BW XX
“My love, how can you leave on such a night?” She was more beautiful than anyone Dafydd had ever seen – more so even than Milai. Long after the dream, he remembered her eyes – of the purest blue – which reminded him of his faith in Odin. Her hair, the truest strawberry blonde, captured the radiance of the sun and threw it back in more scintillating hues.
“Not without much remorse, my darling,” the young man’s face was downcast, “would that I might dwell a while in your radiant company.” His tousled, thick blonde hair cascaded about his face hiding his handsome features as he observed the beautifully ornate mosaic floor. He clearly could not meet her gaze. It was not until she moved closer that Dafydd realised how big the man was and how small the woman. Part dressed in ornately constructed armour, of Grecian style, the man must have been twice her size. She embraced him as he knelt before her, gazing fixedly at the ground.
“My love, when will it end?” She sobs over his metal encased shoulder.
“Not long now; I must retrieve that which the Gods have offered me and put it to use here, on the Prime.” He words are uttered without much conviction as if he recited a long-told tale the ending of which is well known and not joyous. “Why must it be thou?” She continues, drying her magnificent eyes, “It is always thou…”
“I know, I know,” he tries to soothe her, “not for much longer; we must rid this world of its most fearsome foe for the sake of all that once lived prosperously here.” The words are but a whisper, almost spoken as if he were cajoling a child. Her retort, spoken through fresh tears, does not disavow Dafydd of the thought that she is an innocent, “Let the Gods keep their gifts; let others holt the beast. Why is it thou?”
“My Lady,” he spoke and for the first time his eyes lift and Dafydd sees in them enormous strength and honour; he sees, truth, courage, dedication and integrity. Here is a man for all men. Here is a man that was born to lead. His stunning, deep, dark blue eyes are outlined by tears which amplify their radiance giving them an otherworldly quality which mystifies. “My Lady, there are no others capable of such a task. Athena asks that I attend personally to the task and I will not fail her. I know my son will be safe with you,” he gently presses a mailed fist against the woman’s stomach, “and you will give strength to thy people as you have to me.”
The vision changes and Dafydd sees a massive, deep, dark chasm, carved into the scorched, blistered earth. As his eyes clear, he sees a bright shining light within the chasm. The light moves and whirls, dodges and dances like a willow-the-wisp. He descends for what seems like an eternity. The sounds of battle and the smell of sulphur, together with the blur of light across the darkness, imprint themselves on Dafydd’s memory. He feels real fear for all that surrounds him are the hideous forms of creatures that have not passed successfully to the hallowed halls of the dead. Alone in the midst of the undead host, stands the knight in burnished armour brandishing an almighty blade at lightning speed and lethal touch. He appears to tire, exhausted by the numbers of enemy that surround him. Dafydd feels compelled to scream, “Be gone foul creatures of the Abyss!” The effect astounds even the mighty cleric – the foul abominations withdraw slowly into the darkness, without fear of attack and without compunction. The knight turns to look directly into Dafydd’s eyes and kneels before speaking, “Oh Zeus! You have deemed me worthy amongst your most treasured daughter’s knights.”
“Thou art most worthy, Bavarik Paladin; my daughter chooses her subjects well.” Dafydd replies without hesitation.
“My Liege, I have been lucky enough to find that which my kind are destined to wield.”
“Wield it well my son for that weapon has a history and a future beyond thy imaginings.” Dafydd again feels as if someone else is saying the words, despite them forming on his own lips.