A Moment in Time

by Bertrice Small

  He caught her hands in his, touching her for the first time, and was surprised at how vibrantly she pulsed with life. "If time is so precious to you, Rhiannon," he begged her earnestly, "why must we wait a year to wed?" She was so fragile and delicate a creature that he could feel the life force pumping through her very fingertips.

  She drew him near and, looking into his eyes, said, "Time among the Cymri is different than it is for the Fair Folk, my love. Alas, there are other considerations to our marriage. It is the custom of my people that a woman has the absolute right to choose her own mate. So I have chosen you, but I will have to overcome the objections of my family and my people. You see, Pwyll, I am not merely a king's daughter. I was chosen by my people to be my father's successor one day, for we Fair Folk fade from the earth eventually, even as do the Cymri. When I wed with you, I must give up my rights as a member of my kind.

  "There will be much distress and unhappiness at my decision. My people will need time to decide upon another heir to my father's place. I believe my younger sister, Angharad, is far better qualified to be the next reigning queen of the Fair Folk than even I. I must work to convince my people of it. They in turn, as is their right, will seek to prevent my going. That is why you must be certain, Pwyll of Dyfed, that you are capable of giving me your complete love and your complete trust no matter what happens in our lives. To wed you, oh prince, I must give up my heritage. I do it gladly for my love of you! Is your heart as brave and can it be true?"

  He was stunned by her revelation, and humbled too. This incredibly beautiful maiden, chosen by destiny to be a queen, was willing, nay she was eager, to give up everything she knew and held dear simply to be his wife. "Ahh, dearling," he sighed sadly, "I fear I am not worthy of you."

  "Do you love me, Pwyll of Dyfed?" she asked him quietly.

  "Aye, Rhiannon," he answered without hesitation, and knew in his heart that he spoke the truth.

  "Then surely," she told him, "there is nothing that can prevent our marriage or destroy our happiness."

  And at that moment a little breeze blew through the clearing, ruffling the golden leaves of the beech trees even as Pwyll drew her into the deep comfort of his arms. He bent only slightly, for she was practically his own height, for all her delicacy. He touched her lips with his in a gentle, reverent kiss; but Rhiannon's soft mouth kissed him back with a fierce passion that both startled and pleasured him, and bespoke other delights to come.

  He held her against him, an arm about her supple waist, his other hand caressing her silvery-gold hair which felt like thistledown beneath his roughened fingers. Her kisses tasted like strawberries to him, and he could not remember a time in his life when he had felt so happy, so fulfilled, so at peace with himself and the world about him. And everything he felt and sensed, Rhiannon felt and sensed too.

  "Dearling," he murmured against her ear. "I will never cease to love you. Ever!"

  The mauve mists swirled suddenly about them. A raven cried in the sky above. Remember! The sensation of his arms was gone, and she heard a voice calling her once more.

  "Rhiannon!" It was Angharad's voice.

  "Rhiannon, my daughter." It was her father who now spoke to her.

  The mists cleared and she found herself in her father's hall, her family about her, looking unhappy and disturbed.

  "Oh, Rhiannon! How could you do this to me! I do not want to be queen of the Fair Folk! Really, I do not!" Angharad protested. She rubbed the pale pink silk of her gown between her thumb and her forefinger as she was wont to do whenever she was distressed.

  "You are the perfect choice, Angharad, though you be young," Rhiannon soothed her sibling. "You will be a great queen one day. I know it, and I will be so proud of you."

  In an uncustomary burst of emotion, Angharad threw herself into her sister's arms and sniffled. "Don't leave us, Rhiannon! I beg you do not leave us! I fear for your safety amongst the Cymri. Though some like Pwyll accept us, most do not. No matter how hard you try, you will always be a stranger among them. An object of curiosity and suspicion."

  "Nothing matters to me," Rhiannon replied, "but that I be Pwyll's wife and the mother of his children, dearest little sister. I know that this all came as a shock to you, but you are simply not used to the idea yet. It has been assumed our whole lives that I should one day follow our father as ruler of the Fair Folk of this forest, but it is not to be. I always believed that my fate lay elsewhere."

  "I do not want to be queen because I do not want all the responsibility that goes with it," Angharad said petulantly and with perfect logic. "To be Trystan's wife and the mother of our children is the only fate I desire."

  Rhiannon laughed merrily. "It would never be enough for you, Angharad, and in your heart you know I speak the truth. You are one of those creatures who was born to mother the world. Our people will one day thrive under your rule. As for your Trystan," and Rhiannon chuckled, "he is so proud of you that if he does not dissolve in a burst of pure happiness, I shall be quite surprised."

  Angharad could not resist a smile at her sister's words. It was true. Trystan was more than proud of her. He was adoring, and he had begun to fret that perhaps he was not a fit husband for a future queen of the Fair Folk. It would take all her powers of persuasion to soothe his fears, but soothe him she would, for she loved him, which surprised many. Like all races, the Fair Folk had their share of those who were wise and those who were not so wise. Trystan fit into this latter category, but Angharad knew what others did not. She knew that her beloved was kind and loyal and true. And he had a most marvelous sense of humor. Nonetheless, it seemed disloyal to her entire family, she thought, to take Rhiannon's place. "For all your words, sister," she finally said, "I am not happy with this decision you have made. To be queen of the Fair Folk will not be an easy thing."

  "It is your duty now, my sibling," replied Rhiannon in that quiet voice of hers which all knew meant the discussion was ended. "The council has agreed, and so have all our people. Oh, Angharad! You are really far better suited to this office than I ever was. You are strong and sure in your ways. I am a risk taker who would follow her heart. No queen of the Fair Folk should be that way."

  Now it was the sisters' mother, Cornelia, who spoke up. "Why can you simply not take the Cymri as a lover?" she asked her daughter. "That is what our people have done in the past. Why must you wed him and give up everything?" Her beautiful face showed great concern.

  "Nay," Rhiannon said. "That is not what either of us wants. I would be Pwyll's wife, and, for our marriage to succeed, we must be as one. There is no way in which Pwyll can be a part of our world, but I can become a part of his world. Dearest Mother! You must be happy for me, for this is what I want most in all the world."

  Cornelia's lovely violet eyes filled with quick tears. Rhiannon was her eldest child. Although she would not have admitted it aloud lest it be considered a betrayal of her darling Angharad, she did love Rhiannon best. She could not help it. The girl was so as she had once been. A romantic who believed the best of everyone. In the world in which the Fair Folk lived, that was not such a dangerous belief; but in the world of the Cymri…

  Cornelia sighed deeply. Why, she wondered, had her elder daughter fallen in love with Pwyll of Dyfed? There was not an eligible man in their world who would not have given all he possessed and more for Rhiannon's hand in marriage. She might have been the daughter of the humblest of them, and she would have still been prized above all others. There was Gavin, Prince of the Fair Folk of the River Wye; the twin warrior princes, Cadawg and Cad-el, who came from her own island home in the West; and most distinguished of all, young King Meredydd, who ruled over the Fair Folk in the Southeast, whose kingdom might have been joined with theirs. He would be the most disappointed of all. Why could Rhiannon not have chosen amongst her own kind; but alas, she had not. Helplessly Cornelia turned to her husband for support.

  Dylan shook his head. "We have argued over this problem like an old dog that continues to gnaw upon a bone for
marrow long gone," he told her sadly. "Rhiannon has made it quite clear that she will have Pwyll, Prince of Dyfed, a Cymri, for her husband, and no other. She has convinced both the council and our people of her intent. They have chosen Angharad to take her place as my successor. So be it."

  He smiled at his younger daughter. "Though you protest this decision, Angharad, you already show a wisdom that will lead our people one day by your choice of your husband. Tell, Trystan that we will celebrate your marriage to one another at the next full moon. I fully approve. I grow weary of my royal burden. I would pass my authority on to you within the next few years, that I may enjoy the remainder of my years in freedom and peace as my own father did. It is settled," he concluded, patting his wife's hand.

  A tear slipped down Cornelia's cheek, which Rhiannon kissed away, even as Angharad's eyes met those of her father in agreement and acceptance.

  At the next full moon the marriage of Angharad and Trystan was celebrated with much happiness by both their families. Trystan was a younger son of a powerful family from the Northeast. And at the wedding feast Rhiannon's four rejected suitors each attempted to claim her and override her decision, but she stood firm in her intent, to their great disappointment. Meredydd of the Southeast was particularly angry. Bitterly he took his leave of Rhiannon, saying, "The Cymri lord will certainly prove himself unworthy of you. They are a cruel face." Then he departed.

  Dylan arose and said, "At the next full waxing of our sister, the moon, the Cymri year that Rhiannon gave her beloved is concluded. She will go to meet him and bring him to us, that we may celebrate their marriage. There is one condition to my acceptance of this match which they must both fulfill else I withdraw my permission. If either of them should refuse, there will be no marriage between them. Though it is your right, Rhiannon, to choose your own mate, it is my right as your king to forbid this match should my conditions not be met. That is also a part of our ancient law, and you must abide by it."

  "What would you have of us, Father?" Rhiannon asked.

  "I will not discuss it with you until Pwyll stands before me by your side, my daughter," King Dylan said with finality.

  On the first morning of the next full moon, even as the sun was tinting the horizon with its arrival, Pwyll, prince of Dyfed, in his scarlet and gold wedding finery, arrived at the grassy green mound where he had first beheld Rhiannon. She was awaiting him with a warm smile of welcome, and happiness radiated from her very being at the sight of him. "Welcome, my beloved!" she greeted him, and then she smiled at the party of gaily clad gentlemen who accompanied the prince. "I bid you welcome also, my lords."

  Those who had seen her before were again struck by her rare and flawless beauty, and those who had not seen her before were rendered dumb with their amazement, for they would not have believed so fair a creature actually existed. She seemed to be garbed in spun moonlight. When Pwyll had returned from his private meeting with Rhiannon a year ago to announce his marriage plans, there had been a terrible uproar in the council chamber of Dyfed. Some thought the prince bewitched by the maiden of the Fair Folk. They cried their outrage over the matter; but Pwyll calmed them. He was not bewitched. He was simply in love. Those who knew him best understood this and kept their peace, although it fretted them that their prince would wed with an outsider.

  Cynbel of Teifi, however, was enraged by Pwyll's news and had to be restrained by those around him. Though he had never formally approached Pwyll; though there was no betrothal between his daughter, Bronwyn of the White Breast, and the prince of Dyfed; like everyone else he had assumed that one day his daughter would marry Pwyll. He had even planned to broach the matter with Pwyll shortly, as Bronwyn had strongly indicated that it was past time for a marriage to take place between herself and Pwyll. She was tired of waiting for Pwyll to come to her. Now there would be no marriage, and it would take a miracle to find a man whom Bronwyn would accept after wanting Dyfed's ruler all these years. Cynbel of Teifi was insulted, and his fury was difficult to calm.

  Pwyll, unaware of all of this, filled with his enthusiasm and his passion for Rhiannon of the Fair Folk, spoke glowingly to his council of the girl he would make his bride. They loved him, and though it fretted some that he would take a foreigner to wife, in the end they were happy for him and agreed to it. All but Cynbel of Teifi, who considered how he might best take his revenge on Pwyll of Dyfed for this terrible offense to his daughter and to his family.

  Now seeing Rhiannon before him, Pwyll's groomsmen were charmed by her beauty and her good manners. They followed her willingly into the dark forest, and only some were aware that the path that they followed through the deep bracken seemed to disappear behind them as they passed; or that the dense undergrowth before them opened mysteriously at the sight of Rhiannon's horse. Finally the forest began to thin and they entered a clearing upon the shores of a crystal-blue lake that none had ever known existed within the wood. They stared open-mouthed.

  "We will leave our horses here," Rhiannon told them. "They will be fed and watered and well cared for by my father's people. The boats will take us the rest of our way."

  "To where, princess?" asked Taran in a somewhat awed voice.

  "Why, to my father's castle," Rhiannon laughed gaily, pointing.

  They followed the direction of her finger and gasped with their surprise. As the rosy morning mists lifted from the surface of the lake, they saw a castle in its center. It was, however, a castle such as they had never imagined, built of pale grey stones with graceful towers that soared into the blue morning skies. It seemed to spring from the very depths of the water itself. There was a magical quality about it that brought renewed fear into their hearts. As their terror threatened to overwhelm them, the air about them was filled with bright blue and gold butterflies whose very appearance seemed to calm Pwyll's men, as their hearts were filled with a wonderful sense of peace and well-being.

  Upon the sandy shores of the lake, six silver boats, each with a high dragon's-head prow of green, gold, and red enamel, sat neatly. Rhiannon gestured Pwyll and his party into the boats, placing herself alone with her chosen husband in the first boat, dispersing the others in the remaining five small vessels. Once afloat, the boats glided effortlessly, seeming to pilot themselves over the calm crystal surface of the lake. As they drew near to the castle, they discovered that it did not rise from the water at all, but was actually built upon a small island. As the dragon-powered boats slid upon the shore of the island, a group of gaily gowned and smiling young women came forth to greet them. They were all quite fair and carried garlands and wreaths of fresh multicolored flowers which they slipped around the necks and upon the heads of their Cymri guests.

  "Come," said Rhiannon, taking Pwyll by the hand. "You must meet my family. Then we shall be wed in my father's hall. Your men will be happy with the ladies of the court. They are gentle and gracious hostesses. There is nothing for any of you to fear in my father's house."

  Pwyll followed Rhiannon to a small, beautifully furnished chamber where her family awaited him. What amazed him most about the Fair Folk was that even those he knew to be the eldest among them looked young. There were two men and two women within the room. One was a tall, blue-eyed gentleman with wavy golden hair, wearing a jeweled diadem upon his head. This would be Dylan, Pwyll reasoned as he bowed low and was greeted politely in return. A lovely woman with silvery hair fashioned in a coronet of braids was introduced to him as his bride's mother. Again Pwyll bowed, sensing reserve, although she was most cordial to him. He could scarcely blame her, he thought.

  "And this is my sister Angharad, and her husband Trystan, who are newly wed," Rhiannon said, bringing forward a young woman who very much resembled their father. Trystan, however, had a hint of fire within his rich blond locks.

  They sat, and delicate little serving girls who seemed to dance across the floor brought a light golden wine which glittered in their crystal goblets. When the servants had left, the king of the Fair Folk did not mince his words. He looked
directly at Pwyll and said, "Prince of Dyfed, are you certain that deep in your Cymri heart you love my daughter? Are you positive that you would have her to wife above all others of your own kind? Speak frankly and openly to me. No harm will come to you if you speak with candor and truth. If your heart is not true, however, I shall know it. I seek only happiness for my beloved daughter."

  "I love Rhiannon more than I love life itself, sire," Pwyll replied. "I will have no other to wife but her. Ask those who accompany me. I did not know love until the day I first saw your daughter."

  "And you will give her your complete love, and your complete trust, Prince of Dyfed? Again I beg you to think carefully before you answer!" Dylan said. "A marriage between a Cymri lord and a princess of the Fair Folk is serious business."

  "I will give Rhiannon my complete love and trust," Pwyll answered in a strong and sure voice.

  Rhiannon smiled happily at him. He was so very handsome and manly.

  "You do understand, Pwyll of Dyfed, that when Rhiannon is your wife, the powers she possesses as one of the Fair Folk will be gone from her. To us she will become as you are. A Cymri. There are those among your race who would have a woman of the Fair Folk in their clutches merely for the powers we possess and not for love of them. Are you one of those?"

  "Nay, sire. I love Rhiannon only for herself and for no other reason. I realize her powers will be gone, but it matters not to me, for it is the woman I want. Not her magic."

  Dylan nodded and then turned to Rhiannon. "I ask you a final time, my daughter. Are you determined to wed with this man, even knowing that by this marriage you will forfeit your heritage?"

  "I am, Father," Rhiannon said with determination. "I would be Pwyll's wife and nought else matters to me."

  "Very well then," said King Dylan. "I will permit this union, but only upon one condition. If you find you cannot agree to it, then I shall not allow the wedding to proceed. Rhiannon, my daughter, and Pwyll, my son. I must insist that this marriage between you not be physically consummated for one full year."