The Guardian [1/5]
Title: The Guardian (part 1 of 5)
Author: Madam Backslash
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Assume spoilage for everything up to and including Children of Earth
Cast: This part: Jack, John Hart, Gray, OCs
Pairing/s: Canon
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and am not making money out of them
Notes: All hail my best friend, heart-sister and beta reader estoile. Without her, this quite literally would not have been written.
27 CE
Anwen and her little brother Rhodri had almost gathered enough kindling and were about to turn for home when Anwen heard voices in the clearing.
Shushing Rhodri, she carefully put her armful of kindling down and crept towards the edge of the clearing. She could see two strangely-dressed men, one in red, and one in a long robe the colour of her mother's eyes, talking beside a deep hole in the ground. She didn't recognise their language.
"They must be priests," she thought to herself. "That's why I can't understand them. They are speaking the gods' language."
Captivated by the sight, she watched as a third man, in light-coloured leggings like the slaves wore, walked up and embraced the priest in the blue robe.
What she saw next horrified her. The slave pulled out a big knife and stabbed the blue-robed priest, who fell to the ground dead. Rhodri started to scream, and Anwen put her hand over his mouth to keep him quiet. Crouching down beside her terrified brother, she told him to keep quiet, and run for home and get their father. He nodded silently, his brown eyes huge with fear, and disappeared into the forest.
Anwen was trying to decide what to do when the dead priest took a great, gasping breath and sat up. The slave had barked at the man in red to tie his wrists and ankles (metal bands, how wealthy were his owners, and why was he treating the man in red like a slave?), and the priest had to struggle to get to his feet.
Transfixed, Anwen just stared, scarcely able to believe her eyes. This was no priest that stood before her, but a god! No mere man could survive an injury that great -- the figure in the blue robe must be a god. Anwen listened carefully for anything that might be his name.
At the same time, she prayed and prayed for her father to come, so that he could see the god for himself. The slave shouted at the god, and the man in red stood by, neither helping nor hindering.
Anwen wanted to run out to help the god, but she couldn't. Tears streamed down her face, and she watched helplessly as the slave pushed the god into the hole. Her heart ached for him -- she had seen tied men fight, and knew they weren't completely at their captors' mercy. He must be sacrificing himself, but for whom? Not for the slave, who would condemn him to death. Perhaps for the man in red, who dropped an offering in the hole, even as the slave barked at him.
Silently sobbing, she watched as the slave vanished in a blaze of golden light and the man in red filled in the hole. The grave. By the time her father got there with two of his best men, the man in red was gone, too, in another blaze of light. Gods did not walk on the earth.
Anwen's father took his daughter in his arms and held her while she cried for the god under the earth. At last, her tears faded away, and she was able to tell him what had happened. Rhodri had told him of the murder that had been done, but hadn't known anything else. Gawain listened intently as the story came pouring out of his daughter's mouth, almost as if it was being spoken through her.
She had always had one foot in Annwfn, according to the old women of the clan, and he had often wondered if she looked into a different world. If she said she had seen a god rise from the dead and give himself as a sacrifice, then that was what had happened. To Gawain, the saddest part was that the god's sacrifice had been for nothing -- the man in red had left and not been seen since. So when Anwen told him that she would tend to the god in the earth, and keep him company ("He must be so lonely, down there by himself"), he agreed to give her aid to do so. Together, Gawain, his children and his men walked back to the village as the sun cast long shadows across the clearing and its new Guardian.
The next day, Anwen went back to the clearing with an armful of wildflowers for the Guardian. She put the flowers on his grave and let him know she and Rhodri had got home safe. She told him stories about her family, her brother and father, her mother who had died when Rhodri was born. She told him about her aunts and uncles and the foster cousins who had come to live with her clan, and the cousins who had gone to live with other families. On the grounds that he sounded like a foreigner, she told him about the ways of her people. She told him stories of their gods and heroes, and told him everything she could of their history. At the end of the day she put her hands on the ground and told him goodbye, and that she'd be back when she could.
Over the bright summer months, Anwen visited the Guardian as often as she was able. Sometimes Rhodri went with her, but mostly she went by herself. She told the Guardian news of the tribe, sang him songs, and sometimes just sat quietly making daisy chains or watching the birds in the trees.
Anwen died in the autumn, of a fever that swept through the village taking three children and one of the old women. Heartbroken, Gawain buried her beside the Guardian, so she wouldn't be lonely. She had wanted him to have company so badly, and now he would have, forever.
Rhodri grew up into a fine young man. He married Cerridwen from the next village, and they had four children. As soon as each child was old enough to make sense of stories, he took them to visit the Guardian. He told them about the gods who had visited, and how one had stayed behind to look after the land and the people who lived on it, and how his sister had been buried with him to keep him company.
As they grew up, Rhodri's children would go and tell the Guardian their news. Sometimes, if they needed comfort, they would go to his clearing and let the peace and quiet of the place wash over them, calming the hurts of their souls.
410 CE
Branwen stamped into the clearing and flopped down on the grass. It looked as if her stupid brother had been right when he said the Romans were leaving. She hadn't believed him -- the Romans had always been here, so there was no reason for them to leave now, was there? But no, Mabon had insisted they were going, and teased her about the young centurion who had been giving her the eye, until she'd shouted at him and then left to walk to her favourite place.
There were many times she had been thankful for this place and its particular sense of peace. Family tradition said there was a Guardian under the earth who looked after this place and the local people. Branwen had never understood how a dead Guardian was supposed to guard anything. All she knew was that if she ever needed to get something off her chest, or to think through something complicated, or just to get away from her stupid brother and his stupid opinions, this was the place she always came to.
Why did the Romans have to leave now, just when she was starting to find them interesting? Especially that one blond centurion. There was no denying that he had an interesting face, and he was always kind to her. At the very least, he wasn't crude like the other soldiers. He had even offered to walk her home from the market, so she wouldn't be caught out alone in the dark. She had just decided that the next time he offered, she was going to accept, and now... they were leaving, and they'd be gone within a month.
It was all so completely unfair, and made worse by the fact that Mabon had been right, something he wouldn't let her forget in a hurry. Stupid Mabon, who always knew everything.
Branwen sat on the grass and fumed, and then lay on the grass and sighed. The peace of the clearing began to work its particular magic, and Branwen began to feel the tension and anger drain out of her. There would be other young men, some of them even more handsome than the blond Roman. Huw, the smith's son, for instance, was beginning to grow into something quite lovely. Branwen smiled and thought that she would ask him to walk her home from market in two days' time.
Part Two
Master List
Author: Madam Backslash
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Assume spoilage for everything up to and including Children of Earth
Cast: This part: Jack, John Hart, Gray, OCs
Pairing/s: Canon
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and am not making money out of them
Notes: All hail my best friend, heart-sister and beta reader estoile. Without her, this quite literally would not have been written.
27 CE
Anwen and her little brother Rhodri had almost gathered enough kindling and were about to turn for home when Anwen heard voices in the clearing.
Shushing Rhodri, she carefully put her armful of kindling down and crept towards the edge of the clearing. She could see two strangely-dressed men, one in red, and one in a long robe the colour of her mother's eyes, talking beside a deep hole in the ground. She didn't recognise their language.
"They must be priests," she thought to herself. "That's why I can't understand them. They are speaking the gods' language."
Captivated by the sight, she watched as a third man, in light-coloured leggings like the slaves wore, walked up and embraced the priest in the blue robe.
What she saw next horrified her. The slave pulled out a big knife and stabbed the blue-robed priest, who fell to the ground dead. Rhodri started to scream, and Anwen put her hand over his mouth to keep him quiet. Crouching down beside her terrified brother, she told him to keep quiet, and run for home and get their father. He nodded silently, his brown eyes huge with fear, and disappeared into the forest.
Anwen was trying to decide what to do when the dead priest took a great, gasping breath and sat up. The slave had barked at the man in red to tie his wrists and ankles (metal bands, how wealthy were his owners, and why was he treating the man in red like a slave?), and the priest had to struggle to get to his feet.
Transfixed, Anwen just stared, scarcely able to believe her eyes. This was no priest that stood before her, but a god! No mere man could survive an injury that great -- the figure in the blue robe must be a god. Anwen listened carefully for anything that might be his name.
At the same time, she prayed and prayed for her father to come, so that he could see the god for himself. The slave shouted at the god, and the man in red stood by, neither helping nor hindering.
Anwen wanted to run out to help the god, but she couldn't. Tears streamed down her face, and she watched helplessly as the slave pushed the god into the hole. Her heart ached for him -- she had seen tied men fight, and knew they weren't completely at their captors' mercy. He must be sacrificing himself, but for whom? Not for the slave, who would condemn him to death. Perhaps for the man in red, who dropped an offering in the hole, even as the slave barked at him.
Silently sobbing, she watched as the slave vanished in a blaze of golden light and the man in red filled in the hole. The grave. By the time her father got there with two of his best men, the man in red was gone, too, in another blaze of light. Gods did not walk on the earth.
Anwen's father took his daughter in his arms and held her while she cried for the god under the earth. At last, her tears faded away, and she was able to tell him what had happened. Rhodri had told him of the murder that had been done, but hadn't known anything else. Gawain listened intently as the story came pouring out of his daughter's mouth, almost as if it was being spoken through her.
She had always had one foot in Annwfn, according to the old women of the clan, and he had often wondered if she looked into a different world. If she said she had seen a god rise from the dead and give himself as a sacrifice, then that was what had happened. To Gawain, the saddest part was that the god's sacrifice had been for nothing -- the man in red had left and not been seen since. So when Anwen told him that she would tend to the god in the earth, and keep him company ("He must be so lonely, down there by himself"), he agreed to give her aid to do so. Together, Gawain, his children and his men walked back to the village as the sun cast long shadows across the clearing and its new Guardian.
The next day, Anwen went back to the clearing with an armful of wildflowers for the Guardian. She put the flowers on his grave and let him know she and Rhodri had got home safe. She told him stories about her family, her brother and father, her mother who had died when Rhodri was born. She told him about her aunts and uncles and the foster cousins who had come to live with her clan, and the cousins who had gone to live with other families. On the grounds that he sounded like a foreigner, she told him about the ways of her people. She told him stories of their gods and heroes, and told him everything she could of their history. At the end of the day she put her hands on the ground and told him goodbye, and that she'd be back when she could.
Over the bright summer months, Anwen visited the Guardian as often as she was able. Sometimes Rhodri went with her, but mostly she went by herself. She told the Guardian news of the tribe, sang him songs, and sometimes just sat quietly making daisy chains or watching the birds in the trees.
Anwen died in the autumn, of a fever that swept through the village taking three children and one of the old women. Heartbroken, Gawain buried her beside the Guardian, so she wouldn't be lonely. She had wanted him to have company so badly, and now he would have, forever.
Rhodri grew up into a fine young man. He married Cerridwen from the next village, and they had four children. As soon as each child was old enough to make sense of stories, he took them to visit the Guardian. He told them about the gods who had visited, and how one had stayed behind to look after the land and the people who lived on it, and how his sister had been buried with him to keep him company.
As they grew up, Rhodri's children would go and tell the Guardian their news. Sometimes, if they needed comfort, they would go to his clearing and let the peace and quiet of the place wash over them, calming the hurts of their souls.
410 CE
Branwen stamped into the clearing and flopped down on the grass. It looked as if her stupid brother had been right when he said the Romans were leaving. She hadn't believed him -- the Romans had always been here, so there was no reason for them to leave now, was there? But no, Mabon had insisted they were going, and teased her about the young centurion who had been giving her the eye, until she'd shouted at him and then left to walk to her favourite place.
There were many times she had been thankful for this place and its particular sense of peace. Family tradition said there was a Guardian under the earth who looked after this place and the local people. Branwen had never understood how a dead Guardian was supposed to guard anything. All she knew was that if she ever needed to get something off her chest, or to think through something complicated, or just to get away from her stupid brother and his stupid opinions, this was the place she always came to.
Why did the Romans have to leave now, just when she was starting to find them interesting? Especially that one blond centurion. There was no denying that he had an interesting face, and he was always kind to her. At the very least, he wasn't crude like the other soldiers. He had even offered to walk her home from the market, so she wouldn't be caught out alone in the dark. She had just decided that the next time he offered, she was going to accept, and now... they were leaving, and they'd be gone within a month.
It was all so completely unfair, and made worse by the fact that Mabon had been right, something he wouldn't let her forget in a hurry. Stupid Mabon, who always knew everything.
Branwen sat on the grass and fumed, and then lay on the grass and sighed. The peace of the clearing began to work its particular magic, and Branwen began to feel the tension and anger drain out of her. There would be other young men, some of them even more handsome than the blond Roman. Huw, the smith's son, for instance, was beginning to grow into something quite lovely. Branwen smiled and thought that she would ask him to walk her home from market in two days' time.
Part Two
Master List