Gwydion’s Lair
After Gwydion’s unexpected act of kindness in returning Caelan and allowing Fiona a brief reunion with her family, Fiona’s mind was a whirlwind of emotions. She struggled to reconcile the seemingly contradictory actions of Gwydion. Was he truly capable of change, or was this another layer of his manipulation?
Days passed, and Gwydion continued to show a more considerate side. He left for shorter periods and always informed Fiona of his comings and goings. Each time he returned, he sought her out, as if ensuring she was still there. Despite this, Fiona remained cautious, wary of his true intentions.
One afternoon, as Fiona walked through the gardens surrounding Gwydion’s abode, she felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. She brushed it off as stress, but when the symptoms persisted over the following days—nausea, fatigue, and a strange sensitivity to smells—she began to suspect that something more might be happening. Lacking access to modern medicine from what little Fiona had been able to make out about wherever she was currently living, it seemed like a medieval town almost. During the few outings Gwydion had taken her on, not once had she noticed a modern store, nor anyone on a cell phone, nor could she recall seeing cars around.
Fiona spent days pondering her condition, her suspicions growing stronger with each passing day. She decided to keep her thoughts to herself, not wanting to reveal anything to Gwydion until she was certain.
One night, Fiona woke to find Gwydion sitting beside her bed, gently stroking her hair. His touch was uncharacteristically tender, and she felt a strange mix of comfort and fear. Her bedchamber, though furnished in Gwydion’s grand style, had touches that clearly marked it as a feminine space. The heavy, dark wood furniture was softened by tapestries with intricate patterns and luxurious fabrics. A vanity table with a large mirror stood against one wall, adorned with various perfumes and trinkets. The bed itself was draped in rich, soft fabrics, with a canopy overhead that added a sense of privacy and elegance.
“Good evening,” he murmured, his voice deceivingly soft.
Fiona winced, but she forced herself to remain calm. “You’re back,” she replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her.
He leaned down to kiss her, strangely gentle, but quickly changing to passionate, demanding, his hands wandering across her body, the intentions clear, until she stopped him, pushing his hands off herself. “No!”
Gwydion’s eyes narrowed at her sudden outburst. “No?” he repeated, his voice dangerously soft. Fiona swallowed hard.
“I can’t,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Not tonight.”
Gwydion’s expression darkened, a flicker of anger crossing his features. “Pray tell, why not?” he demanded, his tone cold and unyielding.
Fiona struggled to find an answer that wouldn’t reveal her suspicions. She felt a mix of fear and defiance as she looked into his eyes. “I just can’t. Female things,” she said, her voice firmer now. “Please, just leave me alone.”
The tension between them was palpable, a thick silence settling over the chamber. Gwydion’s eyes bore into hers, but she refused to back down. Finally, with a frustrated growl, he stood and turned away, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Without thinking, Fiona jumped out of bed and fled to her adjoining bathing chamber, slamming the door shut behind her. She locked it, her hands trembling as she leaned against the cold wooden surface. The chamber was simple yet elegant, with a large wooden tub in the center, shelves lined with various soaps and oils, a bowl and pitcher for washing, and a discreetly placed chamber pot. A small window allowed a sliver of moonlight to filter in, casting a soft glow over the room. She felt a wave of panic wash over her.
Gwydion’s knocks echoed through the door, each one sending a jolt of fear through her. His voice was low and menacing as he spoke. “Dost thou really think a mere door wouldst keep me out?” he asked, his tone dripping with contempt.
Fiona pressed her back against the door, her eyes wide with fear. She knew he was right—no door could keep him out if he truly wanted to get in. But she needed this moment, this small barrier, to gather her thoughts and calm herself.
“Please, Gwydion,” she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Just give me some space. I just can’t do THAT right now.”
There was a long pause, and Fiona waited tensely for his response. Finally, she heard him step away from the door, his footsteps retreating. She let out a shaky sigh, feeling a mixture of relief and lingering fear.
As she sat on the cold floor of the bathing chamber, her mind raced with thoughts. She couldn’t continue like this, living in constant fear and uncertainty. She needed to find a way to escape, to protect herself and, possibly, the life growing within her. She didn’t want to be a mother yet, but she definitely didn’t want to leave the child in the mage’s hands. But how could she outsmart someone as powerful as Gwydion?
The following days were a blur of tension and uncertainty. Gwydion’s behavior was unpredictable—one moment he was cold and distant, the next he was almost tender. And often he was gone for days and days, and now they were back to him just disappearing and reappearing without a word to her. Fiona kept her distance, avoiding him as much as possible. She spent hours wandering the grounds near his home, her circles growing larger each day, testing how far he allowed her to wander until reaching one of his magic borders which she couldn’t pass, while searching for any possible means of escape. Him allowing her out of the house and beyond the small garden surrounding it was new, maybe a sign of trust. One with Fiona felt almost guilty to abuse, by trying to find ways to elude him.
One afternoon, while exploring a secluded area near the edge of a nearby lake, odd like the rest of the environment, Fiona stumbled upon an ancient gate covered in intricate runes. The gate hummed and buzzed with a strange energy, but no matter what she did, it remained inactive. It was as if the gate needed to be activated by some hidden mechanism or spell. Fiona searched and searched but found nothing to trigger it.
Her curiosity piqued, Fiona returned to the gate each day Gwydion was gone, studying it and trying to decipher its secrets with the help of some of the old tomes from Gwydion’s library. She was certain that this was her way out, but she had no idea how to activate it. It seemed pointless, until it occurred to her that maybe it would open at certain times, maybe she just needed to be patient and observant, waiting for the right moment.
Days turned into a week, and Fiona’s determination never wavered. She kept a close eye on the gate, trembling with anticipation every time she approached it. One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the forest surrounding her, Fiona’s patience was rewarded.
She watched from a hidden spot as a hooded figure approached the gate, someone she didn’t know, but somehow, they didn’t seem like one of the townspeople or servants Gwydion employed. This person was different. The figure muttered strange spells in a language she couldn’t understand, their voice low and melodic. The runes on the gate began to glow, and a bright light enveloped the structure. The air vibrated with energy, and a faint humming sound filled her ears, her hands shaking with a mix of anticipation and anxiety.
The gate illuminated with a blinding light, swirling with colors that seemed to defy logic. It was as if the fabric of reality itself was being torn apart, revealing a glimpse of another realm. The hooded figure stepped through the portal, disappearing into the unknown.
Fiona realized this was her chance. She had only seconds to act before the gate returned to its dormant state. Summoning all her courage, she darted from her hiding place and leapt through the gate just before the light faded.
As she passed through the portal, a sensation of weightlessness washed over her. Colors and shapes swirled around her, and she felt as though she was being pulled through a tunnel of light. The humming sound grew louder, resonating through her entire being.
Then, with a sudden jolt, she found herself stumbling to the ground in a completely different place. Fiona landed hard, the impact rattling her senses. She slowly got back up, patting the pine needles and earth from her gown, feeling the cool, crisp air against her skin. As she looked around, she observed her unfamiliar surroundings with wide eyes.
The landscape was still a forest, but it was different from where she had come from. Tall evergreen trees formed a dense canopy above, their needles rustling softly in the night breeze. A river of shimmering water flowed nearby, reflecting the moonlight like a ribbon of liquid silver. This could be anywhere, or anytime, she thought, her mind racing. There were no signs of civilization to tell her where—or when—she had landed. Hopefully, I didn’t fall back even further in time. No more of this Dark Ages nonsense like where I just came from, please!
Fiona trembled with a mix of fear and excitement. She had escaped, but she knew her journey was far from over. She had to find her way home, somehow. She had no cell phone, no money, no identification, and she was too recent a turn to have any special vampire skills yet—porting was out of the question. As she stood there, taking in the beauty of her surroundings and basking in her relief, Fiona couldn’t help but feel a sense of hope. For the first time in a long while, she was free, and she was determined to fight for her future.
She stumbled through the unfamiliar landscape, her mind racing with thoughts of home and safety. As she wandered, she heard a female voice in the distance. Desperate for help, she followed the sound until she stumbled upon a young woman in her late teens or early twenties. The girl was striking, with long, wavy auburn hair that caught the light and warm, hazel eyes that sparkled with curiosity and mischief. She wore modern clothing—ripped jeans, a graphic tee, and a pair of Converse sneakers—and was talking on a cell phone. It felt like an angel sighting to Fiona: a modern person with modern clothes and a cell phone speaking modern-day English! YES, please! Wherever this was, it was already a million times better than where she had been.
“Excuse me! Please, I need help!” Fiona cried, running towards the young woman. The girl looked up, startled, and quickly ended her call, taking in Fiona’s odd medieval attire with a mix of confusion and concern.
“Whoa, hold on. What the heck are you supposed to be? Why are you dressed like that? Are they shooting a movie around here? Or did they open another renaissance faire?! OMG, seriously, how many more of those do we need?” she asked, her tone cautious and slightly amused.
Fiona nodded; her eyes wide with desperation. “Yeah, you got me, I am that girl, ren faire staff, turkey legs all day, seasonal job, and I am not from around here, got lost and don’t have my phone. Where am I exactly?” She tried to keep her voice steady, masking her true fear.
The young woman hesitated before answering, “Glimmerbrook. Not really for everyone, if you know what I mean. You don’t need to tell me you aren’t from here, not even just because of that dress situation you have going on there, no offense and all, but … it’s kinda the small-town thing here, you know how that goes, tight-knit community and so. Everybody knows everybody here. And I have never seen you before.”
Fiona closed her eyes, relaxing. She knew exactly what the girl meant, and fortunately, Fiona didn’t give off vampire vibes; she just seemed like a regular 23-year-old girl. Glimmerbrook wasn’t very welcoming to any outsiders, especially not vampires, considering it was almost exclusively occupied by witches, mages, and other magic folk. Vampires and these magic practitioners were natural enemies, but a truce had been in effect for the past decade. Luckily for Fiona, one of her cousins on her Aunt Leeora’s side lived here with her family, all of them witches. This wasn’t ideal, but it was better than wherever she had been before.
“Yeah, well, I get it, I am not exactly looking to move here, but my cousin lives here, and I’m trying to find her home. Do you happen to know Aubrey Redferne? I know we don’t look much alike, but we have the same grandpa.”
The young woman nodded, a hint of recognition in her eyes. “Yeah, sure, everyone here knows Leeora and her family—and your grandpa, Caelan, right? No offense, but creepy is putting it mildly. Everyone was super sad when Leeora and two of her kids moved away, but they do come by a lot because of Aubrey and her family. You’re in luck, their home actually isn’t far from here, so you were on the right track. I’ll just walk you there; I suck at giving directions. Oh, and why don’t you take a change of clothes to work next time? I mean, no offense and all, but I wouldn’t even go out like this in public at gunpoint. OMG, girl!”
“Yeah, you think I love running around like this? Superlong story, but this guy I was staying with, you know, some crazy arrangement and he is absolutely insane, and my stuff is with him and… well, it’s a really messed up situation. I had no choice but to run looking like this.”
The young woman gave Fiona a sympathetic look. “Oh, girl, that sounds rough. I’ve had my share of crazy exes and bad situations. Let’s get you to your cousin’s place, and I’ll give you my number if you ever need to talk or something. That ass took your cell, right? I had that happen before, possessive ex, thinking he owned me. OMG, some people are really delulu, amirite?”
Fiona couldn’t help but laugh at the irony “Oh yeah, you have no idea how possessive that guy is! I definitely needed to get away, even dressed like this.”
The young woman extended a hand. “I’m Maya Whitlock, by the way. You seem like a pretty cool chick, even in that dress.”
Fiona shook her hand, smiling. “Nice to meet you, Maya. I’m Fiona. Thank you for helping me, you’re a seriously cool chick yourself”
After a brisk walk, Fiona arrived at her cousin’s house. The reunion was overwhelming; naturally, they all knew about what was going on. Tears of relief and joy mingled with explanations. Calls were made, and soon, her grandfather Caelan arrived to take her to the coven Grand Elder’s castle in Forgotten Hollow, a town firmly in vampire hands for centuries now. The joy of her return was palpable.
*
However, Gwydion was not far behind. By now, he had noticed Fiona’s absence and tracked her through the portal. He arrived at the vampire stronghold not long after Caelan had with Fiona, determined to reclaim what he saw as his.
A tense showdown ensued between Gwydion and Caelan, both powerful and determined. Gwydion, the ancient mage, summoned his magical prowess, casting spells that crackled with energy. Caelan, the indefatigable vampire hunter, moved with supernatural speed and strength, dodging the mage’s attacks and countering with his own formidable skills.
The courtyard echoed with the clash of magic and steel, each strike and spell creating shockwaves that reverberated through the air. Gwydion’s eyes blazed with fury as he unleashed a torrent of arcane power, but Caelan’s agility and combat expertise kept him one step ahead. The two combatants were evenly matched, their battle a display of raw power and skill.
Cesare watched from the sidelines, his ancient vampire powers at the ready. However, both fighters moved too quickly and unpredictably for him to intervene without risking harm to his own son. If Cesare’s magic were to accidentally strike Caelan, it could give Gwydion the opportunity to deliver a fatal blow. The risk was too great.
As the fight raged on, Caelan’s relentless assault began to wear Gwydion down. The mage’s movements grew slower, his spells less precise. Sensing his advantage, Caelan pressed forward, his eyes burning with determination. With a swift and powerful strike, he injured Gwydion’s arm and shoulder, preventing him from effectively casting his spells. The mage’s remaining arm was not as effective, giving Caelan the upper hand.
Before Gwydion could recover, Cesare seized the moment. With a wave of his hand, he bound Gwydion with powerful magic, suppressing the mage’s abilities and preventing any chance of escape. Gwydion struggled against the invisible bonds, but Cesare’s magic was too strong. “Caelan, enough. I have him now. Step aside!” he shouted.
While Caelan knew better than to disobey his father, in the heat of the moment, he couldn’t control his rage entirely. With a quick thrust of his infamous English Longsword, a special weapon forged in a way that it could kill even the strongest occult, he seriously injured Gwydion by cutting a deep line into his side, just below the ribcage. The mage fell to the ground, blood pooling around him.
Fiona was in the bathroom of her great-grandfather’s castle when she heard the commotion. Peeking out the small lancet window, she saw the fight unfold in the courtyard below. Her eyes widened as she watched her grandfather, Caelan, standing over Gwydion, ready to deliver the final blow with his longsword. A few curse words escaped her as she ran from the room.
Cesare’s voice rang out, filled with authority and desperation. “Caelan, stop! We need him alive! Do not kill him! I command you!”
But Caelan, consumed by rage, barely registered his father’s voice, if he could hear anything at all. Cesare couldn’t stop him like he normally would, as he was using his entire force to keep control of the mage, who would undoubtedly immediately retaliate or vanish the moment Cesare released his spell. Caelan’s eyes burned with fiery and mad anger as he raised his sword with a deep, otherworldly growl, ready to decapitate the mage. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on Caelan, his intentions to ending the mage right here and now, which was why none of them noticed Fiona racing towards the scene.
Without thinking, Fiona threw herself between them, atop Gwydion, lying wounded on the ground, shielding him with her own body. “Stop, Grandpa! Please, don’t!” she cried, her voice filled with desperation. Tears streamed down her face as she clung to Gwydion, her body shaking with emotion.
Caelan’s eyes burned with fiery anger, but he couldn’t bring himself to harm his granddaughter. He hesitated, yelling at Fiona to get off Gwydion. Reluctantly lowering his sword, he reached down and pulled her up, his fierce anger evident as he yelled at her, his words sharp and forceful, spittle flying from his mouth. Caelan looked dangerous and fearsome, his rage making him appear even more intimidating. Fiona felt a chill run down her spine, fear gripping her as she faced her grandfather’s wrath.
Just as Caelan’s anger seemed to reach its peak, Cesare stepped in, pushing Fiona behind himself to shield her from Caelan’s fury. “Enough, Caelan!” Cesare commanded, his voice firm and authoritative, while still suppressing the mage’s powers and preventing any chance of escape. The mage was then dragged to the dungeon by vampire guards, still firmly bound by the vampire’s magic who followed to secure Gwydion’s cell to prevent escape.
Later, once her great-grandfather had called together his main advisors and the coven enforcers to discuss how to proceed with Gwydion, Fiona managed to slip away from her doting family, and convince the guards to let her into the cell to dress his injury. It wasn’t easy; the guards were skeptical and reluctant to allow anyone near the dangerous mage. Fiona had to think quickly, fabricating a story about needing to tend to Gwydion’s wounds to prevent infection, which could spread and cause more trouble for everyone. She even went as far as to claim that her great-grandfather, Cesare, had given her permission, knowing that invoking his name would carry weight.
After much hesitation and a few exchanged glances, the guards finally relented, but not without a stern warning. “You have ten minutes, and we’ll be watching,” one of them growled, unlocking the cell door.
Gwydion lay slouched on the cold stone floor, his head and shoulders propped up against the wall. His shirt was torn and soaked in blood. Despite his immortality, his injuries looked severe. One arm was seriously incapacitated from Caelan’s attack, and a deep cut to his abdomen bled profusely. Fiona knelt beside him, her hands trembling as she tended to his wounds with the first aid kit she had used to gain access to him in the first place. Her excuse.
“You shouldst not be here,” Gwydion muttered, his deep, resonant voice now weak and filled with regret. The usual strength in his tone was dulled by pain, each word a struggle. He breathed heavily, his breaths ragged and uneven, every inhale and exhale a testament to his suffering.
“That makes two of us,” Fiona replied, her eyes filled with a mix of anger and concern. “Why did you follow me? What did you think would happen? You really think they would just hand me over to you or that I would come with you willingly? For someone who has everyone convinced of his sheer brilliance, that was very stupid.”
As she spoke, Fiona carefully lifted his shirt, revealing the deep cut on his abdomen. She winced at the sight but quickly set to work, disinfecting the wound. Gwydion groaned in pain, his body tensing with each touch.
“I believed thy family to be honorable,” Gwydion said, his voice tinged with bitterness, the lilt of his Welsh accent giving his words a haunting resonance. “That was a grievous mistake. Another time my trust was misplaced, causing me great danger and harm. We made a pact. Thy family and I. I own thee. At least for now. Ye broke the agreement. Ye all did. I only came to reclaim what is rightfully mine. And now I shall perish because I trusted.”
“Nobody owns me! Not you or anyone!” Fiona retorted, her voice trembling with emotion. “I did agree to this shit, but I changed my mind. You have to see that your idea is nonsense. The deal is off. I can’t be around someone like you, you are crazy, and my family is angry, especially Grandpa Caelan, and you can’t blame him for it, the way you humiliated and tortured him. But I won’t let them kill you.”
“Why not?” Gwydion asked, his eyes narrowing, his deep, resonant voice carrying the weight of centuries, now strained and punctuated by labored breaths. “Thou called my coming here foolish, so I shall call thee stopping Caelan foolish as well. Hadst thou let thy grandfather do what he will now surely continue to attempt until he succeeds, thou wouldst not need to ponder whether thou canst trust me or not. I am now a dead man, Fiona. Have no illusions. I harbor none.”
Despite his attempt to maintain composure, the severity of his injuries affected his speech, making his words come out with a faint tremor, and every so often, a wince of pain contorted his features. The deep cut to his abdomen and the incapacitated arm added a fragility to his usually commanding presence, reminding Fiona of the toll the attack had taken on him.
Fiona’s hands moved with a mix of urgency and care as she cleaned and dressed his wounds with the modern first aid kit. The antiseptic stung, and Gwydion groaned, his body shuddering with the pain. She helped him sit up slightly, supporting his weight as she wrapped bandages around his torso.
“I’ll figure out how to get you out,” Fiona said, her voice softening with determination. “I told you, I will not let them kill you.”
“I can tell thee how,” Gwydion replied, his deep, resonant voice carrying the weight of centuries, with a steady timbre that hinted at a glimmer of hope. His words rumbled with the depth of an ancient melody, each syllable laced with a solemn authority. “Seest thou those markings on the ground? They bind me. Erase them, and I shall pass. I shall be restored to full strength in mine own abode.”
Despite his weakened state, Gwydion raised a trembling hand and pointed towards the intricate markings drawn onto the stone floor. Fiona followed his gesture, her gaze locking onto the runes that shimmered faintly in the dim light. The symbols were drawn in chalk, ancient vampiric script that pulsed with an eerie energy. She leaned in closer, scrutinizing the symbols that held him captive, determined to free him.
“They art safe for thee, as thou didst step right across them to come to me, but thou seest,” Gwydion cautioned, his voice growing softer yet insistent. “If a mage wert to touch or attempt to cross these markings, they would suffer greatly. The force wouldst repel them, causing a burning sensation upon contact, as though their flesh wert scorched. Any magical energy they might use to disrupt the bindings would turn back upon them, resulting in a dangerous backlash. They might even find themselves paralyzed, unable to move, and overwhelmed with dread, as the magic instills fear in their hearts. But for thee, as a vampire, they are but simple chalk markings on the ground.”
“Okay, so promise me you won’t hurt my family or kill anyone in this castle—or anywhere in this town—if I do help. You would just leave and go home to heal, no bloodbath of any kind. No retaliation either,” Fiona demanded, her eyes searching his for sincerity.
Gwydion’s gaze was intense and inscrutable, holding Fiona’s eyes with an almost magnetic force. He nodded once, and his deep, resonant voice carried a weighty sincerity that was impossible to ignore. “Thou hast my word. I shall not harm nor slay anyone within this castle or beyond, and I won’t retaliate. Free me, My Lady Fair. My life is in thy hands.” Despite his wounds, he raised a hand slowly, extending it towards her in a gesture of earnest appeal, his eyes never leaving hers.
Gnawing on her bottom lip, Fiona considered it. The guards were staring at them, and now, the echoes of the heavy doors leading to the dungeons were opened, creaking and hollow. Her Grandfather Caelan arrived, with Cesare, Riordan, and Fiona’s father Connell, who spotted her first. Alarmed, he stiffened, screaming his daughter’s name, while starting to run towards her. Special powers such as porting and vampire speed were blocked in the dungeons for very obvious reasons, so everyone had to run as mortals do.
“What is she doing in his cell?! GUARDS!” Cesare’s voice demanded, filled with authority and anger. The guards’ armor clinked and clanked as they rushed to bow and explain to their master. “Don’t come to me, protect Fiona, you fools!” he shouted his orders, and they immediately ran towards the cell, followed by Caelan and Riordan.
“Fiona, get away from him!” Connell shouted, his voice filled with a mix of fear and protectiveness. “What are you thinking?! He is dangerous!”
“Fiona, I beg of you!” Gwydion pressed; his voice urgent with desperation. Fiona knew she had to decide quickly. And she did. She grabbed the water the guards had left for Gwydion to quench his thirst, dumped it on the floor, then with one of the rags she brought to tend to Gwydion’s injury she quickly erased the binding spells drawn in chalk on the dungeon cell’s stone floors. She heard her family scream at her not to do that. Everything now happened in fast forward. She felt her father’s hand on her arm, at the same time as Gwydion’s uninjured arm around her from behind. Her father’s hand was slipping, the air buzzed, the screams of Cesare, Caelan, her father Connell, and Riordan, their scared and shocked glares, her father’s voice ringing out his panicked scream of her name—then the environment changed back to the parlor of Gwydion’s lair.
Startled, Fiona twirled around, staring at him. “No! NO! What did you do?! Why didn’t you leave me! I meant for you to get out safe! I didn’t want to come back here! Not this again! Take me back! Please!” Tears shot into her eyes, and she could already read his answer in his face as he slowly shook his head.
This was when she lost it. All the stress of the captivity, the thrill of escaping, the fear of witnessing more death, and now she was right back to square one. Back at the place she had grown to hate.
Fiona screamed at the top of her lungs, the sounds echoing eerily off the walls. “I hate you! I HATE YOU!” She tore the old-fashioned gown, something from Gwydion’s era, off herself and tossed it at him. He casually thwarted it off with a small movement of his hand, while she stood there in only a short chemise, ending above her knee. Gwydion tried to reach for her, but she fought him, slapping at him, biting him, screaming, and kicking. It took a long while for the powerful mage to contain her. When he finally grabbed her with his uninjured arm, she screamed, but it was a different scream. Her body stiffened, then jackknifed. Her screams were pure pain, as she felt a sharp, cramping sensation in her abdomen. She instinctively reached down, her hand coming back stained with blood, a small stain forming on her chemise.
Both of them froze, staring at the blood. Fiona’s eyes widened in horror, and Gwydion’s face paled as the realization of what was happening hit them both. They locked eyes, a mix of shock and understanding passing between them.
Gwydion’s expression shifted from confusion to determination. “Fiona, you must lie down,” he commanded, his voice steady but urgent. He gently scooped her up with his uninjured arm and rushed her down the hall to the four-poster bed in his private quarters, his hands trembling as he tried to comfort her. “I’ll do what I can to help.”
Fiona’s breaths came in ragged gasps, her body wracked with pain from more cramps. She clung to Gwydion’s healthy arm, her eyes filled with fear and desperation. “Please, make it stop,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Gwydion nodded, his jaw set with resolve. He placed his hands over her abdomen, murmuring incantations in a language she couldn’t understand. A faint glow emanated from his hands, and Fiona felt a soothing warmth spread through her body. The pain began to subside, and the bleeding slowed. It was obvious he was in great pain, trying to use both hands as needed, his injured arm trembling with the effort.
Tears streamed down Fiona’s face as she looked up at Gwydion, her emotions a whirlwind of gratitude and sorrow. “Gwydion?” she whispered, his name in reality a question, her voice trembling.
Gwydion’s eyes softened, and he brushed a strand of hair from her face with his uninjured arm as he shook his head. “I am deeply sorry, Fiona,” he said gently, his voice tinged with ancient sorrow. “I was not aware of your condition. I was too weakened from the battle and my injuries to fully harness my powers. It was too late.”
Fiona’s heart ached with the weight of his words, and she closed her eyes, letting the tears flow freely, unconcerned that she was sobbing into the shoulder of the man she vowed to hate. Then, her sorrow turned to anger. She pushed him away, her eyes blazing with fury.
“You did this. YOU!” she screamed, her voice filled with anguish and rage. “I trusted you, and you betrayed me. You lied to me! You took me from my family AGAIN and you caused THIS. THIS is YOUR fault!” sobbing now, she pointed at her abdomen.
Gwydion’s expression shifted again, this time to a mix of regret and resolve. “Fiona, I did not lie nor betray thee,” he said quietly. “Thou didst stipulate only that I should not kill or harm anyone at the castle, which I have not. Thou never said I couldn’t take thee with me. Had I known that thou wert with child, I might have acted differently, for it is known that too much porting in one day can have such an effect in the early days of such a condition.”
Fiona’s eyes widened as the realization struck her. She had been ensnared by a technicality. Gwydion’s cunning was far greater than she had anticipated, and she had underestimated him. The wind was taken out of her sails, leaving her with a tumultuous mix of anger and grudging respect for his intellect.
Adding to her turmoil, the three times she had ported in the same day had likely caused her to miscarry in combination with the anxiety and stress. She had been only a few weeks along, not even showing, likely conceived during their last passionate encounter. The weight of it all—the loss, the realization that she was in part to blame for it, albeit unknowingly, Gwydion’s admittance that if he had known she was pregnant, he might not have taken her with him, so had she told him, she might not even be back here again, and the sheer exhaustion—became too much for the young vampire, and she collapsed.
***
Fiona awoke in his bed, surrounded by the rustic yet mystical charm of Gwydion’s private chamber. The ancient stones and wooden beams of the room felt both familiar and alien. The air was cool and carried the faint scent of burning wood from the hearth. The realization that her escape had been short-lived, combined with the conflict that she had lost the baby she never wanted in the first place, yet the loss had an icy grip on her heart, caused a tear to slide down her cheek. She sighed heavily, feeling the weight of her situation pressing down on her, before sitting up.
As her eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through small, leaded glass windows, she noticed a figure slumped in a chair beside her bed. Her initial confusion gave way to shock as she recognized Gwydion. The powerful, dangerous mage, known for his cold-hearted ruthlessness, sat there, holding his aching injury. He looked exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept in days. It was absurd, almost surreal, to see him like this—clearly concerned and caring, despite his efforts to hide it.
“Gwydion,” she said softly, her voice a mixture of surprise and concern. “What are you doing here?”
He attempted to dismiss her concern with a weak smile. “Couldn’t resist your charming company. And this is my chamber, after all,” he said with a hint of sarcasm, though his voice betrayed his fatigue.
As Fiona’s gaze traveled to his blood-stained shirt, she recognized the wounds her grandfather had inflicted. She had dressed them at the vampire castle before Gwydion had taken her back here, and she knew both were deep and serious, and they had since soaked through the bandages and his clothing. “Your injuries look bad,” she commented, her worry deepening. The flickering light from the crackling fire danced across the walls, casting long shadows and adding to the room’s ethereal atmosphere.
Gwydion attempted his usual nonchalance, but it wasn’t very believable. “Ah, yes. Not many things can truly affect me, but the bite of a vampire-forged sword is a serious matter, even for me. Yet, I’ve faced graver injuries and endured.” Despite his words, a flicker of pain crossed his face, betraying the severity of his condition.
Fiona frowned, her concern mounting. She slid to the edge of the bed, gently pulled up his shirt to reveal the nasty wound beneath his ribs, then helped him take off the shirt, which had started to stick to the dried blood on his arm and abdomen. The cut below his ribs was deep, the edges jagged and inflamed, with dried blood caking the surrounding skin. The wound had soaked through the bandages, and the dried blood had caused the fabric to stick painfully to his flesh.
His upper arm and shoulder bore the marks of the battle. The injury was severe, with a deep gash running along his upper arm and into his shoulder, the skin around it swollen and discolored. The dried blood had formed a crust, making it difficult to remove the bandages without causing further pain. The sight of the wounds made it clear that they would have been fatal to a regular human. His arm hung mostly defunct at his side, it was obviously painful for Gwydion to use it and he seemed unable to fully raise it.
“I don’t really know who or even what you are exactly, but this is bad, Gwydion. It looks like your kind can actually get infections, and you are on your way there with this. A professional should really look at this, assuming that is out of the question, so at least let me clean it and redress it.”
He hesitated but eventually nodded, allowing her to tend to him. She slipped out of bed, her bare feet meeting the cool, uneven stone floor as she gathered the few items from a shelf in his room filled with supplies to heal and dress wounds. Clearly, he was no stranger to injuries. Fiona had already learned that he would never let any of the servants help him; in his eyes, it showed weakness, which he would never allow. He preferred to bleed in solitude, as he had put it. The scent of herbs and incense lingered in the air, mixing with the earthy aroma of the stone walls. As she carefully cleaned the wound and applied fresh bandages, he watched her intently. The vulnerability in his eyes was something she had never seen before.
“Are you a healer? Would vampires have medics?” Gwydion asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.
“Healer? Oh, you mean doctor or nurse?” Fiona shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “No, I’m in IT.”
Gwydion’s blank stare made her chuckle softly. “I graduated college with a degree in Information Technology, you know, computers and all,” she clarified, making typing motions, but his expression remained puzzled, telling her he probably didn’t even know what a computer was. “Never mind. And yes, there are quite a few vampires who are doctors, for many reasons, some more obvious than others, the more seasoned my kind becomes, the less fatigue we experience, which is very helpful in that field and clearly, we are not offended by seeing blood. I am still very new to this, as you know, still a lot more human than vamp, so I still get tired, I need sleep, a lot of things make me queasy, and I even get hungry for food, all that will slow down and even seize. So, my older cousin Aryelle and her dad Uncle Rohan are both doctors, but they are not vamps. But—I used to help Aryelle study for her college classes when we were growing up. I found it very interesting. Not interesting enough to wanna dig around people’s insides for a living myself, but some of it was very captivating. Elle even took some classes in herbalism and alternative healing, which comes in really handy here. Looks like I retained more than I thought. “
Gwydion nodded slowly, absorbing this new information. “I see,” he said, his voice softer. “Thou wouldst make a fine witch, truly.”
Fiona glared at him, then slapped one of the wet bandages onto his mouth to shut him up. “Don’t insult me,” she mumbled, knowing that vampires and magic folk were usually mortal enemies, so his comment, though intended as a compliment, could be taken as an insult. Despite this, Fiona smiled at him.
Gwydion rid himself of the bandage, peeling it off his mouth with a wince as his entire body ached from the fight with Caelan and the rough treatment of the guards on their way to throw him in the dungeon. He tossed the bandage back into a bowl where others like it were soaking, then, despite the pain, managed a weak smile at her. “Thank thee for thy kindness. Again. For this, but also for what thou didst for me at thy great-grandfather’s castle. Liberating me, sparing me from certain death, and probable long agony. I am certain that Cesare would have had no choice but to sentence me to death. Thou hast saved my life.”
He paused, his eyes reflecting a depth of emotion that Fiona had never seen before. “In all my ancient life, no one has ever done anything like this for me. Thou saved me from possible months of torture and a certain public execution before all of thy kind. I am flabbergasted by thy bravery and selflessness. It is something I shall carry with me always.”
Her eyes met his briefly, her smile long gone, replaced by something darker. “Good for you! I won’t ever forget this either, how I thought I was helping you, but ended up screwing myself over instead. You know what? Just don’t say anything right now, or I swear I don’t know what will happen! I might just try to put you out of your misery for good. And myself too, considering you are most likely my only way back home. I so don’t want to be here, you have no idea how much I regret having helped you, considering it landed me back here. HERE! I will never forgive you for taking me back here! So, unless you want to tell me after I finish this you are taking me home, please just be quiet or I will seriously lose my shit like you have never seen!”
Fiona’s hands moved with a mix of anger and precision as she tended to his wounds. She pulled the bandage extra tight around his ribs, causing Gwydion to wince in pain. He acknowledged the discomfort with a sharp intake of breath but refrained from complaining, his eyes never leaving her face.
She continued her task on his shoulder and arm the same way she had with his ribs in silence, her movements efficient and methodical. Fiona used a cloth soaked in warm water to gently clean the dried blood from his wounds. The water was infused with herbs to help prevent infection, their earthy aroma mixing with the scent of the stone walls. She carefully dabbed at the inflamed edges of the cut, her touch firm but not harsh.
Next, she applied a poultice made from crushed herbs and wrapped it in a clean cloth, pressing it against the wound to draw out any infection. She secured it with fresh bandages, making sure they were snug but not overly tight, her fingers deftly working.
Throughout the process, Gwydion watched her with an intensity that made her heart ache. The vulnerability in his eyes was something she had never seen before, and it stirred a mix of emotions within her. Despite her anger, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for the ancient mage.
When she was almost done, Gwydion caught her hand, making her look at him. “When were you going to tell me?” he asked, his voice filled with a mixture of pain and disappointment. “That thou wert with child. That is the sole reason thou art here, so why didst thou not tell me?”
Fiona looked away, clearly affected by the loss, trying to steady herself. “Does it really matter?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She wasn’t sure she was ever going to tell him about the pregnancy, fearing what he might do if he knew. “I was afraid you’d lock me up in my chamber until the birth and then just discard me,” she added, her voice tinged with both fear and defiance. The crackling of the fire filled the silence, punctuating the tension between them.
Gwydion reached out with a trembling hand, his fingers lightly brushing against her chin. He gently turned her face to look at him again, his touch both tender and insistent. His eyes were filled with genuine sorrow, a depth of emotion she had rarely seen in him. “Aye, it matters,” he murmured, his voice heavy with regret and earnestness. “I know thou lookest upon me and seest but a monster, but I would never bring such suffering upon thee.”
Tears welled up in Fiona’s eyes as she tried to find the right words. The pain of the loss was still raw, and she wasn’t sure if she could trust him, but in that moment, she felt a glimmer of something—maybe hope, maybe understanding. “Look, I just can’t trust you. You betrayed me when I risked a lot to help you, because of some technicality. Yes, I didn’t specifically say that you can’t take me back with you, but honestly, I thought that was very much implied by me running away from you in the first place. Then your strange behavior, always hot and cold, it makes me distrust you even more. I should have never come here in the first place, agreeing to this deal was stupid, but they all said I was the only one who could save grandpa. I should have never been pregnant. But you should have left me with my family, counted your losses and moved on, but you didn’t. Yet, after all you’ve done to me, I still saved you. They warned me about your trickery, and you tricked and used me. You wanted my help to escape certain death, and as thanks, you drag me back to the very last place I ever wanted to be. I am tired of all this; I hate it here and I hate you for bringing me back here.”
With those harsh words, she rose and began to put aside the bloody bandages and his torn, bloody shirt.
Gwydion, despite her words clearly offending him, said nothing, just rose to call for the servants to have a bath drawn for Fiona. “Perhaps a bath might bring you some comfort after everything,” he suggested, his voice soft and weary.
Fiona stared at him, incredulous. A bath? Did he really think a bath could fix the mess her life had become? The absurdity of it made her want to laugh and cry at the same time. But as she stood there, feeling the grime and blood on her skin, she realized that maybe, just maybe, a bath wasn’t such an outlandish idea. It wouldn’t fix everything, but it might help her feel a little more human.
Servants hurried in with buckets of steaming hot water, filling the tub. Fiona couldn’t help but miss the convenience of a modern shower. The room filled with the delicate scent of lavender and rose oils, the steam rising from the tub creating a warm, inviting atmosphere. The water shimmered with a soft glow, enticing her to step in and wash away the grime and stress of the past days.
Fiona hesitated, feeling both iffy and nasty, the allure of the bath was too strong to resist. She pulled the chemise over her head, didn’t even care that Gwydion was still in the room, as she slipped into the warm water, sighing as the heat enveloped her. The soothing scent of the oils relaxed her tense muscles, and she closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment of peace.
Gwydion watched her from a distance, his eyes filled with a mix of longing and regret. A servant woman entered the room, carrying a sponge and a cloth. Fiona initially resisted the woman’s help, but eventually allowed her to wash her back with the sponge, the rough texture providing a comforting sensation.
As Fiona began to relax, she closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of being clean and wrapped in relaxing warmth. Suddenly, she heard a strange, deep raspy sound behind her. Opening her eyes, she saw the servant scurry out of the room, and realized it was now Gwydion washing her.
She pulled away from him, crossing her arms over her chest, staring at him with a mix of shock and defiance. Gwydion, his voice raspy and filled with desire, spoke in his ancient manner. “May I join you, my lady?” he asked, his eyes never leaving hers.
Fiona was taken aback by his request. She realized he didn’t have to ask, yet he did. After a moment of hesitation and open-mouthed surprise, she just shrugged.
Gwydion, despite his injuries, began to remove his clothing. Fiona tried to look away, but in the corners of her eyes, she couldn’t help but admire his body, regretting that it was covered in bruises and remnants from his battle with her grandfather the day prior. She tried hard not to look as he carefully slid into the tub with her, his movements slow and deliberate due to his injuries.
Once his bottom half was submerged in water, Fiona stared at him, her eyes filled with a mix of emotions. “Great, so you heard absolutely nothing I said,” she mumbled, exasperation clear in her voice. “We’re right back to playing house, and now you’ve got all the bandages wet.”
Gwydion cracked a faint smile, but it quickly faded as he got serious. “I did hear every word, Fiona,” he said, his voice filled with genuine regret. “Yet, things must be as they are for now. I deeply regret causing thee such anguish and pain.”
Fiona looked away, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just couldn’t tell you. Not yet.”
Gwydion nodded and averted his gaze, shifting slightly, which caused him visible pain. Fiona noticed and, despite her frustration, slid over and started gently washing him. Gwydion closed his eyes, enjoying the soothing touch of her hands, the warmth of the water, and the delicate scent of the oils. The tension between them eased slightly as they shared this quiet, intimate time, the water rippling softly around them.
Fiona found herself leaning in to kiss him softly, almost surprising herself with the tenderness. Gwydion responded in kind, his kisses becoming more and more demanding. Just as the intensity of them making out peaked, he suddenly froze, gently guiding her back to the other side of the wooden tub.
His back to her, Gwydion stood up, his movements stiff and pained, grabbing a woolen cloak from a nearby hook. Without turning to her, he said, “I know you vampires aren’t receptive to temperatures, but the water is getting too cold.” He headed for the door, but just as he was about to exit, a wet sponge landed on his back with a disgusting and almost gleeful splat.
Gwydion briefly froze, then turned his head without turning around, saying over his shoulder, “Must you always throw things at me? First food, and now sponges? You are like a mischievous monkey.”
Fiona couldn’t help but retort, “If I had an anvil, I would have thrown that instead.”
Gwydion left the room, leaving Fiona flabbergasted, feeling rejected and upset as she stared at the steam over the bathwater. Had she just initiated this? Did she seriously just smooch around on this idiot after all he put her through?! What the hell was wrong with her!?
*
He seemed to have vanished again after those moments, she kept checking his chamber over and over, searched for him everywhere, but he remained gone for several days, and as usual he wore her down with solitude and seclusion, until she begrudgingly joined him at the dinner table one night, when servants fetched her, telling her that their master had returned and wished to dine with her. Glaring at him, which he at first ignored, just like she ignored his attempts at casual, meaningless dinner conversation, until he leaned back, openly staring at her. When she noticed and glared back at him, defiantly, he took a slow sip of his ale, then his voice rumbled, raspy and deep.
“I do not deserve thy ire, Fiona, for I have not deceived thee. At thy great-grandfather’s castle, thou didst bid me promise not to harm or kill anyone, and I honored that vow. Thou didst not stipulate that I could not take thee with me. I grieve for the loss we both have suffered, but I do not believe I am to blame. Thou art, however, bound to me, at least for now, and I shall not release thee from the bargain thou hast agreed to. Thou camest here willingly, I did not abduct thee, and I feel I have every right to make thee stay. Thy attempt to flee was a breach of our agreement, and I should begrudge thee for it, not the other way around. I am simply reclaiming what is rightfully mine.”
The knife Fiona had been using to carve angry patterns into the bread on her plate dropped to the wooden table with a loud clank as she stared at him in disbelief. Gwydion shrugged off her reaction, pouring himself more ale with a deliberate calmness that only fueled her fury. The jug settled back on the table hard when the bread from Fiona’s plate hit Gwydion in the head, hard. His glare back at her was angry and startled, but he withheld any commentary, instead continued to glare at her while drinking, before turning his attention back to the food still left on his plate.
When the next food item came flying, a grape this time, he casually caught it out of the air with preternatural reflexes, popping it in his mouth, his eyes showing temptation and satisfaction at foiling her momentum. Fiona didn’t back down, she tossed another, and another, a little more forceful each time. Each time, he caught it, until she jumped up and flung the entire silver plate with the fruit display at him, which he, also jumping up, cast aside with ease. As the platter hit the floor, the fruit scattering all across the room, Fiona attacked him, fangs out, but he caught her wrists, overpowering her, pushing her into a wall, then kissing her hard. Fiona wanted to bite his lips, tear them from his face, but couldn’t. Instead, she allowed him to kiss her passionately, before engaging in the wild kiss herself. When their lips finally parted, he let go of her.
They stared at each other for a moment, before he turned and marched off, his movements stiff and pained from his injuries. But this time she stopped him before he reached the door, flinging him around by his healthy shoulder and slamming his back into the wall. Another standoff ensued, both of them measuring each other up.
She stood there, her eyes shooting sparks at him. The scent of wood smoke and herbs hung heavily in the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the stone and wood.
“I don’t understand what is happening. I don’t understand what is happening to ME,” she admitted, her tone urgent. “What are you doing to me? Are you messing with my head? Is this some spell or magic to slowly drive me insane with? What is this?! I don’t know who I am anymore, I don’t recognize myself or the way I act! Whatever you are doing to me, please stop!”
Holding her glare, he shook his head ever so slightly. “I would ask the same of thee. Whatever enchantment thou believest I have cast upon thee, know that thou wieldest the same power over me. I am so ensnared by thy magic that I cannot even say if I wish thee to cease or continue. All I know to do, to save us both from deep regret, is to be gone, yet, even that seems to arouse thy anger,” he replied, his voice a soft murmur.
With that, he turned and rushed off, leaving Fiona standing there, her mind the usual whirlwind of confusion and emotions.
Echoes Of Legacy 