The St. Dynwen's Day Feast

Historical Note

St Dynwen's day is in fact the Welsh version of Valentine's day which is celebrated on 25^th January rather than 14^th Feb. I decided to use this day as it gave me a bit of historical realism as the medieval world did not recognise St Valentine's day romantically until the 14^th Century -- nearly 500 years after the events on which this story is based.

The story itself is based in one of the last Viking raids on North Wales, which took place in 854 - 856AD on Anglesey (or Ynys Mon as it is known as in Welsh, translates into English as the Isle of Mona). Although the invasion was led by Gorm and his death is largely attributed to Rhodri Mawr -- the king of Gwynedd (aka Lord Gwynedd in this tale), there is no account of exactly how he was killed, giving me a little bit of creative licence.

You may also have noticed that I have put some of the dialogue, especially Gorm in a different language. The language is Icelandic and, as well as Faroese, is the closest surviving language to Old Norse, which was spoken by the Vikings at the time. I've done this for linguistic purposes so you can understand what the people of the time are going through (many of the local Welsh probably wouldn't have been able to speak Norse). If you are Icelandic and you are reading this, then I apologise in the past. Google Translate was used for the translation!

One last word, the erotica part of this is quite short (compared to the rest of the story) and comes at the end. If you don't like this, then you know what to do.

Welsh pronunciation and words

"Dd" is pronounced "th".

"F" is pronounced "v"

Cwtch - A cwtch is very hard to describe to a non Welsh person. Its more intimate than a hug or an embrace and is best described as a loving hug.

And now onto the story...I hope you like it! Feel free to leave constructive criticism.

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"Thwack!"

The large Viking warrior's legs jumped from underneath him as the staff swept them clean out from underneath him. With the momentum caused by his own legs, the warrior was unable to control himself, and he fell flat upon his back. His eyes opened wide in surprise -- how had the smaller man managed to do that? Then, realising where he was, the warrior struggled to get back up, but before he could, a spear blade descended and pierced through the armour he wore and buried itself in his chest, ending his life.

Taliesin Prydderi placed his foot on the now lifeless corpse and pulled the spear free of its latest victim, looking around and frowning as he did so. Only the night before, he had sat with his young travelling partner, Eifion and promised the scared young boy that he wouldn't leave him during the battle. Now, the heat of the battle had pulled them apart from each other. He had broken a promise once and it had cost him dearly. He wasn't about to break another.

"Eifi!" he roared above the din of the battle even as another Viking blade came for him. He swiftly dodged the blade and countered with a thrust of his own aimed at the Viking's side. It found home and sank deeply into the Viking, piercing his heart and killing him almost instantly. "Eifion!" He roared again.

Taliesin himself was a squat man, with curly brown hair and piercing blue eyes. Up to three summers past, he had been a warrior in Lord Gwynedd's elite personal bodyguard. That had been until an event involving Lady Gwynedd had resulted in his banishment on pain of death. However, the chance meeting with Eifion, sole survivor of a Viking raid and as it turned out, the sole source of knowledge of the Viking plans to invade Ynys-Mon had changed that. Now the former Warrior Bard was back in a favour of sorts with Lord Gwynedd, helping to defend the kingdom against the Vikings.

A blur in his peripheral caused him to react, bringing his spear upwards and to his right. A loud half metallic, half wooden sound along with the appearance of an axe head told him that he had caught the blade just in time. He followed the axe blade along its hand to see Another tall blond Viking warrior challenged him, armed with a hand axe in one hand and a shield in the other. The warrior's build, combined with a blonde braid poking out from underneath the helmet told Taliesin that this warrior was female. It didn't matter though; Norse warriors were just as deadly whether male or female -- a bit like the Celtic ones.

This moment of study caused Taliesin to delay a little too long -- the warrior saw her chance and yanked sharply on her axe. The squat man was yanked forward onto the incoming wooden shield the Viking held and he crashed headlong into it, losing grip on his spear in the process. Taliesin fell to the floor, head exploding in pain. But even as he fell, he knew that he had to get back up -- a fallen warrior doesn't stay alive for long. Ignoring the pain in his head, he forced himself to roll to the Viking woman's left, springing back upright.

They stared at each other for a few moments, both gathering themselves. Taliesin was still alive, but he had lost his main weapon. He did have a dagger as a side arm, but that meant coming within range of the woman's deadly axe and shield combo.

He drew the dagger. Despite the odds, Taliesin felt calm as he decided that she would have to strike first. Fortunately for him, the simple act of drawing the dagger caused her to do just that -- the woman laughed a loud booming laugh and swung at him.

It was what he was waiting for. Taliesin dodged the first blow with ease. Then he dodged the shield that came immediately after. Then the Viking's backswing came next, which nearly caught him off balance. He staggered back a few steps before recovering. Sensing a moment of victory, the woman to charged forward, axe raised.

Taliesin waited until the very last moment, as the axe was falling for his head to jump underneath the arc of her swinging arm. The axe fell behind him limply. At the same time, he raised his blade up and drove as hard as he could into the woman's side.

He couldn't have planted the blade better if he had tried. It landed in between her ribs and found the soft flesh, digging into her and piercing a lung. Taliesin quickly twisted the dagger and withdrew it, causing the blood to flow from the open jagged wound. For a moment the Viking warrior twisted round to face him, unaware that she had been struck. Then, as the pain and realisation set in, she dropped to her knees, dropping the weapon. Taliesin took the opportunity to move in and delivered another blow to her neck. Then another. Then another. Viking blood sprayed the air and flecked across his face as Taliesin continued to deliver blow upon blow until finally, the woman fell face down dead.

Taliesin drew a long breath. The fight had only lasted a few seconds, but it had sapped a lot of energy from him. He sank to his knees...

That was when he saw him.

Eifion was in the thick of battle, fighting only with a knife. It looked as if the boy had lost his bow and was now in a frenzy, stabbing left, right and in front of him as a horde of Vikings descended on him trying to cut him down. But far from succeeding, the small blond-haired boy, who was less than half the size of a fully grown Viking, was using his size to his advantage as he skipped away from his attackers and landing decisive blows with the knife.

Taliesin felt a small burst of relief and pride. The boy was doing ok. He allowed himself a small smile.

But that was when he saw another Viking, much larger than Taliesin could ever imagine was working his way towards Eifion. He was bare chested, although his bare torso was covered in tattoos. On his head he wore a horned helmet, underneath which a thick black beard sprouted forth. He wielded a large two-handed battle axe, with which he hacked down the Welsh defenders as if they were wheat to be harvested.

Taliesin recognised the man as Gorm, the Viking Chieftain.

He was heading straight towards Eifion, who hadn't noticed him approaching him.

The boy didn't stand a chance!

His tiredness suddenly replaced with dread, Taliesin sprung up and headed towards Eifion, snatching up his dropped spear in the process.

"Eifi!" he shouted as loud as he could. "Eifi, look out!"

Eifion's blood was up. All the pain and distress he had suffered over the course of the last few weeks had resulted in a fearsome rage which had welled up within him and strangely had provided the fuel he needed. What's more, Eifion found that with this new-found bloodlust, he was enjoying exacting revenge on the Viking raiders!

His hands were a blur as he cut and stabbed his way through what seemed like a horde of Vikings. He had lost his bow and arrows a while ago, but Eifion didn't care. He wanted Viking blood. He wanted to see it spray out of their evil bodies as he hacked them. He wanted to smell it, feel it. He wanted the rivers and pools on Ynys-Mon to run red with it, and the trees to glow red with Viking blood. He wanted to sacrifice them all to the Gods. Most of all, he wanted revenge!

The boy was laughing, murderously and uncontrollably as he continued to stab his way through the Vikings. Taliesin had been wrong. He hadn't needed the fear after all -- he had needed the anger!

Eifion stabbed into the belly of a Viking warrior and slashed across, feeling satisfaction as the Viking fell screaming, clutching at the gaping hole as his intestines fell out. As he turned, he felt a shadow fall across him.

"Ég hefði átt að drepa þig þegar ég fékk tækifærið, drengur!"

Eifion turned to the source of the loud, unintelligible sound. A giant, larger than anything Eifion had seen in his life stood, wearing a horned helmet and brandishing a large axe, which he held in two hands. The giant was bare chested and covered in strange markings, that looked satanic

Eifion suddenly felt the elation he had felt earlier abandon him, to be replaced with fear. Taliesin had never mentioned having to face demons! Suddenly he felt that this was it. He was going to die and then end up in the deepest darkest pit of hell, unable to see the rest of his family again. He felt despair descend and pick at his soul, even as the demon screamed and raised his axe.

"Eifion! Nooooo!"

Suddenly a force slammed into the young boy as the demon axe fell, shoving him out of the way of the falling blade. It dug into the ground where moments earlier Eifion had stood.

The boy struggled momentarily against the force holding him down.

"Eifion," the voice said. Then louder as the boy continued to struggle. "Eifion! It's me!"

Eifion stopped struggling and looked at the friendly face of Taliesin. He had obviously gotten him out of the way as the giant was about to land the killer blow. Eifion grinned, his heart elated.

"Taliesin! You came back!"

But the older man's face remained grim.

"You've done well, Eifion, but get out of here. He's too strong for you"

As if on cue the giant roared, as a demon would as he had been robbed of his prey.

"You don't stand a chance against that monster, Taliesin!" Eifion cried, a sense of foreboding rising.

In response, Taliesin got off the boy and turned to face the giant.

"Go," he yelled at Eifion. "I'll keep him busy."

"But..."

"GO!"

A tear fell from Eifion's eye. He had already lost his entire family. And now his only friend in the world was about to face a terrible demonic being alone. He didn't want to feel that loss again.

"Did you not hear me Eifi-bach," Taliesin started, as he picked up a fallen warrior's sword. "Get out of here, now!"

The boy couldn't take any more, he turned and slowly walked away as the Giant roared one last time. As he turned, he heard Taliesin cry out "Come on then you limp dicked Viking bastard!" Moments later he heard steel clash on steel as the two engaged in battle.

Gorm was strong, Taliesin couldn't deny that. Every clash of axe on sword sent reverberations through his arm and down his spine. He also had the advantage of not being tired, whereas Taliesin had been fighting for the best part of twenty minutes. Gorm was also very skilled as a warrior -- that much was obvious as every time Taliesin moved, Gorm would deftly parry the blow as if he knew it was coming. Gorm's attacks on Taliesin, however were a different story. The Welshman was barely catching the Viking berserker's attacks.

Eventually, the inevitable happened. Gorm feinted a strike and Taliesin, in his tiredness reacted, leaving himself open. Gorm could easily have struck with the axe, but instead opted to strike with his closed fist. It impacted on Taliesin's eye with a sickening crunch and the man staggered backwards several steps before collapsing on the floor, dropping his weapon.

Gorm looked at the fallen man as he crawled about aimlessly and smiled. Realising that the man was no longer a threat, he lowered his guard and walked calmly up to Taliesin. He grabbed the man and pulled him up to his feet before grabbing him one handed by the neck and lifting him cleanly off the ground. Taliesin struggled feebly against the Viking's grip as Gorm smiled again at him.

"Þú hefur barist vel, kelt," he said with a wickedness. Then his grip tightened and Taliesin felt the breath being sucked from him. "Deyja nú, og hitt kristna geð þitt ásamt fordæmingu í helvíti," the Viking chieftain grinned.

Despite the impending death, Taliesin managed a smile. In his eyes, he had already won. But the whole point of the exercise was never to win. It was to stop Gorm from killing a defenceless 12-year-old boy whom Gorm had poured misery and despair onto by razing his village to the ground. Hopefully, he had gotten away.

Taliesin's vision had tunnelled now, and the sounds of battle seemed far away. It wouldn't be long now. He touched the wooden love spoon that he had carved three summers ago. Maybe eventually it would find its way back to its intended recipient. He truly hoped so, he had missed the girl since the day he was banished. If he couldn't see her again, then at least she should know how much she had meant to him. Hopefully Eifion would get away and make something of himself too. Maybe even one day be a lord, who knew...

Suddenly and without warning, Taliesin crashed to the ground. The air came rushing back into his lungs and with it, the sounds of battle. The man, struggling to regain his breath looked up, wondering what was going on to see Gorm staring off to his right with an arrow protruding from his shoulder. Taliesin followed the arrow to see a small boy with blond hair some 20 meters away holding a bow and arrow.

"No!" Taliesin screamed, even as Gorm set off towards the boy.

Taliesin had started to walk away, but as he had gotten a safe distance away had turned to look at the battle. He could see Taliesin, armed with a sword struggling to defend himself against the Demon. Each blow deflected seemed to take Taliesin further and further away.

Eventually, Taliesin took a blow from the demon. He staggered back then dropped his sword and fell to the ground. The demon paused for a moment and then lowered his weapon as he walked towards Taliesin.

It was at this point that Eifion knew he couldn't just turn away. Taliesin had protected him and looked out for him since he had bumped into him. Now he needed help, Eifion wasn't going to just leave him -- in a way, Taliesin was all he had now. Even as the demon picked up Taliesin and started to choke the life out him, Eifion looked around, desperate for a weapon. He had no weapon at all, the dagger he had been using had been dropped when Taliesin had tackled him into safety. There was a sword, but that was far too big for the 12-year-old to wield effectively. What could he use???

It was then that his eyes fell upon the bow. It was his hunting bow, that he had restrung to take full size battle arrows. Stuck in the ground, there were 8 arrows. He could use these!

He snatched up the bow and the first arrow. As he strung the first one, he sized up the target. He was about 30m away, far away, but he had taken rabbits out from this distance before.

Okay, here goes. Pull, aim...Go!

The arrow left the bow with a loud twang and shot off towards its target. Seconds later it buried itself in the demon's giant shoulder. It immediately dropped Taliesin and turned to Eifion. The demon glowered at Eifion and the young boy defiantly returned the stare. Eifion no longer felt any anger, fear or the bloodlust that had grasped him earlier. He only had clarity. The demon had to be slain.

The demon also sensed that this was the final confrontation and started towards Eifion as he notched another arrow. The second arrow lodged itself in the giant's chest, but it didn't seem to stop his approach, far from it, he broke into a run.

Another one. Eifion let fly and the arrow struck home again, this time lower down on the demon's left side. Again, it didn't seem to slow it down, merely enrage it as the demon let out a loud war cry. He was now maybe halfway to Eifion, he may get one more shot in, two if he was lucky.

Arrow number four was fired. This one landed in the demon's knee. A bit of a rubbish shot Eifion thought to himself, but it did slow the demon down to a hard jog as opposed to a full sprint. He was now less than 10m away and Eifion could see the blood running from the holes from where the arrows stuck out. Still it kept moving, jerky like a possessed scarecrow.

He was running out of time and Eifion knew it, so he hurried the next shot. The demon raised it's hellish war axe.

"Stattu hærri barni svo ég geti fjarlægt höfuðið af herðum þínum!" it growled in it's demonic tongue.

Eifion responded by loosing off his last shot.

"Twang!"

"Thud!"

The final arrow struck dead centre of the demon, piercing through his heart, smashing through its spine and sticking out of its back, causing him to stagger in his run. But even so, the arrow barely stopped him. Eifion was now out of time. The giant was upon him and there was no time to loose another arrow. Fear gripped the boy as the hell axe fell.

Then everything went black.

Eifion found himself trapped, unable to see and uncomfortably hot. He could no longer hear the battle he had been in previously but could feel a crushing weight on his chest that whisked away all his attempts to breath. He decided that he must be dead. He had to be. His arrows had failed to stop the demon and had failed everyone. He had ended up in Hell because of his failure to stop the heathen Vikings.

Panic overtook the young boy and he started to hyperventilate. Here he was, his soul in hell and pinned down to await whatever punishments that the devil and his demonic host had in store. He struggled to breathe, trying to fight the bile rising in his throat. But even as Eifion struggled a small voice of reason acted from somewhere inside him. He couldn't possibly be dead. He wouldn't be struggling to breath if he was, was that right?

Even as Eifion thought this, the bulk was lifted off him and he was bathed in a cold harsh light. The air filled his lungs was rejuvenating and suddenly Eifion's 12-year-old mind snapped back into focus. He found himself staring into the beaming face of Taliesin framed against the dull grey sky.

"Eifion," he breathed excitedly. "You're alive!"

Eifion continued to suck greedily on the air that had given him his life back.

Taliesin pulled the boy into an embrace, close to tears. "Thank God, my dear boy, you're alive!"

The march back to Gwynedd Hall took 3 days, by which time it was January 25^th. -- St Dynwen's day. A day of worship followed by a small feast had originally been planned, but Rhodri had sent riders ahead with news of the army's victory over the Viking would be invaders. By the time the warriors arrived back at Gwynedd Hall, the small dinner had been upgraded to a grand feast and there were celebrations and tumultuous outpourings of joy, the like of which Eifion had never seen before.