The Guardian [2/5]
Title: The Guardian (part 2 of 5)
Author: Madam Backslash
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Assume spoilage for everything up to and including Children of Earth
Cast: This part: OCs (bear with me)
Pairing/s: Canon
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and am not making money out of them
Notes: All hail my best friend, heart-sister and beta reader estoile. Without her, this quite literally would not have been written.
1062 CE
Owain walked into the clearing and stood for a long, silent moment, hands on hips, before settling down cross-legged on the grass. The trees cast elongated shadows in the twilight, and the evening chorus was loud in his ears.
"The King's ally Aelfgar is dead," he said quietly, apparently to no-one in particular. "And there are rumours that forces are working against the throne.
"If the King falls, then Wales will fall, and that..." he choked, tears coming unbidden to his blue-grey eyes. "That will be the end of something that so many have worked for, fought for, died for...
"It could be the end of my family. Please, I beg you, keep them safe as much as you can. I have to go back to the Marches tomorrow. I just arrived two days ago... I barely know my son, and I may never see him again. Please. My wife and son. They need to live."
Owain wept silently, hands over his face, until he had no more tears left. As he wiped his eyes, he found that he felt more at peace than he had in months. Braver, somehow. Stronger. He put his hands on the ground in silent thanks to the Guardian, then walked back to his family, knowing that they would be in safe hands when he left in the morning.
1343 CE
Seren and Llywelyn had tried everything. They had used every herbal remedy the old women had suggested, and prayed and said the beads until their hands and hearts had bled, but still Seren did not fall pregnant.
Seeing her niece's distress, Aunt Gwladys said "There's one more thing you can try. Don't set much stock in it myself, but there's a tradition in the family that if a barren woman lies with her husband in the Guardian's place, she'll soon find herself with child."
Seren gave the matter some thought before mentioning it to Llywelyn.
"I'm not sure," he admitted. "It feels a bit... pagan to me. I want to talk to Father Emrys about it." Seren agreed, and the next Sunday they stayed behind after Mass to discuss it.
To their surprise, the priest gave his blessing to the idea.
"But Father... are you not worried for our eternal souls?" Seren asked.
The priest smiled gently. "No, child. If that place is special in any way, it is because God has made it so. I don't pretend to know all of God's ways, but I do know that in these troubled times we should take blessings where we find them."
Two nights before midsummer, Seren and Llywelyn made their way to the Guardian's place, and sat on the grass, hand in hand.
"Now what?" asked Llywelyn, uncertainly.
"I don't know. We... just let what happens happen, I think."
They sat in silence, with the warm breeze blowing gently, Llywelyn's arm around Seren's back, her head nestled into his shoulder. An enticing, spicy scent carried on the breeze, making Seren think back to the days when she and Llywelyn had just started courting -- the long walks in the forest, the time spent together just being with each other, which had felt like the greatest delight in the world. When she lifted her head to look at her husband, she caught him looking down with a reflective expression that told her he had been thinking much the same.
Seren reached up to kiss Llywelyn at the same he reached down to kiss his wife. They made love on the grass while the crescent moon looked down from the clear sky, and the wind sighed in the trees.
Gwyneth was born the following spring, healthy and strong. Her brother Emrys, named for the priest, came a year later, and was followed by Dylan (with his beautiful singing voice), shy Dafydd, Ieuan (so good with numbers) and green-eyed, gap-toothed Mary, who loved everybody. Wee Dafydd died of scarlet fever when he was eight. Dylan, who had been his best friend and protector, took it hard. But even in their grief, Seren and Llywelyn counted their blessings every day of their lives.
Part One
Part Three
Master List
Author: Madam Backslash
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Assume spoilage for everything up to and including Children of Earth
Cast: This part: OCs (bear with me)
Pairing/s: Canon
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and am not making money out of them
Notes: All hail my best friend, heart-sister and beta reader estoile. Without her, this quite literally would not have been written.
1062 CE
Owain walked into the clearing and stood for a long, silent moment, hands on hips, before settling down cross-legged on the grass. The trees cast elongated shadows in the twilight, and the evening chorus was loud in his ears.
"The King's ally Aelfgar is dead," he said quietly, apparently to no-one in particular. "And there are rumours that forces are working against the throne.
"If the King falls, then Wales will fall, and that..." he choked, tears coming unbidden to his blue-grey eyes. "That will be the end of something that so many have worked for, fought for, died for...
"It could be the end of my family. Please, I beg you, keep them safe as much as you can. I have to go back to the Marches tomorrow. I just arrived two days ago... I barely know my son, and I may never see him again. Please. My wife and son. They need to live."
Owain wept silently, hands over his face, until he had no more tears left. As he wiped his eyes, he found that he felt more at peace than he had in months. Braver, somehow. Stronger. He put his hands on the ground in silent thanks to the Guardian, then walked back to his family, knowing that they would be in safe hands when he left in the morning.
1343 CE
Seren and Llywelyn had tried everything. They had used every herbal remedy the old women had suggested, and prayed and said the beads until their hands and hearts had bled, but still Seren did not fall pregnant.
Seeing her niece's distress, Aunt Gwladys said "There's one more thing you can try. Don't set much stock in it myself, but there's a tradition in the family that if a barren woman lies with her husband in the Guardian's place, she'll soon find herself with child."
Seren gave the matter some thought before mentioning it to Llywelyn.
"I'm not sure," he admitted. "It feels a bit... pagan to me. I want to talk to Father Emrys about it." Seren agreed, and the next Sunday they stayed behind after Mass to discuss it.
To their surprise, the priest gave his blessing to the idea.
"But Father... are you not worried for our eternal souls?" Seren asked.
The priest smiled gently. "No, child. If that place is special in any way, it is because God has made it so. I don't pretend to know all of God's ways, but I do know that in these troubled times we should take blessings where we find them."
Two nights before midsummer, Seren and Llywelyn made their way to the Guardian's place, and sat on the grass, hand in hand.
"Now what?" asked Llywelyn, uncertainly.
"I don't know. We... just let what happens happen, I think."
They sat in silence, with the warm breeze blowing gently, Llywelyn's arm around Seren's back, her head nestled into his shoulder. An enticing, spicy scent carried on the breeze, making Seren think back to the days when she and Llywelyn had just started courting -- the long walks in the forest, the time spent together just being with each other, which had felt like the greatest delight in the world. When she lifted her head to look at her husband, she caught him looking down with a reflective expression that told her he had been thinking much the same.
Seren reached up to kiss Llywelyn at the same he reached down to kiss his wife. They made love on the grass while the crescent moon looked down from the clear sky, and the wind sighed in the trees.
Gwyneth was born the following spring, healthy and strong. Her brother Emrys, named for the priest, came a year later, and was followed by Dylan (with his beautiful singing voice), shy Dafydd, Ieuan (so good with numbers) and green-eyed, gap-toothed Mary, who loved everybody. Wee Dafydd died of scarlet fever when he was eight. Dylan, who had been his best friend and protector, took it hard. But even in their grief, Seren and Llywelyn counted their blessings every day of their lives.
Part One
Part Three
Master List