Gwenhwyfar by Mercedes Lackey Page B

to him, when her mother answered him, but in a voice full of Power.
    Now, she had heard the tale of Gwydion and Arianrhod, of Lleu and of Goronwy, often enough to know within hearing a few words that this was what they were playing out, with Eleri taking the part of Arianrhod and these men the other parts. But then something happened—
    The world about her shifted.
    She felt incredibly dizzy, hot and cold at the same time, as if she had struck her head in a fall. Everything blurred for a moment.
    It was no longer night, but broad day. And she was not on her father’s lands near the stone circle; she was on the top of a bluff that fell off abruptly to end in the sea. At least, she thought it was the sea, though she had never seen it herself; there was water to the horizon, an unfamiliar tangy scent in the air, and a roaring sound from the waves coming to shore below her. On top of the bluff was a castle easily five times bigger than Castell y Cnwclas; maybe ten times, it was so big she couldn’t rightly judge. And the woman standing before the castle was so beautiful she took Gwen’s breath away.
    Her hair was a ruddy gold and fell to her feet; her eyes were bluer than the sky, and her face was terrifying in its perfection. She wore a rich gown of some shining, red stuff that Gwen couldn’t identify; there was silver at her wrists and her throat, a silver chain served her as a belt, and she wore a silver filet in her air.
    Before her was a man as like to her as could be; vaguely Gwen realized that if this was Arianrhod, then he must be Gwydion, her brother. With him was a boy, hovering on the edge of manhood. Both the boy and Gwydion were clothed in rough, churlish clothing with the leather aprons of cobblers.
    Arianrhod was angry; but more than angry, she was near tears. And no wonder. This boy was her son, and his birth had been the cause of her shame, for she had been thus exposed by the magic of Math, Gwydion’s king, to all as being no longer virgin. It was Gwydion who was the cause of that, so small wonder she was angry at him and angry at his bringing before her the boy, who had until this moment been nameless and whom she had repudiated, abandoned, and denied. “He shall get no name unless he gets it from my own lips, and that will never be!” she had told her brother.
    And now he had tricked her again. She had called him “the bright and clever handed,” which served very well as a name, so now he was Lleu Llaw Gyffes.
    She had just at this moment seen through the deception. “Oh, perfidy!” she cried, and Gwen could see how hard it was for her not to cry. She was so angry with her brother for raising this child, for presenting the source of her shame to her, that she could scarcely form the words. “You have tricked me twice, but there shall come no third time, and this your protégé shall never be a man.” She all but spat the word. “Hear my will on this! You have got him a name by trickery, but he shall never bear arms unless I give them to him with my own hands! Now go! And find him a fit place among the churls or the women!”
    A darkness passed over the scene as Gwen shuddered at the misery in Arianrhod’s voice. She sensed how deeply wounded the goddess was, how it wounded her that this beautiful boy, whom she would gladly have cherished, was the cause of the worst experience of her life. And when the darkness faded into light, the scene remained the same, but it was clear some time had passed. Two bards, an old, old man and his apprentice, approached the castle and were welcomed inside. Somehow Gwen found herself in the Great Hall with them, as if she were some sort of bodiless spirit. And while part of her knew that the bard and his companion were, in fact, Gwydion and Lleu in disguise, she could not see it and, clearly, neither could Arianrhod.
    Gwydion was a famous bard in actuality, something that his sister seemed to have forgotten as he regaled her and her court of mostly women with song