37: Gwaith-en-Angbor

Everyone gasped as Elrohir was just able to parry in time and then there was a flurry of strokes between them before they broke apart, both of them grinning, their eyes bright with the light of battle. They continued circling, ignoring the spectators. Elladan suddenly attacked again, nearly screaming as he did so.

“They should have listened to us!” he yelled as he launched himself at his brother.

“I know,” Elrohir said calmly as he parried. He realized that his brother needed this release of his anger more than he did and was willing to oblige.

“Loren almost died because of them!” Elladan nearly screamed, the anger and frustration of the last couple of days suffusing him, yet he was in complete control and every stroke landed true. Elrohir knew that his brother was not fighting him but Mir and Ernie. He was simply a convenient object on which to spew forth his anger. This was not the first time, and the Valar knew it was probably not the last. Elrohir accepted this and his role in it. This was Elladan’s release. His own he would find with Serindë.

“But he didn’t,” Elrohir said calmly as he went on the offensive, forcing Elladan back. “Kyle came and I don’t think the Powers That Be would’ve let him die just yet. He’s too valuable.”

“They should’ve listened to us!” Elladan snarled, breathing hard.

“But they didn’t,” Elrohir countered. “Are you going to let them win, Brother? Will their arrogance rule you?”

Elladan growled in reply and then there was no more talk as the fighting became fast and furious. The Mortals were forgotten and they held nothing back, each letting their rage and hurt and general sense of frustration take over. There was the lust of battle and the sweet, sickly taste of the kill rising in them, though neither one of them would actually allow that emotion to rule them completely, not here, not yet. Someday they would let it take over when they faced the Enemy, but for now, they simply used it to fuel their aggression.

How long the fighting lasted they were never sure. It may have lasted only a few minutes or hours. It didn’t matter, but neither would give quarter. They had a vague sense that the spectators had moved back further to give them more room, but otherwise they ignored them, concentrating solely on each other. Elrohir had a sudden memory of the two of them doing something similar in a deserted courtyard in Imladris and then Glorfindel came upon them and somehow managed to step between them, stopping them. The memory startled him and distracted him just enough that Elladan took advantage and he launched himself at him in a deadly move that had they been fighting with live steel might have brought serious injury to him.

There were screams and shouting among the spectators and suddenly the night lit up as if a miniature supernova had landed in their midst and then two Maiar were there, their swords of light out.

Everyone froze, even the Twins lying on the ground feeling stunned, and several people fell to their knees as they gazed in awe and trepidation upon the shining Beings. The silence was absolute until Elrohir heard Gwyn whisper in a shocked tone, “Holy lightsabers, Batman. It’s Luke Skywalker and Obi-wan Kenobi.”

Elrohir saw the two Maiar grin at that as they sheathed their swords and the light dimmed to slightly more acceptable levels.

“Fear not!” one of them said. He was dark of hair while his companion was a redhead, but otherwise their features were nearly identical. Oddly enough Elrohir felt no fear, only wonder even when the Maiar looked directly at him and his brother, their expressions grave though their eyes were full of compassion. “Save your anger, sons of Elrond, for the Enemy, not for those who are your allies, including us,” said the dark-haired Maia.

“You took me over,” Elladan protested, panting slightly as he struggled to get his breath back, wiping the cooling sweat from his brow.

“With your permission,” the Maia countered, “and no harm came to you, did it?”

“Did you not think to try a different way to lure us here?” Elrohir asked. “Set up roadblocks or something, forcing us to come this way?”

The Maia shrugged. “We were on a schedule,” he replied. “You needed to be here now and I assure you that I was granted permission to do as I did.”

Elrohir stared at the Maia for a second, taking in the import of his words, and then glanced at Elladan to gauge his mood. His brother appeared calmer and to his relief the anger was gone. He himself felt lighter of spirit now that he’d had a good workout. He started to ask Elladan how he was feeling when someone in the crowd said, “Uh, if you’re angels, where are your wings?”

Elrohir watched as the two Maiar grinned at one another, the red-haired one rolling his eyes, and then without another word, they were gone, leaving behind the clean scent of balsam. The night seemed suddenly darker and duller somehow with their departure. Elrohir blinked a couple of times as his eyes readjusted to the dimmer light before rising, holding out a helping hand to Elladan who accepted it. No one spoke, everyone gazing at them, those who had fallen to their knees now rising, brushing the snow from their clothes.

Serindë came to them as did Gwyn while everyone else held back.

“Luke Skywalker and Obi-wan Kenobi?” Elrohir couldn’t help asking, giving the Captain a grin as he and Elladan took back their coats and put them on. Elrohir then put an arm around Serindë’s waist and kissed her.

Gwyn shrugged. “So I’m a Star Wars junkie. Sue me.” He gave them a shrewd look. “That Maia called you sons of Elrond, is that true?”

Serindë gasped in shock and Elrohir went still, as did Elladan. Slowly, so as not to alarm him, Elrohir reached out and pulled back Gwyn’s hair and saw the leaf shape of his right ear. Gwyn just stood there, not moving, gazing at them with absolute serenity.

“Glory be, you’re an Elf,” Elladan whispered. “How did we miss that?”

“Whereas, I knew you were Elves as soon as I saw you,” Gwyn said with a smirk. “Methinks, my lords, you were too wrapped up in yourselves to notice much of anything.”

“Possibly,” Elrohir said stiffly, not caring for the other’s tone.

“Never mind that,” Elladan said impatiently. “How many others are there?”

Without taking his eyes off the Twins and Serindë, Gwyn called out, “Gareth.”

The fighter who had fallen in the melee when the three from Wiseman had first arrived came forward to stand next to Gwyn and Elrohir could see that there was a family resemblance, though Gareth’s hair was a darker shade of blond.

“My brother, Gareth,” Gwyn said by way of introduction casting a warm smile at the ellon and Elrohir had the feeling that Gareth was the younger of the two.

Gareth bowed to them. “Mae govannen.”

“And the others?” Elladan jerked his head to indicate the watching crowd.

“Mortals and, yes, they know who and what we are,” Gwyn answered. Then he held up a hand to forestall any further questions. “It is too cold for us to be standing about. We usually end up at a bar after practice. Will you join us?”

“Where?” Elladan asked.

“Molly Malone’s Pub and Grill on College,” Gwyn answered. “It’s nowhere near as good as the Big I but it’s closer.”

“We were actually on our way to Geraldo’s. We haven’t had dinner yet,” Elrohir said.

“Neither have we, really,” Gwyn responded with a grin. “Molly’s does a decent Irish stew and their soda bread is to die for.”

The Twins glanced at each other and Elladan nodded. Elrohir turned to Serindë. “Is this all right with you, meldanya?” he asked, whispering in Quenya.

She nodded and Elrohir looked at Gwyn. “I guess we’re joining you for dinner.”

“Good. It’ll take us a few minutes to get our gear together. You want to go on ahead of us? The pub’s on the left, next to the Pad Thai Restaurant, right after you pass Hayes Avenue. You can’t miss it. Wait for us in the parking lot.”

“We’ll meet you there, then,” Elladan suggested and when Gwyn nodded, he grabbed Elrohir’s other arm and pulled him away with Serindë on Elrohir’s other side.

Silently they made their way to their car, as Gwyn began issuing orders and there was a flurry of activity behind them as people began collecting gear and heading for their own vehicles. Without a word, Elladan got into the driver’s seat while Elrohir and Serindë climbed into the back.

“I’m driving this time, okay?” Elladan called out, raising his eyes to the ceiling as he turned the ignition.

Elrohir wasn’t sure but he thought he heard faint laughter coming from nowhere and everywhere. Serindë shivered and Elladan muttered something too low for them to hear as he pulled out and went to the circle to turn around and then they were passing the others as they were loading up their cars.

“Did you know they were Elves?” Elrohir asked Serindë.

She shook her head. “I suspected but I wasn’t sure. Until we came to Wiseman I had known no other Elves other than my parents and my brother.”

“I wonder what their story is,” Elladan said as he stopped at the intersection to check the traffic before crossing over onto College Road.

“We’ll find out soon enough, but my question is, why are they here instead of in Wiseman? What are they doing playing dress up with a bunch of college students?”

“Maybe they’re not,” Serindë suggested. “Maybe they’re training those children the way we are or will.”

They fell into silence as each was lost in their own thoughts. “There it is,” Elladan said after a few minutes, pointing to his left. Elrohir looked to see a modest looking building next to the Thai restaurant. As they pulled into the parking lot, only half full on a week night, he could see a sign painted with the image of Molly Malone pushing her wheelbarrow of cockles and mussels through the streets of Dublin with ‘Molly Malone’s Pub & Grill’ underneath. Elladan parked the car and they all climbed out, looking about. Music, something Irish sounding, came pouring out of the pub when the door opened and a couple of people exited and headed for their car. Elrohir was about to suggest that he and Serindë go inside and check the place out but just then several vehicles turned into the parking lot and in moments Gwyn, Gareth and the others joined them.

“Let’s go,” Gwyn said and headed for the door. Gareth actually ran ahead and opened it for his brother, letting everyone else in before joining them. Inside Elrohir saw a large open area. His general impression was of dark wood and mirrors. The bar was to his right and there were seating areas to the left. The place appeared nearly empty though he suspected that on the weekend it would be hopping. Gwyn waved at the bartenders as he led everyone toward a back room. The bartenders gave him nods in greeting. The back room consisted of several wood tables and a few of the people in their group took a moment to push a couple of them together and rearrange the chairs before everyone took a seat. Gwyn, with Gareth next to him, sat in the middle facing the front and directed the Twins and Serindë to sit across from him. Elrohir was loath to do so, for that would mean his back was to everything, but he had the feeling that in some way Gwyn was holding court and this was his realm to rule as he pleased.

As everyone settled in their seats, a waitress came over, carrying several menus. “You’re here early tonight,” she said as she handed a menu to Gwyn.

“Business meeting,” Gwyn replied and the waitress nodded and began taking drink orders. Most of the people seemed to know what they wanted to eat as well and after several minutes she went away with all the orders. Elrohir decided to take Gwyn’s word about the stew and ordered that along with a Guinness. Elladan and Serindë did the same, though Serindë opted for cider instead. Once the waitress was gone, silence reigned as all eyes fell upon the Wiseman Elves and everyone apparently was waiting for Gwyn to speak.

“Your story?” he finally asked.

Elrohir glanced at his brother, who shrugged, clearly uninterested in enlightening their host, so Elrohir spoke. “I’m Elrohir and the ugly one is Elladan, though we tend to go by Roy and Dan these days.” There were slight sniggers among the Mortals. Gwyn raised an eyebrow. “And yes, we’re the sons of Elrond Peredhel,” Elrohir added, answering Gwyn’s unspoken question.

“And the lady?” he asked, giving Serindë a gracious bow of his head.

“I’m Serindë Voronduriel, but my Mortal name is Sarah, Sarah Brightman.”

Gwyn nodded again, regal and serene. Elrohir had a sudden urge to slap him for his pretentiousness and there must have been something in his eyes that gave him away for Gwyn glanced at him and smiled at him knowingly.

“So you were just passing through and found us,” he said, sounding dubious, and who could blame him?

Elladan shook his head. “We live in Wiseman. We’re here for a little R and R.” His expression was neutral and he gave nothing away as to his inner thoughts and feelings.

“R and R,” Gwyn echoed. “Yes, I can see that.”

“Wiseman?” Gareth interjected eagerly. “You live in Wiseman? Are there others?”

“Gareth,” Gwyn warned and the younger Elf subsided.

Elladan answered anyway. “Yes, there are others, almost forty in fact. But what’s your story? What are you doing here?” He spread his hands to encompass the Mortals gathered around them.

Before Gwyn could respond though, the waitress came back with drinks and then the food arrived and everyone was busy with that for several minutes before Gwyn bothered to give an explanation, speaking between bites of his sandwich piled high with roast beef, provolone cheese and Vidalia onions with horseradish mayonnaise.

“Gareth and I came here about ten years ago,” he said. “We found work at the university, pretended to be students at first and even took some classes that we found interesting and all the while we wondered what we were doing here.”

“Where did you come from originally?” Serindë asked.

“Wales,” came the surprising reply. “That’s where we were born back in the twelfth century, or at least, Gareth was. I was born in the mid-eleventh century.”

“Oh! Finally someone who’s younger than I am,” Serindë exclaimed and both the Twins laughed. At Gwyn’s and Gareth’s quizzical looks she explained, “I was born about a thousand years or so before the time of Christ.”

Eyebrows among the Mortals rose precipitously but Gwyn and Gareth merely nodded and the older brother continued his narrative. “We came to America in the mid seventeen hundreds and we were living in Philadelphia around the time of the Revolutionary War. Over time, though, we traveled westward until we ended up here.”’

“We were drawn, you see,” Gareth put in. “We’d stay for a few years or decades in one place and then we would start feeling itchy and restless and then wanderlust would hit us and we’d just pack up and leave. Back in the Depression Era, we even became hobos of a sort, train hopping from one place to another, always heading west. We eventually landed in Santa Barbara and we were there through the forties and fifties and then we got restless again, but this time we felt the need to head north. Stayed in Seattle for a while and then spent the seventies and eighties in and around Vancouver before going on to Juneau and then Anchorage. We came to Fairbanks in twenty-oh-two.”

“And you haven’t felt the need to continue to Wiseman in the last couple of years?” Elrohir asked. “Great stew by the way and you’re right about the soda bread. Haven’t had any this good since the last time I was in Dublin.”

“Which was when?” Gwyn asked with a smile.

“Hmm… let’s see… that would’ve been, what, around seventeen-fifty?” He turned to Elladan who nodded.

“Seventeen-fifty-two,” his brother corrected with a nod, picking up his pint of Guinness to drink.

Gwyn and Gareth just nodded but Elrohir could see that the Mortals listening to the conversation were goggling at the casual mention of centuries past as if they were only last year.

“You haven’t answered my question,” Elrohir reminded Gwyn.

“No, neither of us has felt a need to leave Fairbanks, certainly not recently. We’ve been pretty busy here, especially after we joined the SCA.”

“Yes, tell us about that,” Elladan demanded. “We were speaking to a couple earlier, er, Melisande and Dietrich, if I recall correctly, and they said this was a special group of fighters, hand-picked by you.”

Gwyn looked down the table to where the aforementioned Mortals were sitting. They both blushed under his regard and he gave them a fond smile before returning his attention to the Wiseman Elves. “We call ourselves Gwaith-en-Angbor,” Gwyn replied.

“Iron Fist Company?” Elladan translated, raising an eyebrow.

“Hey! You guys speak Welsh, too?” someone asked. “Must be an elvish thing.”

“Everyone thinks it’s Welsh,” Gwyn said with a grin, speaking Sindarin and the Twins couldn’t help but laugh.

“Been there, done that,” Elrohir replied in the same language.

“So anyway,” Gwyn said, reverting to English, “we got the idea of forming an elite fighting group within the Barony about a year or so ago with our present Baroness’ permission. Anastasia thought it was a good idea and endorsed it. We even have a baronial charter and we’re hoping to get royal recognition at this summer’s coronet. It depends on who wins and becomes prince.”

“If Ilya wins the coronet, we’ll get the charter for sure,” Gareth said, “otherwise, it’s debatable, but Baroness Anastasia is a force to be reckoned with so we’ll have to see.”

“And obtaining this royal charter is important?” Elrohir asked, casting them a dubious look. “It’s just a game, isn’t it? Why are you taking it so seriously?”

People went still, some of them glaring at Elrohir, who had a feeling he had said something stupid and undiplomatic, especially when Serindë frowned at him and even Elladan shook his head, muttering, “And people insist you’re the diplomatic one.”

Gwyn snorted, leaning back in his chair and taking a long sip of his Sam Adams Boston Lager before speaking. “I know. I felt the same way. It was rather amusing watching the children play dress up. Gareth and I had a laugh or two over all the inaccuracies.” He cast a smile at his brother, who grinned back, ignoring the hurt looks on the faces of the others. When he turned back to the Twins and Serindë, his expression became more serious. “But that was before.”

“Before what?” Elladan asked.

“Before a Vala showed up and gave us our orders,” Gareth answered.

“A Vala!” all three Wiseman Elves exclaimed in shock.

“Okay, why don’t you start at the beginning,” Elladan demanded, “and I think I need another Guinness.”

Gwyn raised a hand and snapped his fingers. “Taryn!” he called and the waitress who had served them earlier came over. “We need refills.”

She nodded, took orders from those who wanted refills or, in some cases, dessert, and left. Elladan nodded to Gwyn. “So, you were born in Wales almost a thousand years ago. Your parents, are they still living here? Have you found other Elves along the way?”

“Our parents still live in Caerphilly. Mam teaches comparative religion and mythology at the University of Wales in Cardiff. Da’s been seriously into physics and quantum mechanics ever since he met Max Planck and ol’ Albert. Gareth and I have no clue what he’s talking about half the time.”

“Da’s nutso,” Gareth said categorically. “You’d think he was a bloomin’ Noldo the way he goes on about things. No offense.” The younger Elf looked slightly embarrassed, as if just realizing that he had three Noldor sitting across from him.

“None taken,” Elrohir said with a grin and Elladan just snorted in good humor. Serindë gave them a supercilious sniff. “Speak for yourself.” Then she winked at Gareth and he gave her a shy smile.

“So, who are your parents exactly? Perhaps we know them,” Elrohir said.

“Doubt it,” Gwyn said. “We’re what we call Next Generation Elves. That means, anyone born after the last ice age. We’re a mix of Vanya, Noldo and Sinda. Da’s great-grandfather was a Vanya who fought in the War of Wrath, met a Sinda, fell in love and decided to stay. Da was born sometime after the last ice age. He refuses to say when. Mam’s the same way. She’s actually part Noldo but she looks more Sindarin. Anyway, at some point, the two families up and Sailed, except our parents, who refused. We still don’t know why because they won’t talk about it. Eventually they settled in what is present-day Wales, adopting the names Tristan and Iseult ap Hywel. Yeah, I know. Really kitschy but they’re diehard romantics. As I said, Gareth and I were born in and around the time of the First Crusade and those are our actual names. Our parents never gave us Elvish names, though they taught us Sindarin. And if they know of any other Elves floating about, they’ve never said and we’ve never met any that we know of.”

“So tell us about here and now,” Elladan said, but Gwyn’s explanation had to wait while the waitress came back with refills. Once she left, Gwyn resumed his tale.

“Gareth and I found jobs here at the university working in the food service department for a while, taking the odd course whenever it suited our fancy, but pretty much just hanging out, wondering what we were doing in the Great White North. During that time, we became aware of the SCA, the barony and particularly its offshoot at the university.”

“The College of St. Boniface,” Elladan put in.

Gwyn nodded. “We hold a collegium every November where we offer classes on a variety of topics related to medieval life and culture. Anyway, as I said, Gareth and I were rather amused by it all and even a bit bemused, if you know what I mean. We couldn’t really see the attraction. Hell, we lived through that period of history and I’ll take twenty-first century America any day of the week over that.”

“Snob,” Gareth said with a grin and some of the Mortals chuckled.

“But you joined anyway,” Elladan pointed out.

“Under orders,” Gareth said, “by one very scary dude.”

The Twins exchanged looks. “Let me guess,” Elrohir said. “Likes to wear black, lots of it.”

Both Gwyn and Gareth nodded. “Know him?” Gwyn asked.

“In a manner of speaking,” Elladan replied and Serindë shuddered slightly. “As Loren would say, we won’t mention any names.”

“Loren?” Gwyn asked.

“His real name is Glorfindel,” Elladan supplied, giving them an amused smile. “You might have heard of him.”

Both Gwyn and Gareth nodded, looking a bit stunned at that revelation.

“So what did… um… you know, say?” Serindë asked.

Gwyn blinked. “What? Oh, yeah, him.”

“We usually refer to him as ‘Nate’. That’s the name he goes by when he’s… um…visiting.” Elrohir gave them a helpless shrug.

“Nate. Sure. That works. It was when Winter’s Gate was hosting the Midsummer Coronet. It’s a real big deal and Scadians, as we call ourselves, come from all over Alaska and even further beyond to attend since this event decides who will rule the principality for the next six months. Gareth and I watched the preparations with interest since the event was being held at the university rather than in the city somewhere. That made sense because people were able to rent out dorm rooms for a lot cheaper than a hotel and one of the dining halls was given over for the feast that followed. Of course, my brother and I were not involved in any of it and we were pretty much on the sidelines just watching. The actual tournament was open to the public so since we had the day off from work we wandered over to see what was happening. That’s when we met Nate.” He took a swallow of his beer and then continued.

“We didn’t know who he was at first, you have to understand. He didn’t appear to us in a flash of light or anything. He was actually dressed pretty much like all the other Scadians in a flowing robe and all and at first I thought he was a part of that, but when I got a closer look at what he was wearing I somehow had the feeling that it was authentic garb, not something put together on a Singer sewing machine in one afternoon the week before.”

“Not when his lady wife was the one to make it,” Elladan said with a smirk.

“Yeah, I guess,” Gwyn said, looking a little pale at the implication of Elladan’s words, and Elrohir realized just how young the ellon was in comparison to himself and sympathized.

“So what happened?” Elrohir asked.

“We were standing there watching the tourney, commenting about it between us in Sindarin,” Gwyn continued, “and Nate comes up to us, gives us a piercing look and, also speaking in Sindarin — and I can tell you I was never so shocked in my life — he said, ‘Next year that will be you, the both of you,’ and he nodded toward the fighters in the ring. Then, before either of us could respond to that, he said, ‘You will join the barony and work yourselves up the ranks. Do not reveal yourselves until you know the time is right.”

“‘Who are you?’ I demanded. ‘What do you mean?’ but he did not explain, only looked at us, his expression compassionate but still there was something in his eyes that made me feel weak and then he actually spoke his name and I thought I was going to pass out. Gareth actually did.”

“I did not!” the younger ellon protested. “I merely felt an overwhelming need to sit on the ground and keep myself from throwing up.”

Gwyn placed a hand on his brother’s arm and rubbed it in a soothing manner. “I know. I was only kidding. If it weren’t for the fact that we were in public I would’ve fainted myself and happily so. To meet with any of Them is terrifying enough, but to meet him….” He shuddered and closed his eyes.

“And so, you joined the SCA,” Elrohir said.

“That very afternoon, in fact, or rather, we obtained the necessary forms from the Seneschal at the time and found out about fight practice and all and a week later we were having our first lessons in fighting sword and shield.”

“We had to pretend we didn’t know one end of the sword from the other,” Gareth said with a grin. “It wasn’t easy, let me tell you.”

Gwyn nodded. “But we played the game because that was what it was to us at first. We didn’t know why we were in the SCA, though we knew that it wasn’t to have fun on the odd weekend, though we actually did and we’ve made good friends over the last few years. I eventually was able to win the Captaincy and last year, Nate came to me again.”

“Just him, mind you,” Gareth interjected, looking put out. “I don’t rate.”

Gwyn sighed and rolled his eyes and Elrohir realized that this was an old argument between them and nodded his understanding. Gwyn, ignoring his brother, continued. “In fact, it was when I was sleeping, but it felt like I was awake. Anyway, in the dream or whatever, Nate came to me and congratulated me on winning the Captaincy. ‘This is why you are here,’ he said. ‘To play medieval war games?’ I asked him, feeling a bit skeptical about it all. ‘No. To help prepare the Mortals for the Dagor Dagorath,’ was his reply and that stopped me cold. Then he explained what he wished for me to do and when I woke up, Gwaith-en-Angbor was born. I spoke to Gareth about it and he agreed that having an elite fighting group would be the way to go, and it was he who came up with the idea that the members should be hand-picked and no one could petition to join. Members could recommend fighters but I made the final decision. Now, for a fighter to be chosen is considered a great honor, not only with the Barony, but outside it as well. We’re hoping to get the royal charter so we can expand our membership to include fighters from other parts of the Principality.”

“And that’s what this is all about, preparing for the Dagor Dagorath,” Elladan nodded, looking around the table at the Mortals.

Gwyn nodded. “Pretty much.”

Elladan glanced at Elrohir, giving him a significant look which Elrohir recognized. He nodded, understanding what his twin was feeling, for he was feeling the same way. Elladan let out a breath and looked at Gwyn, his expression turning wry. “Well, now we know why Roy and I are here. I think you’re about to gain two new members to your little group.”

“Three,” Serindë said. “Three new members.” She wrapped an arm around Elrohir’s and leaned her head on his shoulder.

The two ap Hywel brothers and their Mortal allies just stared at them in disbelief. Elrohir grinned back somewhat sourly. “Do you think Elrohir of Imladris is a good SCA name?”

****

Gwaith-en-Angbor: (Sindarin) Iron Fist Troop/Company.

Notes:

1. Molly Malone’s Pub and Grill on College Road does not exist except in my imagination. The Big I Pub and Lounge does. It is Fairbanks’ oldest pub and is situated on Turner Street. The Pad Thai Restaurant is also for real.

2. For the sake of verisimilitude, at the time in which this story takes place (2012), there is only a ruling Baroness who will step down in July of 2013, though I have changed her name for obvious reasons. The Gwaith-en-Angbor is a product of my muse’s imagination.

3. ap Hywel: ‘son of Howell’. Howell is a common Welsh surname today. Gwyn and Gareth are using the older form. Hywel is pronounced, more or less, as: HOW-ul. The name means ‘eminent’ or ‘remarkable’.