since neither of them had particularly worried about that before. They still maintained their normal routines, laughing over their mistakes and blunders with an increasing regularity, they still met one another almost every night at the hour of the hound, and they still did their best to stay around one another as often as possible, like it had been when they were children, but there was undeniably something different about... well about the two of them, she supposed. There was a strange pull in her chest when he laughed, an almost melancholic look in his eyes when she smiled at him during their nighttime escapades, a sense that everything was the same but... Gods, she didn't really know how to frame it. It was definitely still the same, and yet somehow it was different. Old Kerwyn kept looking between the two of them and smiling whilst shaking his head and muttering to himself. That confused her as well.
She was dragged from her thoughts by the cause of her confusion, cresting the hill and walking towards her with a smile playing about his lips.
"Gráinne!"
She smiled back.
"Arwen. Is the harvest going well?"
He nodded at her, smile still fixed in place.
"Aye, not too bad by half! We're looking at one of the best harvests we've had in decades, at least according to some of the older farmers out there. We must have gathered eight tons per hectare on the spring barley, similar for the spring wheat if the other lads are to be believed."
She nodded back and took some mental notes. Eight tons a hectare? That was a damned good yield indeed!
"Well, let us hope the Jay keeps us in her embrace a while longer. The orchards?"
"Flourishing. Probably around one-thousand two-hundred bushels a hectare."
She stopped and blinked.
"But that's... that's almost twice last year's yield."
She motioned for him to walk alongside her as they made their way back to the village.
"I take it the younger trees started bearing fruit this year?"
"Aye, they did. We won't lack for apples nor pears anytime soon, that's for sure. No word on the livestock yet, I can run down and ask for you if you'd like?"
She huffed a little and shook her head. He'd become something of her informant when it came to harvest seasons, giving her on-the-ground measurements of their yields in between his harvest-work. It was damn useful for keeping track of how much of each foodstuff the village would have in the coming months and years. It also meant he was run ragged some days.
"You've just got back. Come on, wash yourself off and get changed into some cleaner clothes, there's bound to be a small celebration tonight when I tell the rest of the village council."
He chuckled under his breath whilst looking down at the road.
"Yeah, that sounds good to me. Any chance of-"
"I'm going to stop you there."
She stopped walking in her tracks and turned to face him, hands on her hips.
"Were you seriously going to bring up that one time I asked if there was to be alcohol at a festival?"
He smiled sheepishly at her and scratched the back of his neck.
"... maybe?"
She huffed and carried on walking, trying her best to keep the smile off of her face.
"Look, you have to admit it was a stupid question, and also really funny."
"I already agreed with that. Why do you still bring it up?"
Though he was a few steps behind her she knew he had an almost giddy smile on his face given his tone of voice.
"Because I always ask stupid questions and you don't, so I need to try and cling to the few you do ask."
"... touché."
"Touché? Never heard anyone say that before."
She shrugged.
"Heard it said by some fancy captain, a noble-type from the continent. Apparently they say it to mean 'fair enough' or 'I can't argue with that'."
"Well that's stupid. Why don't they just say 'fair enough'?"
She slowed slightly, letting him fall back alongside her, before shooting him an exasperated expression.
"Arwen, my dearest friend, please do not tell me you forgot that the continent speak different languages to us."
"..."
"Arwen?"
"You said not to tell you!"
She rubbed the bridge of her nose with her right hand in a gesture of mock frustration.
"Gods preserve me."
He looked down at her, smiling but with that almost melancholic glint in his eyes she had noted the last few nights.
"Hey, there's a reason you're gonna be the one running the village and I won't. You're the smart one."
She chuckled at that and carried on down the lane.
"Come on, let's get back before they all start making japes at us for 'disappearing' again."
He laughed back at her.
"Yeah, that's probably for the best. Let's get moving."
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"Cheers!"
The great hall in the centre of the village was packed, with everyone but the sentries drinking and feasting the night away. For once there was a lull in the din as half the hall quaffed their drink of choice. She, having a goblet of apple wine in front of her, elected not to partake, instead looking around the room and at the other attendees. There was a glut of food on the table, mostly pork-based, though there was a truly huge game pie in the middle as well as a few fish along the length of the tables. Beers, ciders, apple wines, and even perrys were available by the hogshead. She supposed with the astounding harvest this year there wasn't much need to be conservative with what they already had, but she would be lying if she said such excess didn't make the part of her dedicated to helping run the village cry out in offence.
Still, this was a festival, a celebration, and they had all earned it.
She took another sip of her drink as the majority of the assembled merrymakers lowered their tankards. She watched as Old Kerwyn laughed while patting the back of one of the youngest attendees who was allowed an alcoholic drink, the poor boy coughing violently after his first quaff. A few men raised their own tankards at him as soon as they were refilled, saluting the boy's achievement and, she suspected, remembering their own first quaff. She would never be sure why men treated their first time downing a drink like a hunter remembered his first quarry, as a milestone in their young lives, but then she never did understand half of what they did.
Bloody fools, the lot of them.
Even so, she couldn't help but smile at the gesture. They meant well, and that counted for something.
"Not enjoying the festivities?"
She turned as Arwen sidled up alongside her.
"I am, I'm just peoplewatching at the moment."
He snorted.
"Then stop. Come on, if you can batter down half the village on the training ground then I'll bet you can out-drink half of them too."
She shook her head whilst laughing.
"Well, now I know you certainly have been drinking."
"Of course I have! No point letting it all go to waste after all, is there?"
She shook her head at him whilst smiling.
"Well, what's your poison of choice this time then?"
"A bit of this, a bit of that. Mostly strong perry, but I've tried pretty much every drink in the room at this point."
She feigned a wince as she looked at him, hissing between her teeth for a moment before speaking.
"You're gonna have a hell of a hangover come the morning, you know that right?"
He threw his head back and laughed.
"Yep! Anyway, I was-"
"Oi, Arwen! Get over 'ere!"
Old Kerwyn's voice cut through the din in the hall, and Arwen smiled sheepishly at her.
"It seems I'm needed. Will though accompany me, oh fair maid?"
He spoke in what was quite possibly the worst mainlander impression she had ever heard and accentuated his words with a flourish, stretching out an arm to her.
Despite the roll of her eyes and the scoff that left her throat, she took his arm all the same.
"Kerwyn, you old bastard! What's the shouting for?"
The old man smiled up at Arwen and nodded at the empty seat opposite. The younger man sat down, and she found an empty chair and moved to bring herself around the table. When Arwen was sat the old man produced two empty tankards and kicked a hogshead next to him. By the way the large barrel didn't so much as move, it must have been full.
"Get a spigot in that and we'll be off. Come on, boy."
She rolled her eyes. Men. No matter if they'd lived a decade and a half or over eighty winters, they never grew up. Arwen wore an even giddier smile than normal and Old Kerwyn was already ruddy-faced, so the two of them had clearly had more than a few drinks already, but that wouldn't stop them. She didn't even blink at Arwen being called 'boy'. He didn't like it from anyone else, even her, but Old Kerwyn was different. Not because he was more than twice the age of anyone else in the village, but because he was a true friend of Arwen, almost a father figure, having helped raise him since he was a young boy fresh off a boat from Brythonia.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
"What's in the barrel?"
The old Druid shrugged.
"Fucked if I know, but it's probably strong."
A few men and women from nearby tables had worked out what was about to transpire, and were gathering to watch. One produced a spigot and righted the barrel, and another took on the task of pouring the drinks levelly. Well, roughly level. She didn't think there were many sober people left in the room. Someone took a small glass from the barrel and drank it before coughing.
"Bugger me, that's strong. Cider, definitely though. Probably one of the stronger ones we've had. It's... I reckon that's a vintage, 'cause I ain't tasting a mix."
Old Kerwyn grunted his affirmation when being given a sample, and Arwen did likewise. When both had gotten acquainted with the taste and smell someone spoke aloud the rules, taking on the role of umpire.
"Right then, pint for pint, you're both to match each other. First man to throw up, fall unconscious, or back down is the loser."
"Aye."
The two men seated at the table nodded at each other as the drinks were poured. Some seventy years may have separated them, but the two were still fast friends.
The mugs were pushed into their hands and they clinked them together before quaffing long and mightily.
"Ahh..."
Old Kerwyn lowered his mug to the table, followed a few seconds later by Arwen, who wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
"That is strong, ain't it?"
That roused a few chuckles from the table.
"What, you considering backing out?"
Arwen scoffed.
"What, me? And here I thought you new me better than that!"
A second round was placed into their hands, and Gráinne resisted the urge to roll her eyes so hard that they would surely disappear inside her head.
Two rounds, three rounds, four, five, six. The young man and the old sat and quaffed tankard after tankard of the drink until she was sure they would surely both collapse.
A man called out to them from the side as a rendition of The Selkie's Shepard was being belted out elsewhere in the hall.
"How are you liking the drink?"
Arwen turned, bleary eyed and slightly slurring his words.
"Haven't made me mind up yet, give me another and I'll work it out."
That earned a true round of laughter from the attending men and women, some of whom patted him on the back in encouragement whilst Kerwyn chuckled.
"Come on Arwen!"
She looked around, cheeks dusted red, as she realised it had been her that shouted that out. She took a long swig from her own drink to hide her embarrassment as her best friend smiled at her. The seventh round was passed into their hands. Arwen grasped with two hands, shaking slightly, whilst Kerwyn lounged in his chair.
"One more, eh?"
Arwen raised his tankard to cheers, a small amount slopping over the side and onto the table. Seeming not to notice, he raised the mug to his lips and drank.
He gulped and gulped and gulped before slamming his mug on the table and standing suddenly. The world seemed to slow for a few moments as his eyes seemed to roll back in his head and he fell forwards into the table. Kerwyn raised his own drink in salute then quaffed what was left before walking around the table and raising Arwen's unconscious form up.
"A noble second place!"
There was a round of truly raucous cheering at that as attending men and women congratulated both the victor and the vanquished, before Arwen came too whilst still hoisted.
"Whoa, hang on, how'd I get up here?"
The cheering and laugher continued until he was released, whereupon he walked over to her with his legs shaking like a foal.
"Well, I 'ppear to have lost."
She smiled at him, her own drink going to her head.
"Aye, that you did."
"A noble attempt though?"
She rolled her eyes at him through chortled laughter.
"Shut up, idiot. Come on, let's see if the drink has improved your dancing!"
There was a flush of red on his cheeks as she downed a goblet someone had left off to the side and all but dragged him to the cleared floor in front of the minstrels, pointedly ignoring the glares that some of the other boys his age sent them. Children, honestly. They still couldn't get over the fact that he'd come from Brythonia. A fiddler in the hall started up a rendition of a continental song, Cyderwood Fair, taking it from half speed to full in but a verse. The two of them stumbled and tripped and laughed as they danced with each other. Oh, how they laughed! The song was over far too quickly for her liking, and as it drew to a close she looked over and locked eyes with the fiddler. The middle-aged woman winked at her and looked over to the other musicians, before nodding his head sideways at the two of them. A few grins came onto the faces of the players, and as the first rendition of the song came to a close she realised why.
As the first ended they seamlessly blended it into the start of a second rendition, though as they approached the first verse it was clear what they were doing.
"They're playing double-speed!"
Arwen grinned at that and spun her around, and though he barely caught her she couldn't help but laugh until tears came to her eyes. Around the hall they danced and spun as fast as they possibly could, doing their absolute best in their drunken states to keep pace with the music. Though they might not have succeeded, they were certainly having the time of their lives.
As the second rendition came to a close he dipped her low before pulling her back up.
The two of them were breathless, exhausted, and somewhat flustered. Alcohol overpowering her sense, she did the only thing she could think to do in that moment, pulling him close and kissing him with as much strength as she could muster. His mouth tasted of perry and strong cider, but then she supposed hers probably wasn't much better. After a few long seconds she realised what she'd done, her cheeks going almost as red as Arwen's own.
As she made to pull away in embarrassment, he swooped down and pressed a second, far more tender kiss to her own lips. Their breaths mixed in between them, the stench of alcohol in the air and the sound of the older adults around them cheering louder than she had heard in her life, and yet for all of that she could not care less.
All suddenly felt very right in the world.
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After that night the two of them knew exactly what had changed between them, and the two of them shied away from it no longer. They'd always been close, and now they were closer still. His sixteenth nameday had just been and gone, and he was to be off with the other boys his age as part of a band of Waryouths. According to one of the more veteran huntsmen in the village there was a pack of direwolves and a couple of nesters in the woods outside the village, and they were to find and bring down at least one of the bastards before returning. The mothers and fathers of the village had said their goodbyes to their children, knowing that there was a very real chance one or two might not return. Arwen had already said his goodbyes to Old Kerwyn, who was the closest thing to a parent the young man had, and if she were to guess the old man spent less time worrying and more time giving sage advice in the time they were given. After all, he was a Druid, and you didn't live to his age as a Druid without spending a lot of time in the deep woods outsmarting the predators within. As for her, well, they'd said their goodbyes in breathless voices the night before.
Nonetheless she made sure to seek him out just as he was going.
"Gráinne, I should have known you'd find a way to bump into me before leaving."
She smirked.
"Why, are you disappointed?"
He laughed with her, before becoming pensive and if she had to guess, anxious.
"Are you worried about the hunt? You and I both know that, out of all the blockheads you're going with, you're the best shot."
He shook his head.
"Don't worry, I know that. It's... it's something else?"
"And what would that be?"
He spent a moment seemingly attempting to gather himself as she smiled at him, before taking one last deep breath with closed eyes, opening them again, and looking straight at her.
"Will you allow us to be married?"
She blinked at him a few time, trying to comprehend what he'd just said, before bursting out in laughter and pulling him into a hug that could probably crack ribs.
"Of course! Not much time for a ceremony now though, is there?"
He laughed with her at that, ignoring the annoyed comments from the rest of his hunting group that he should "bloody well get on with it".
"I suppose not. But when I get back, you will marry me?"
"Aye, you will marry me. That's not up for debate."
He laughed and ran a hand through his hair in mock frustration, though she noted the way his hands still shook from adrenaline.
"Dear gods, what have I got myself into?"
She laughed heartily, elated to have finally been asked.
"You know when you got back I probably would have asked you if you hadn't asked me just then?"
He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it before any sound came out.
"You know what? I can imagine that, yeah."
"Well, you might have left it to the last minute, but at least you got to ask!"
He laughed again, and she couldn't help but join in. He stopped and seemed to sober himself after a little while.
"I'll likely be gone a week or two."
"Aye, that you will. And when you return..."
They shared a breathless kiss, equal parts passionate and casual, before parting.
"We'll be wed. We're old enough, and no-one can stop us if it's what we both want. Do you want that?"
She nodded frantically, not wanting this moment to end.
"Gods, yes. It's been all I've wanted for so long."
His smile was filled with relief as he looked at her.
"Then as soon as I'm back we'll ask Old Kerwyn to wed us together. He's always been kind to us, and he's still technically a Druid, if getting on a bit."
She nodded again, and smirked at him.
"It sounds perfect. I expect you to bring me an impressive wedding gift back from your hunt."
He laughed his perfect laugh at that, head tilted towards the sky.
"As you asked so nicely, that I will do."
She launched herself at him in a hug, and they held each other in a death-grip.
"Arwen, stop flirting, you coming on the hunt or not?"
He released her and smiled sheepishly.
"That's my cue to leave, I think. Wait for my return?"
It was a question more than a request, as though he was afraid of saying the wrong thing now they were to be wed.
She thought it only made him more endearing, to be honest.
"Of course. I'll wait for you every day, and when we next meet we'll be wed together."
She couldn't stop herself from saying those words again and again. She'd wanted to hear them for so long that she was worried she'd wake from whatever dream this was and return to her boring, normal life as his friend and nothing more. It was a foolish fear; she reckoned he felt much the same.
"I promise I'll wait for you."
He nodded at her, smiling all the while, and kissed her one last time before turning and walking away.
After all, he was a waryouth now, and he was needed in his band.
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He never did come back.
No one was quite sure what had become of him, not even the waryouths who were out with him.
One day he was there, and the next he was not. Attempts to work out how and why he died were fruitless. Some of the others seemed shaken up by the incident, and a few couldn't look her in the eye when they returned.
It seemed he might have let slip their engagement to them after all, not that they were ever discreet about their attraction to each other.
Some of them were less than respectful.
"Perhaps an umbra fancied him for dinner?" One of them had said.
"He always preferred a bow, didn't he? Maybe he tripped and fell on his sword?" Joked another.
She'd knocked that one out in a single punch, then kicked him in the gut for good measure. Hard. The jokes stopped after that.
When she was around, at least.
They were his warmates! His companions! They should have been with him, should have been shadowing each other constantly!
Fifteen of them had set out, but he was the only one who never came back.
It wasn't fair.
None of them treated his disappearance with anything even approaching respect! The adults in the village, even the ones who used to avoid him for being 'strange' and 'foreign', were at least pretending to mourn.
His true friends in the village, her included, spent months looking through the dense forests of the island.
Nothing.
Old Kerwyn hadn't been the same since Arwen disappeared. The druid had liked the company of the younger man, seeing as he was the only other Brythonian in a village that was otherwise entirely Aurinsian.
She'd kept him company as best she could, but she had her own jobs to attend to even in the throes of her grief. Even if she could spare the time, his accent reminded her of what her lover would have sounded like when they'd grown old together.
If only she could hear him, that was.
She'd been given her mourning period, and now she needed to continue working.
Not that time changed anything. Healed anything.
Sometimes she would have to travel to Grywhendaigh, and every single time she did something inside her would break as she passed by that field where they had spent countless treasured hours looking up at the night sky, no matter how cloudy or rainy a night it was.
Those memories were bittersweet things now. They were all she had left to cling to.
Every night, at the hour of the hound, she'd go to the forest line and light the candle she'd placed in a small cairn for him. Maybe he was cold out there. Maybe the light would help him find his way home to her.
Then they would be wed, and live happily together for the rest of their days.
She'd lied to herself about that for six months now. For six months she'd waited patiently for him, spent every night alert, watching the forests for his return.
Every night she lit the candle for him, hoping that maybe, just maybe, she would be reunited with him again.
She just needed to cling on to her hope a little while longer.