Caerfeddwidd

When the Queen entered her returned son's chamber, what she found was definitely not what she'd expected.
Dressed in nothing but the satin boxers he'd slept in, Zac was in the process of emptying the wooden chest beside his bed, rustling around in a haphazard search for his clothes. He heard the door open and just assumed it was Emrys, who'd been in and out all morning.
"Emrys, you don't know what happened to my stuff do you?" he'd spoken in English and hadn't thought twice about it. Emrys spoke the language well enough, and Zac spoke nothing else; it was only natural that they converse in English.
"I beg your pardon?" Queen Morgen couldn't help chuckling as Zac, startled by the feminine voice, pounced on the bed-robe he'd thrown aside and struggled into it, at the same time hurdling over to the other side of the bed, sufficiently covering his state of undress from any prying female eyes. The lack of privacy in this place was going to take a lot of getting used to.
"Mabon, for Ceridwen's sake, what are you doing?" she spoke in the strange tongue of Annwfn. He'd have to ask Emrys why he could speak it as well.
"Your Majesty I . . . I'm sorry, I was, uh . . . just, looking for my clothes. You wouldn't know where they are, would you?" the Queen just laughed. Like most archtypical queens, she was fair, and quite beautiful. Sunny blond hair was restrained in an elaborate braid, which hung against the deep blue of her gown. Her pretty face was partially concealed behind an almost transparent blue veil, held in place by a thin circlet of gold. Her laughter was as sweet and musical as a robin's song.
"I'm unsure what the Lord Emrys did with them my dear, but I did have new garments made for you,"
"Made? I only got here yesterday!"
"The weavers worked most of the night to have then finished for you,"
"Whoa. Tell them I said thank-you," Morgen's smile turned slightly inquisitive.
"Where have you been, my son, that you have learned such things? Thanking servants for the work they are born to do?"
"I . . . um . . . it's a place called Tulsa,"
"Tul-sa?" the name was unfamiliar to her, the pronunciation strange, distorted by her heavy accent.
"Yeah, it's a place where there's no servants or slaves. Everybody's free and everybody works at one particular job that they're good at, and they get paid for the work they do,"
"It sounds like an extraordinary place, but you are home now, and we do things a certain way here," while the words could have been construed as a rebuke, her warm motherly smile could not. "I had appropriate clothes made for you, I hope you find them suitable," at her subtle gesture, two servants who had been waiting outside the door strode in and lay their burdens down on the bed as if they were made of glass.
"Your Majesty?"
"Yes Mabon?"
"Emrys said the King wanted to see me?"
"And why should he not? He is as eager as the rest of the court to speak with his son,"
"I just thought, you might know if there was anything in particular he wanted to talk to me about?"
"He did not mention anything specific,"
"Oh, well thanks anyway," at the rather anxious look on her 'son's face, Morgen dismissed the servants from the room. The last to leave closed the door behind them. Once they were alone, the Queen moved around and sat on the end of the bed, encouraging Zac to sit beside her. Pulling the bed-robe around him as much as possible, he did.
"Mabon dear, is there anything wrong?"
"I . . . well, I'm just . . . I don't know. . . ."
"Nervous, hesitant, fearful?"
"Kinda,"
"Sweet, your father is not a monster,"
"No! That's not what I meant! Just. . . ."
"You find him intimidating, perhaps?"
"Well . . . yeah,"
"Arawn does have that certain quality about him, doesn't he?" she giggled, "I believe he cultivates it. He likes to appear cold and immovable to his brother sovereigns, and thus, I suppose, he must appear quite frightful to his subjects. But he will listen to you fairly Mabon, and justly. Whatever you say he will give fair consideration. Perhaps that is one of the reasons why he wishes to see you?"
"Maybe," Zac had as much trouble following what the Queen was saying as believing it; nobody had spoken the way these people did since Shakespeare! Seeing that she had done nothing to ease his anxiety, Morgen resorted to her second line of negotiating.
"Mabon, if I went with you, would that put you more at ease?" he smiled at her.
"Yeah, it would actually," his grateful expression was reward enough. When she drew him into a hug, he didn't object. Just having the comfort of a mother-figure was enough for him right now.

Uncomfortably dressed in his new finery, Zac followed a few paces behind Morgen. He couldn't help a tiny limp; his left boot was tight and walking on it was killing him. The outfit was basically made up of a white tunic and white trousers – eliminating his number one fear of having to wear tights! – with an overtunic of deep blue, apparently the Annwfn royal family's colour, and a simple leather belt to hold it all up. What annoyed him most was that his leather belt doubled as a sword belt. The sword was heavy and the scabbard kept banging against his left knee, making his limp even more pronounced.
"Your Majesty?"
"Mabon please, I do hate formalities amongst family, call me Mother,"
"I. . . ." she wasn't looking at him, so she couldn't see his distress. Was it a betrayal to his own mother, to call the Queen 'mother' as well? Was it really all that important? "Okay, Mother, will the Kin-- Father, expect me to wear a sword?"
"Whilst it is customary not to carry arms into a king's hall, I think he would be expecting you to carry some form of weapon with you," ('Damn!') "Why do you ask?"
"Oh, no reason," he hoped Morgen didn't hear his involuntary gulp of foreboding.

A large set of double doors was fast approaching in front of them. Painted a deep blue, this was obviously the entrance to the throne room, or what they preferred to call here the King's hall.
"Now Mabon, I think it best if you wait here," she smiled at the quickly banished spark of fear in his eyes, "Be brave, little one," and in true motherly tradition, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear before disappearing in to placate her husband.
There wasn't much to do standing outside, and not wanting to dwell on his upcoming encounter with the King, he looked around.
The castle, or 'caer' as everybody called it, was constructed mostly of stone, although the newest editions were built from timber. They would be replaced with stone walls during the fast-approaching summer. It was furnished fairly sparsely, with the odd tapestry or animal skin hanging from the walls. But Emrys had said that they spent more time furnishing the individual rooms rather than the hallway that connected them.
He was almost disappointed. Where were the suits of armour lining the corridors and the banners with all sorts the coats of arms hanging from the ceilings? No red carpets or rows of candles or smoking incense or creepy music. And they called this a castle?
No they didn't, they called it a caer.
"Mabon?"
"Wha--?" the Queen gave him another one of her perplexed looks. He must have spoken in English again, "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"The King will see you now," and she ducked back inside the open door. Zac took a deep breath.
" 'Then the king commanded, and they brought Daniel, and cast him into the pit of lions'. Daniel chapter six, verse sixteen'," he whispered then followed Morgen into the lion's den.

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