#dinolil1 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

balladofthewhitehorse · 2 years

Text

Longbow

This is also on A03 under Dinolil1:

‘’Be careful.’’ Whispered Wales, eyes narrowing as she crouched amongst the briars. Just ahead was a hare, lean and limber with anxious, twitching ears; One slip-up and it would be gone, vanishing swiftly over the hills. ‘’Stay still, hold the bow properly.’’ She hissed, eyes gleaming as she watched clumsy, uncertain fingers draw back the string. There was a tremor in his arms, the uncertain quiver of a deer struck in place. ‘’And stop shaking so much.’’ Wales sighed heavily, rolling her eyes as Lloegyr shuffled anxiously in place.

‘’You’ll never kill it if you don’t let go of the string at some point.’’ The hare continued to tremble, nibbling on the sun-fed grass, very much alive. Impatience thrummed throughout Wales, her body fidgeting anxiously, hands snaking towards her own bow and quiver. ‘’Lloegyr. Shoot the damn hare.’’ She grumbled under her breath, watching his face scrunch in frustration when he finally let the arrow loose - sailing nimbly through the air and landing with a solid thunk just a few inches from its tail. Predictably, the hare jolted to life as if struck by lightning and raced over the moor with a few agile bounds.

‘’For-!’’ A coil of frustration wrenched itself from her throat, a gasp of sharp anger like fire-breath as she glared at the boy before her; Then fury loosened its grip, Wales sighing as she reached for the boy’s hand and began to lumber back home. ‘’You’re a better fisher than an archer, Lloegyr’’ His hand fitted neatly into her own, small and yet gripping as hard as he could; As if she would vanish and leave him stranded alone in the woods, Wales remarked with a quiet hum, squeezing his hand in turn.

She wouldn’t do that to him - no matter how many times pragmatism scraped at the back of her mind, the quiet, logical warrior in fisticuffs with the eternal bleeding heart, the loving poet in her. ‘’Let’s just go home.’’ Wales sighed gravely.

Lloegyr’s jaw tensed, defiance that Wales had grown used to brandishing itself like a sword. ‘’I did my best!’’ He insisted, stomping his feet - a twig snapping underfoot. ‘’You’re just…just…’’ Fists clenched, knuckles turned white as he swayed thoughtfully from side to side, as if mulling over each and every insult, every curse word he’d just so happened to overhear mumbled on an alcohol-brined breath. ‘’Y-you’re a…a…’’ He mumbled furiously, a glare fierce enough to bore a hole into an oak creasing his brow.

Wales listened patiently for the barb, raising an eyebrow coolly. He’d been alive for what…a few centuries at best? She wasn’t about to be offended by a child after-all, her thumb absent-mindedly tracing the taut line of a scar along her index finger. ‘’I’m a what?’’ She hummed, prodding him along the familiar well-trod path.

It had been there for many years before her and likely would exist for many years more, the work of people and creatures long past. As she glanced at the boy next to her, Wales wondered if he too would exist for many more years - and suddenly she felt too old, helping him stumble over a moss-strewn log and carefully picking their way through a portion of the path almost too narrow to pass if you were unfamiliar with the roots, tucked away and shrouded in a dense, thorny thicket. It felt improbable to imagine that the small boy beside her would ever grow up, already hundreds of years old. He fussed over the small, mundane things while she bore so much tiredness upon her shoulders, a weight that Wales figured she could never begin to untangle. Such a weight would surely crush Lloegyr like an ant. Better that he stayed focused on the small and mundane things. Better that he stayed a child (and the logical warrior mused wryly that it was better for her too. One less enemy to think about, Wales supposed, her insides twisting into all a manner of knots). ‘’Stop whining. It’s getting dark and I don’t want you to catch a chill.’’

She got a soft ‘you’re a meanie’ in return for her concerns, gripping Lloegyr’s hand tightly, a warning carried in the dig of her nails against pale skin. ‘’There’ll be more chances for you to practise.’’ Wales reassured him softly. ‘’Maybe you’ll kill a hare next time.’’ Though not likely, if Lloegyr’s hesitation was anything to go by - her brow creasing solemnly as their small, cramped but safe home rose into sight amidst the thick trees, their arms like a cradle.

Perhaps it was a little selfish, but she almost wanted him to fail again and again; Then perhaps he could stay that useless little boy, then he’d never live up to his father and potentially follow in his shadow, then perhaps she could stop holding her breath around him.

Perhaps, Wales thought for a split second, she could strike him down while he was still young, embers stamped out until they were nothing more than cold cinders. Chest tightening, Wales hardly noticed the clench of her fist around his hand - even as Lloegyr’s gaze upturned towards her like a flower following the sun, staring in quiet confusion, her name lost on his tongue as he asked her what was wrong.

Shaking her head furiously, Wales offered him a thin-smile as she tugged him along the deer path, brushing aside thick ferns. ‘’Nothing, it’s okay.’’ She reassured him, blinking furiously as guilt slowly set in; Wessex had laid into her mother, her memory now vestigial - a feeling more than anything, though the gleam of iron was as clear as ever. Lloegyr, by contrast, had been picking dandelions in a field not far from where her mother bled.

With a harsh wheeze, Wales scooped Lloegyr up into her arms as they approached the threshold of their little shelter. While Wales had screamed her lungs out, asking him why he’d betrayed them; While her mother had been hacked to so many pieces (so, so many pieces), Lloegyr had been sitting in the long grass, weaving together daisy-chains. The juxtaposition almost made Wales scream, her jaw tensing as she ground her teeth together. Yet, as her hand found its way to the crown of Lloegyr’s head, Wales wondered if she could redeem such a creature before the poison seeped into him and took away that flowerlike face.

Perhaps they could run and hide, two hares being hunted for the rest of eternity.

‘’Wales.’’ Lloegyr whined suddenly, interjecting through Wales’ stone-faced quiet, wrapping his arms around her neck as he felt himself become cradled - Wales’ hand cupping the small of his back as he squirmed, adjusting his posture. For a while, he felt small, the press of the future lifting its weight as he rested his cheek against the bony angle of Wales’ shoulder. From up here, Lloegyr could see the path sprawling behind them, disappearing into the crooks of the dark trees behind them. They hadn’t been walking long, but to the little boy it felt as though a century had passed them by already, impossibly quick - and it were as though he were running out of time.

Chewing his lip, Lloegyr couldn’t help but feel a shiver crawl up his spine, eyes growing wide as they crossed the threshold of their shelter, the thick line of trees thinning into a small, sunlit clearing. ‘’Wales, I’m sorry.’’ Tears beaded in the corners of his eyes, fingers curling around the collar of her tunic. That day, surrounded by all the dandelions, daisies and buttercups, Lloegyr had not understood death quite yet. He’d fallen from trees before, crashing through the branches and breaking his neck; Had slipped into rivers and drowned; Had succumbed to a high fever; Had been attacked by a wolf turned savage from loneliness.

Yet, even as he crossed from one plane to another, it had felt like nothing more than a nap, than going to sleep. So when Wales had approached him, all thunder and rainy eyes, Lloegyr knew something was terribly, terribly off. Certainly, her people were not destroyed, but something that could’ve been was irreparably lost. Wales had shouted at him that day, her voice cracking; She’d never shouted at him before, Lloegyr recalled with a faint whimper.

Turned out death could be and was something permanent. That sometimes people never came back, no matter how much fists pounded against the earth; No matter how much people cried and sobbed and bargained; No matter how rotten Lloegyr felt about it, his face scrunching in empathetic grief. That night, when he’d looked his father in the eyes, Lloegyr could feel his guts twisting into knots.

No matter how much he pursed his lips or bit his tongue, it all came tumbling out. Chest heaving in ugly sobs, Lloegyr had shied away from Wessex’s arms and bundled himself under the table, clutching his knees until his father had sighed and placed down his cup just a bit too harshly. ‘’England.’’ Wessex had muttered softly, exhaustion ringing every syllable. ‘’The world is full of necessary evils.’’ A twisted brow arched upright, lower lip jutting out as Wessex crooked his head to the side to peer at his son from where he trembled.

Crouching, wincing as an old injury groused, Wessex’s hand trailed out to reach his child - though no hand reached back. ‘’I’m…’’ He licked his lips, mulling over his words with the careful ease of a fox scouting a hen, a hand cradling England’s cheek gently. ‘’I’m sorry, dear.’’ He had clicked his tongue and sat down, crossing his legs - his expression softening, the crease of his eyebrows easing as he gently cupped his son’s face. ‘’I’m only looking out for you. Father knows best.’’

‘’But why?’’ England had whined, grabbing fistfuls of his father’s tunic as he clumsily crawled onto his lap. ‘’But why like that?’’ Wales’ description had been…terrifying vivid - painting thick red stripes across the fields until he’d frozen, face gone pale and told her he’d better be home by now or Wessex was going to worry.

Wessex’s face broke like a shattered puddle, ripples flowing outward and forming Wales’ features as she stared at him strangely. Concern flickered through her as she bounced Lloegyr in her arms. ‘’What are you apologising for?’’ She murmured, pacing in a slow looping circle around the fire-pit. Herbs hung in bundles from the rafters, tools and weapons tucked away from prying, juvenile hands. Sitting down, legs crossed, Wales cradled him in her lap and tilted her head to the side inquiringly. ‘’Is it about the hare?

Lloegyr’s expression fell, the boy slumping against Wales’ chest as he sniffed noisily. ‘’It’s not about the hare…’’ He whined, fat tears welling forth like new spring buds. Rubbing his eyes, bottom lip trembling, Lloegyr looked up hopefully at Wales. ‘’It’s…it’s…’’ The words heaved in his throat, like stones, smothering whatever he had to say, like embers underfoot. Lloegyr swallowed a lump in his throat, brushing down the front of his tunic, the rough wool scratching his hands.

A rustle of fabric and straw, Wales crossing her legs as she held him tight…too tightly, Lloegyr mused warily, staring at the floor as if he could see the blood flowing in thick, dark stripes…shaking his head, Lloegyr pushed his forehead against her chest and whined loudly. ‘’Can we talk about something else?’’ He mumbled softly, guilt laden like a stone, heavy and grave in the pit of his stomach.

Wales felt her eyebags get heavier, shadows drawn into deep furrows. She knew what he meant, what he was apologising for. Frustration snarled through her, Wales’ jaw tensing as she pressed him in closer, gaze flickering towards the far corners - as if Wessex stood, propped up by his bloodied sword, waving at her from the shadows. Taunting her, a wry smirk on his face; He might not have been the one to start it, Wales mused as fire coursed through her veins, that did not matter. Battles started all the time, like thunder growling in the distance, but Wessex had been lightning - and it was lightning that she had always been wary of.

After-all, thunder was just noise. Lightning did all the work.

‘’Sure.’’ Wales pulled her quiver from her back, laying it on the floor as she cradled Lloegyr in her arms, gesturing quietly to the arrows. ‘’Let’s talk about how you missed that shot, Lloegyr.’’ The boy squirmed, grumbling about how she had been putting him under pressure and made him muck it up, bottom lip pushed out moodily. ‘’Stop grumbling, you didn’t shoot the hare. Again.’’ Wales huffed, running a hand through his scruffy hair. ‘’Does your father let you practise back in the Heptarchy? Or is it all-’’ She chokes back an ‘invading’ , biting the insides of her cheek.

Her mother had told her it was long and complicated; Kent had been a saviour, fighting off the Picts side by side, a portion of land gifted for his service, but he had been foolish enough to share his bounty with his kin…and piece by piece, they had poured in, flowing ever onwards. Wales had never been especially fond of change in the first place, but this…Wales wished that she could turn back time, erase all that had gone before.

A part of her had been so mad, so frustrated at her mother. If only she’d let her tear into those Picts herself, then perhaps they wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. Perhaps, Wales thought as her fingers tangled in Lloegyr’s curls, she would’ve been able to avoid the moral conundrum that sat in her very lap right now. Why do I do this? Wales wondered, a deep breath swelling inside her as though her lung clawed against her ribs for some reprieve.

‘’Hey-!’’ Lloegyr squeaked, yelping as she snagged his hair. ‘’I do practise!’’ Whirling around, he grabbed Wales’ sleeves, cheeks ruddied with embarrassment. ‘’It’s…a sword’s cooler than a bow anyway. Nothing brave about shooting at things from far away.’’ He stuck his tongue out, jabbing it towards Wales as he stood up, stumbling slightly as he untangled himself from Wales’ limbs. ‘’Dad’s great!’’ Lloegyr exclaimed, his voice snagging an uncertain pitch, hand wringing the other - as if seeking a comfort that he dared not to ask for.

‘’Right. Because you can fend for yourself so well, can’t you?’’ Wales snorted, leaning back as Lloegyr pouted. She bristled at the notion that Wessex was anything approaching great, her teeth aching as she ground them together and stared up at Lloegyr, cocking her head to the side. ‘’Because you’re so strong and capable.’’ There it was again, Wales realised with a cold dread, instinct welling inside her, like a river slipping into the darkness of her veins. Like liquid malice, Wales taking a deep shaky breath as she shook her head gravely.

He was so young, wasn’t he? Scarcely a true country yet, a foreshadowing of one - his predecessor still alive and still governing. His people still quarrelled, rallied like quivering spears. Briefly, Wales supposed she was equally as fractured - a throng of mediaeval kingdoms that clung to her, their heroine - but, there was a key difference between her and the boy that stood before her, as defiant as the mountains that jutted her landscape. She was older, and her mother’s name no longer stood on her tongue. Already, in just a matter of hours, days after her death, her mother’s face was nothing more than a blank wall.

Wales knew an advantage when she saw it - and in spite of it all, Wales did not act upon it. Lloegyr glared at her, Wales staring coolly back as the younger nation turned away from her. It had been a long time ago since she’d heard the story, but its verses continued to echo in her skull. Red and white, bound in fierce competition, teeth grinding against bloodied scales as they rallied against one another. Their cries alone were devastation and Wales had quietly asked the elder which one would win; Not a single tale had the same ending. In one, y ddraig goch eventually succeeded.

In another, both y ddraig goch and y ddraig wen were sealed away. In yet another, y ddraig wen ultimately succeeded - though in the end, Wales supposed it were just another story. She would not let it define her fate. Yet, all the same, y ddraig goch was carefully kept close to her heart and Wales had eventually taken it on as a companion, a guide whose name was both carefully guarded and vociferously called out - to rally herself and others that chose to stand by her side.

When she’d been younger, she’d watched for trouble. As Powys, Dyfed, Gwynedd, Morgannwg, Gwent and Seisyllwg rose, Wales had held her breath. She’d had a hard time accepting new-comers initially, though she bit her tongue for her mother’s sake; Ever since the Picts, Wales had not missed the signs that crept in. She could no longer even recall her mother’s name and soon, Wales feared that she might eventually recall nothing at all. Ireland had told her that it was the fate that awaited many of their predecessors, that history had other plans for them often, and were just as fixed as the stars in the sky.

Ireland too had told Wales that they changed. That they were not always Ireland as Wales knew her, much to the young country’s shock; Though only a little older, Ireland had always seemed so inherent to Wales, that her neighbour would always be there and be the same. Wales’ insides twisted with guilt, her gaze staring straight through the young boy. Fingers twitching, Wales gulped quietly - supposing that she ought to write to Ireland one of these days, see how she was doing…Wales finally looked at the boy once more, gaze hardening.

She’d accepted Scotland as a new neighbour, if only because Ireland had vouched for him - spoke of the origins of the Scoti and Del Rhiata from so long ago. And Wales had begun to appreciate his company, she mused as she rose to her feet and approached Lloegyr, the boy instinctively backing away, the line of his shoulders tense. Paper skin and watery eyes, harkening to a snared hare - one that watched her in wordless anticipation. ‘’Just…get out of here.’’ Wales breathed out softly, brushing Lloegyr’s hair behind his ear. ‘’Just keep practising.’’ She sighed, giving him a quick hug. ‘’And stay away from rivers. Scotland can’t keep coming to save you, you know.’’

Wales would be damned if she let life scour the kindness from her. She’d once wanted a little brother, she mused ruefully, as a little child - before her mother had quietly explained beings like them did not bear children the same way that humans might. That they were the mountains, the rivers, the trees and the sky above; They were the glens, the valleys, the hills. Yet, here Lloegyr was - her own ‘little brother.’ The children in the villages complained often about their kin, Wales recalled, and as she stared down at her frustrating, impossible, annoying and useless little brother, Wales could not see him as Wessex’s son anymore.

He was also equally her brother.

#hws england #hws wales #aph england #aph wales

3 notes · View notes