A Moment in Time

It was then the child spoke. His little voice was high and piping. 'I have but only found you, my other mother. I do not wish to lose you again.'

'You will not lose me, Anwyl, my fair son. I will come to see you often in Gwent. Perhaps your father will come too one day.'

'Then I will return to Gwent as you wish,' the little boy said sweetly, and kissed her cheek again.

Outside Pwyll's castle thunder rumbled with an approaching storm. Lightning flashed beyond the windows of the Great Hall.

Pwyll arose from his place at the high board and looked directly at Rhiannon. 'Rhiannon,' he said, 'will you return to me?'

Before she might answer, however, Bronwyn of the White Breast leapt to her feet as if she had been stung. Grasping at Pwyll's arm with talonlike fingers, she cried out, 'No! You cannot do this to me, my lord! Send her away! She has only caused you misery, this woman of the Fair Folk. How can you really be certain that this boy is your son? This is some sort of enchantment of the Fair Folk against us! Surely you must see that!'

Pwyll shook Bronwyn's hand off. 'Leave me be!' he told her angrily. 'Your shrewish babbling confuses me.'

'Leave you be?' she shrieked, her face pinched in her anger. 'Leave you be? What is this you say to me, Pwyll? What of last night? What of the many nights before that when we lay together, two lovers? What of the promise you made to me this very day that you would at last divorce this creature and put her aside that you might finally wed with me? Dyfed needs an heir! A legitimate Cymri heir!' Bronwyn was flushed and almost ugly in her fury at being thwarted.

For a brief moment the old Pwyll reappeared from the shell of the man that now existed. 'Dyfed has an heir, lady,' he said strongly. 'He is before us now!' His hand shot out and, grasping Bronwyn of the White Breast by her thick brown braids, he forcibly directed her head in the direction of Rhiannon and the child she still held within the shelter of her arms. 'Look upon my son, Bronwyn! He may have his mother's fair coloring, but his face is mine. His face is Dyfed's! I have no doubts!' Pwyll's gaze swung toward his council and his court. 'Are there any among you who have doubts as to the paternity of this boy?' he demanded fiercely.

'What of you, Cynbel?' Pwyll growled threateningly.

'The child is Prince Anwyl without question, my good lord,' Cynbel of Teifi said silkily. 'Dyfed's heir has most assuredly been restored to us, but I question the wisdom of allowing him to return to Gwent.'

'Why is that, my lord Cynbel?' Rhiannon asked coldly. 'Do you feel perhaps that my son would be safest in your gentle daughter's tender care, as opposed to the care given him by Elaine and Teirnyon?' There were snickers from those gathered, and sly looks were directed at Bronwyn as Rhiannon continued. 'Your daughter may have Pwyll of Dyfed to husband if that is what they both choose, but she will never have care of my child. He returns to Gwent!'

'Where,' Teirnyon told them all, 'he will be zealously guarded and kept safe from all harm until the day comes that he inherits Dyfed from his father.' The lord of Gwent smiled toothily at Cynbel and his daughter.

'It is the custom of my people,' Rhiannon now said, 'that a man or a woman unhappy in their marriage union may dissolve that union by merely releasing their partner from his or her vows. So I release you of the vows we made together in my father's court those six long years ago, Pwyll of Dyfed. I am no longer your wife. You are no longer my husband.'

Pwyll nodded wordlessly, his shoulders slumping in a final defeat. 'Our son, Anwyl, will have his inheritance of me nonetheless, Rhiannon,' he promised her.

'What of my children?' hissed Bronwyn furiously. 'Are they to have nothing so this half- breed may have everything?'

A monstrous clap of thunder shook the hall menacingly. A cloud of violet-blue mist sprang up directly in the center of the room and, with gasps of sheer fright, most of the court stepped back. The cloud dispersed as magically as it had appeared and a regal young woman whose golden hair was plaited into seven braids, each of which was woven with glittering jewels, and whose gown shimmered with light, stood before them.

Rhiannon could not help the faint smile that touched her own lips as her younger sister, now Queen of the Fair Folk, made a most dramatic entrance. Her heart swelled with joy to see her sibling once again, for she had never believed that she would.

'I am Angharad, Queen of the Fair Folk of the Forest and the Lake,' Angharad announced in stentorian tones. Her cool gaze swept the room, softening as they passed over her nephew and his guardians; hardening as they encountered Bronwyn of the White Breast, who had the temerity to have attempted to take her sister's place. 'You speak of your children, Bronwyn of the White Breast, but you will have none by any man, Pwyll of Dyfed or another. Your womb shrivels even now within you. You will be barren in this life, for to allow such evil blood to be passed on would be a crime against nature. This is the judgment the Fair Folk place upon you for your part in this matter of my nephew.”

Bronwyn glared defiantly at Angharad, but the queen of the Fair Folk was through with her and looked to Cynbel of Teifi.

'For your secret crime, lord of Teifi, you are cursed, and all those of your blood who follow you for a thousand generations to come.'

Cynbel of Teifi seemed to wither before their very eyes, and Rhiannon felt it incumbent to communicate with her sister. It was not necessary for her to speak aloud for Angharad to hear her. Be merciful, sister.

I might have had they showed you any mercy.

There are some who were thoughtful of me in my distress.

I know them, and they shall not feel my wrath, Angharad promised her sister as she fixed her gaze once more upon the court of Dyfed. 'To those of you known or unknown who aided my sister by thought or deed, I disburse unequaled good fortune for you, and for your descendants for a thousand generations to come. We of the Fair Folk are not really so different from you of the Cymri. We live and we die. We love, and sometimes, though we try hard to control such negativity, we yet hate.'

Angharad now turned to take in Pwyll. Poor Pwyll, she thought for a brief moment, and then she remembered the misery that this man had caused her sister.

You can take no more from him, Rhiannon silently told her sister.

But I can, came the hard reply.

Did you not promise me you would not interfere? Rhiannon gently scolded Angharad.

No, I did not, Angharad told her disbelieving sister. Think back, sister. You asked me to make that promise, but I did not. Still, I stayed free of this controversy until Anwyl was found and your innocence proven beyond a doubt. I allowed you to endure terrible suffering that the name of our people not be further besmirched.

Pwyll sat slumped in his seat of office, his head within his hands. He knew whatever fate Angharad of the Fair