To Discover His Truth

Son of Shadow

 King Rhydian of Redmark stretched naked on the couch in the centre of the Great Hall. Chosen male nobles and warriors stood silently, waiting to witness the taking back of the power of the King. Currently, Brynnan was the appointed King of Redmark and King of Winter. He stood quietly before the couch, attended by a solemn Andri.

Early that morning, the day of the returning sun after the Winter Solstice,  Brynnan had been offered as a sacrifice by Kian-Hen, a renegade Ruithin priest. He had hung from the great oak tree in the sacred grove, but people had seen only a stag instead of a man. The slaying had nearly succeeded but was stopped when Geraint killed Kian-Hen.

But now Rhydian had appointed Nijal, the Guardian, to guide the restoration ceremony, taking the place of the ‘Ancient Mage,’ as Kian-Hen had been known. Nijal cast the incense on the charcoal brazier as the proceedings started and announced what would take place to the assembly.

 The Guardian took a double-handled goblet and offered it to Brynnan and then Rhydian. Both men drank of the liquor inside it. Then Andri stepped forward with a glass bottle and rubbed lubricant onto Brynnan’s cock and Rhydian’s rectal passage. The lotion contained no drug nor had the drink that both men had partaken of, unlike at the first ceremony, so the arousal Brynnan felt was purely his own. He gazed into Rhydian’s eyes, and there was an intimate connection between them. Rhydian’s aid in the Bard’s recovery from his near-death experience had forged a bond.

Brynnan knelt on the couch between Rhydian’s legs. He bent further and embraced the King and kissed his chest. “There will be love in this act,” he whispered to the King, “not just duty. Let us surrender ourselves to one another.”

“I am ready, my Winter King,” Rhydian replied, “Take me now.”

They shared a deep kiss, then Rhydian offered up his ass to the Bard. Brynnan let his stiff cock guide itself to the sweet spot, finding the mark and penetrating it slowly. King Rhydian sighed in satisfaction. Brynnan proceeded to fuck the man beneath him, sliding his cock in and out of the tight hole. He ran his hands over the red-gold chest hairs and erect nipples, and Rhydian did the same to Brynnan’s own swirling, black body hair, feeling its silkiness. The Bard slid his hands down and gripped Rhydian’s ass, pulling it onto his cock. His pounding of Rhydian steadied and continued to drive the King’s level of excitement higher and higher––and his own! He ignored the rapt attention of the men watching the two Kings fuck. It might have shamed him once upon a time, but now he focused solely on the act.

“I am ready to cum, Rhydian; hold off your orgasm while I finish. I need to suck you.”

Then Brynnan increased the tempo of his stroke, his cock buried to the hilt in Rhydian’s rectal passage.

“Cum, King of Winter, give me your essence,” Rhydian said, breathing heavily

The Bard obliged. He felt the ejaculate as a hot eruption inside his cock as it pumped and spurted into the ass. Then Brynnan let out a long moan as ecstasy gripped him.

When Brynnan had first been appointed Winter King, Rhydian had fucked the Bard’s ass to transfer the power of Kingship to him, marrying him to his land. Now, Brynnan was ritually returning that power. He did indeed feel a certain awareness flow away from him with his cum, but he harboured no regrets: the experience of being King had proven perilous.

Brynnan withdrew his dripping cock and lay on Rhydian’s body to suck him. The King’s large cock was rock-hard and oozing pre-cum; he was very close to ejaculation. The bard lapped with his tongue, slowly stroking the cock, then he plunged his mouth over it, taking it all the way down his throat and sucking powerfully. Rhydian cried out loudly and ejaculated. Brynnan swallowed every drop.

When the act was over, both men stood. A page brought a bowl of steaming water to the King, and Andri brought one to the Bard. They washed their charges. After that, Brynnan unfastened the torc from around his neck and fastened it on Rhydian’s. Finally, he removed the gold circlet from his head and crowned the King. Once again, Rhydian was the complete ruler of Redmark. The assembled nobles sighed and whispered to each other in low voices. Rhydian was cloaked in his own red cloak, and Brynnan took the green one the King had worn.

The King briefed the assembly. “People of Redmark, you have witnessed the transfer of Kingship back to me. We owe Brynnan Marec Mavrenn a great debt. He and his companions, the Warrior Geraint, the Guardian Nijal and the young bard, Andri, have rid us of the evil influence the mage Kian-Hen had over us. I swear that my decisions will now be fair and uninfluenced, dedicated to the safety and prosperity of this land, which we have a duty to patrol. But now, let us retire so we may rest. We will feast this evening. May the Returning Sun cast its rays on you all.”

*    *    *

Brynnan, unclothed, stretched out on the bed in Nijal’s large chamber. He held a naked Andri in a close embrace. His cloak covered them. “Thank the Mother-of-All that it is finished. I don’t think I could survive another anointing.”

Nijal replied, “You would survive it. It’s what you do.”

“Yes, well. I had help.”

Andri murmured, “I hope we stay together. I thought this morning you were dead. And I grieved so, for you and the raven slain by the accursed Priest.”

“Hush, Andri. Don’t curse anyone. I know you are grieving, but the bird, at least, has gone on to another form of existence. Don’t ask me to explain, but I saw that it was so.”

“You were hanging under the tree all night. How could you have endured it?”

“Other Kings have been suspended between heaven and earth to acquire wisdom. It is written so in the ancient legends.”

Nijal, sitting on the side of the bed, said, “Geraint suggests you need more healing to recover from the night’s cold. More than hot baths. You have held up admirably for necessity’s sake, but I can still see a tremble in your hand. I know your harp would appreciate a steadier touch. Geraint and I have discussed this, and he wants me and Andri to give you the warmth of our cum. Andri, too, will benefit.”

Geraint said, “Like what Nijal and you did with young Fahd, Hazrad’s son. He and Andri will do to you, and I’ll direct the lad.”

Brynnan sighed, “I accept whatever you think best for me. I am ready.” He kissed Andri on the lips. “What about you, young man?”

“I will try my best. Forgive me if I am clumsy.”

“Excellence takes practice, my lad,” said Geraint.

Nijal stripped off his clothes and joined the two lying on the bed. Geraint brought the bottle of lubricant and helped apply it to Nijal and Andri.

“Andri, take this and put some in Brynnan’s ass,” Geraint told him.

“I’m finally cold. I was suspended all night, but my mind was on other things then.” Brynnan gave a shudder.

“Let us warm your body now,” said Nijal and began to caress the trembling Bard.

On Brynnan’s other side, Andri sucked his left nipple while taking hold of Brynnan’s cock and stroking it.

Geraint directed them. “Andri, lad, lie on your back. Brynnan will kneel over you, and I want you to start fucking his ass. Nijal shall cover you both.”

Andri did as instructed. His cock was handsome and plenty long enough to reach Brynnan’s rectal passage from that angle. Brynnan half-lay, half knelt over him and moved his ass where Andri could introduce his cock, the boy sighing as it went in. “Brynnan, let me love you like this,” he murmured. It was the first time he had performed an ass-fucking from underneath, but he managed it well.

Nijal waited until both partners were comfortable and had established a rhythm, then he climbed behind the Bard, simultaneously straddling Andri’s thighs. The Guardian gripped his cock and slid it over Andri’s inside Brynnan’s rectum. He pushed it in, and the two cocks in the Bard’s ass rubbed against each other. Brynnan let more of his weight on top of Andri, and they kissed passionately.

So, Brynnan was double fucked. His trembling diminished; whatever remained was due to lust and not cold. Indeed, he started to sweat, pressed as he was between the Guardian and the young singer.

“Brynnan, I love you . . .” Andri said between gasps, “You’re alive, and you are here! Thank the Mother-of-All.”

“No need for tears; I am safe, my beloved boy,” Brynnan murmured and kissed Andri again. Then he begged Nijal, “Hold me, dear friend.”

Nijal wrapped his arms around the Bard and fucked him harder. Geraint looked on in approval. The Guardian controlled the pace and kept the action going until Andri pleaded to cum. Geraint permitted him. Nijal timed his own ejaculation so that they came simultaneously, their semen creaming together inside Brynnan’s ass. Nijal stayed still, holding the Bard and resting his cock inside him. Finally, he slipped his cock out. Andri did the same, and the three of them lay curled together.

“Join us, Geraint. There’s just enough room for you. I want to sleep for a little time,” Brynnan told him.

“If I sleep, it will be with one eye open. Someone has to guard us.”

“Yes, and I rely on you, old Warrior. Thank the Mother-of-All that you came armed and ready to this morning’s gathering.”

“Well, you did warn us, lad. I even had my bow strung just in case,” said Geraint, as he stripped off his outer jerkin to lie with them. “Pardon me, Nijal, if I hold onto my young apprentice, here, who just did an admirable job.”

Andri blushed, but he smiled, too.

*    *    *

In the afternoon, Brynnan took his harp and sought out the King’s library. A courtier directed him, and he passed into a large chamber where a bright fire burned. Many shelves and storage alcoves lined the walls, and Brynnan noticed everything from books and scrolls to clay and stone tablets. A large, black stone slab, set into one wall, commanded his attention. It was covered with finely incised runes rubbed with a white paste to emphasize them. Brynnan drew closer and examined it with interests.

“That is the Redmark stone. It used to be on the boundary, in a high place. Invaders tried to topple it, so it was brought here and was incorporated into this building’s wall when it was first built,” said King Rhydian, walking up behind the Bard.

“Can you read it?” asked Brynnan.

“My record keeper and I can read little of it. Can you make sense of it?  Kian-Hen always refused to answer when he was asked, saying it was merely a way marker.”

Brynnan looked at the runes, letting his mind relax. The glyphs seemed to tap into a more profound knowledge within him, and suddenly he could make sense of them. “They were carved by the ones we now know of as the Guardians. The stone speaks of conditions to be met if the… invaders return. Nijal would understand these.”

“We constantly patrol against invaders here on the border reaches,” said the King.

“I am afraid that the invaders, in this case, means us. To Nijal’s ancestors, we were the original invaders. Over millennia we have come to align our viewpoints with the Guardians. This brings us to our mission.  You will need to sit down for this, and Nijal, Geraint and Andri should be with us.”

“I will have them summoned, and the Record Keeper,” said the King. “I am not going to like this, am I?”

“The news is momentous. I shall wait. Meanwhile, Mavrenn will sing to us.”

“Kian-Hen was most interested in your harp,” Rhydian commented as Brynnan brought out Mavrenn, settling her between his knees.

“The Mage thought that by killing me, he could assume control of my harp. He did not realize that the attempt would have destroyed him. Mavrenn has her own power and is not to be trifled with. She chooses her own servants.”

“Gods! My mind is finally clear of his influence. I didn’t realize how much power he had over us.” Rhydian shook his head.

“He deserves to be forgotten, although I must carry news of him to our Ruithin Grand Master. It will be his decision whether to replace him.” Brynnan began to play softly.

King Rhydian listened in rapt attention. Presently, he asked the Bard a question. “I understand you became Mavrenn’s servant at a young age. How old were you, if you do not consider it unseemly of me to ask?”

“I will tell you. I was given to the Ruithin as a very young lad and put into an apprenticeship. My mother died at my birthing, so my father did as he thought was best for me. I was twelve summers old when Mavrenn accepted me. My master applied for her stewardship when her servant died, but instead of my master, she chose me . . .” Brynnan’s hand faltered on the strings for a moment, but the expression on his face was peaceful.

“So young . . .” whispered the King.

“Mavrenn is a blessing to me, but in service to her other qualities, there has also been peril. I serve her with my whole heart, though.”

Brynnan declined to elaborate on his journeys in guiding the souls of the dead. They were part of the mysteries he kept to himself, although the rumours were often near the truth. He thought back to his encounter with Arawn, King of Annwn in the Shadow Realm. Something Arawn had said to him teased his mind, but he could not put it into context––yet.

“Well, whether you bring troubling news or not, I bless the day you and your companions arrived. And your service to us in taking on the Winter King’s mantle was invaluable. It is not always easy for me to participate in the ceremony of transmission, but in you, I found a partner who truly understood.”

Brynnan played on, and the King listened, with Mavrenn’s peace settling around them. Presently, a bell rang softly within the chamber, and Brynnan stilled the harp’s strings.

“Enter!” cried the King.

The doors opened to admit the Record Keeper, Nijal and Geraint, Andri, and a page boy bearing wine and cups. The lad set them on a table and left the room. Nijal bowed his head to the King. At the King’s command, the Record Keeper explained about the Black Stone of Redmark.

Nijal examined it closely. “It states that the invaders will return and that all Alsar––that means we Guardians––should prepare for this event. It also states, ‘Let the means of war and exploitation be limited among them lest they bring harm to the Mother.’”

“This is a piece of evidence for us,” said Nijal. “King Rhydian, let me explain . . .”

And Nijal did. He told of the First Settlement by the star wanderers and their effects upon the planet. They were thought to be soon coming again in a second wave. Rhydian absorbed the news in silence, looking deeply thoughtful. He turned to the Record Keeper, “Osian, I believe you made rubbings from the stone and copied them?”

“Yes, my Lord King. I will bring one.”

“Let it be wrapped for travelling.” He turned to Brynnan, “This will be satisfactory for you to take with you?”

“Thank you; it will be a welcome addition to our knowledge. When we have collected more proof, a trusted messenger shall bring the news to you, but it will be up to you to inform the people of your land. Not an easy task, I know, but we must prepare as we can. Unfortunately, I cannot give you an accurate timeline. A few years, perhaps, maybe less. We may know more once we have consulted records in the ArMor-ys Redoubt. But do not spread word before the messenger arrives. It could put us in peril from those who would either deny or welcome the invasion.”

“I understand, Brynnan Marec Mavrenn. I will await word. In the meantime, before you leave us tomorrow, I will task Osian to look further into our records. He may not find anything so soon, but If he does so in the coming weeks, I will send a fast messenger to deliver it.”

“Do not send him unguarded!” warned Nijal. “Or couch it in terms only we shall understand.”

“Very well,” said Rhydian. “Now, Brynnan, it would please us if you played more upon your harp for a while. It is private here. Let Osian serve us some wine before he begins his task.”

“Andri will do it,” offered Geraint. “He is my apprentice as well as Brynnan’s.”

“Doubtless, you teach him the ways of the sword, Warrior,” commented Rhydian as Andri hastened to obey.

Geraint smiled, “Doubtless. He is an apt pupil, Lord King.”

*    *    *

The evening’s gathering was well attended, and there was a lightness in the hall’s atmosphere, whether from Kian-Hen’s absence or the fact that a dangerous time of year was passed. Brynnan and his companions sat at the High Table with the king. The Bard sat at Queen Eirlys’ side. He enjoyed her conversation; she seemed to be a clever and insightful woman who loved her Lord. She, too, expressed gratitude at Brynnan’s role as the Winter King and relief at his narrow escape from becoming the winter sacrifice.

Then she put down her cup and looked into his eyes, knowingly. “What you did takes great courage, Brynnan. Not all those chosen at the Winter Solstice are willing to face death, as you were. And not all are willing to cross the boundaries of belief.”

In Brynnan’s mind, the words of Arawn, King of the Shadow Realm, clicked sharply into his mind; clear at last. “I can cross the boundaries at will, not unlike yourself, Brynnan, my Son.” 

Brynnan sat stunned at the revelation. How could it be possible? Then he remembered the solidity of the King of the Underworld in their encounter in the material world. Or had Arawn’s power possessed his human father? But it would explain much, including how he could defeat the Angel of Death when she tried to trap him and then manifest in the material world.

He would not disclose this revelation for now, but it would give him food for thought in the coming days ahead when they continued their journey.

*    *    *