The Terradraconis Saga: The Tale of Myfanwy – Book 4

The date of the wedding was set, the people 

glad, for they loved the bride. They adorned the steeple 

of the temple where prince and saint were to be wed 

with Myfanwy’s roses as thanks, for when darkness spread 

she brought them hope and light, and their loyalty 

was forever secured. Roses for royalty 

and love, evergreen for endurance, white lace 

for purity, and crocuses for hope and grace 

were worn by all for good luck to the fair bride. 

Myfanwy wore a dress of softest material, 

White and embroidered with silver and gold, ethereal. 

She walked with grace, her steps light as air, 
A vision of beauty, beyond compare. 

Her eyes sparkled like stars in the night, 
Filled with love and pure delight. 
In that moment, time seemed to stand still, 
As she moved with elegance and will. 

A belt of gold was clasped ‘round her waist, with graven  

images of sweet things as she entered that haven 

where she was to meet her groom and be tied to him 

until death did they part, that end sad and grim. 

Subjects stood glad in that sacred hall, saw the bride 

be led down the aisle by a priest’s hand. Pride 

swelled in Cedwyn’s heart to have won that kind woman, 

his love for her a beacon, shining bright and human. 

At the altar they stood, hands entwined, with Queen at  

The side of altar and priest behind it. Down they sat, 

Kneeling in prayer, bride and groom, and all who saw 

Prayed for them as well. They stood once more in awe 

And the ageing priest with crook in hand and bright smile said: 

“Dearly loved, this vow thou shalt keep ‘til thou art dead, 

Thy bodies food for worms, thy souls in the company 

Of the divine, in Ieaba’s great harmony. 

These vows, thou shalt repeat, with this understanding.” 

And hand in hand, Cedwyn spoke the vows with 

the priest: “I, Cedwyn, Prince of this kingdom, before kith 

and kin swear love eternal to Myfanwy of the saints. 

I, Cedwyn ap King Emyr – the one who sadly faints 

in the wilderness never to be seen again –  

ap Afon ap Enfys ap Emyr – who, when 

our great enemies came, stood before them 

and slew them, may history never contemn 

him – of the House of Phelan, and Queen Rhiannon 

nighean Seren – who, in famine, 

saved us – nighean Angharad 

of the house of Lanok, Cairán’s daughter who had 

been Kaycen’s granddaughter who ruled longest this land, 

take thee to wife, and in Ieaba’s sight, take thy hand. 

With this ring I swear my love, loyalty, fealty undying, 

to be partaker thy sorrows and joys, ever trying 

to please thee, Myfanwy, daughter of the gods, 

to protect home and hearth and lead thee against all odds 

and protect the traditions of home and country, 

and keep thy honor and righteousness my lovely 

dear. I shall be thy sustenance and provide 

For thee as long as we both live, my bride.”  

And Myfanwy, touched by the love with which he swore, 

said to him: “And I, Myfanwy, sayst to thee, before 

the messengers of Ieaba and thy people, 

that I shall be thy loyal wife, equal 

to thee in Ieaba’s eyes, thy servant in  

times of need, voice of wisdom when thou art in sin, 

thy eager supporter, bringer of life and keeper  

of the house, protector of strength, that deeper 

love should not be known. I shall bring beauty and joy 

to thy life. This, I swear, for the duration of my life.” 

As they exchanged vows, the air shimmered with golden light,  

as if the gods themselves were blessing their union bright. 

Thus the priest blessed their holy matrimony 

and with a band of gold, with great ceremony 

tied their hands together, entwining them 

forever, man and his wife as a gem 

of love and purity and the peoples’ voices 

filled the temple with hope of future joys 

for the bride and groom as they made their exit. 

Oh! but how short their happiness was, how short 

the joys of marriage. For troubles at court 

and winter came and called Cedwyn thence 

and Myfanwy, with teary eyes, could sense 

that her time was coming, for evil flew swiftly 

on the wind, like a shadow, moving softly 

through the trees, o’er the hills and mountains 

festering and growing, taking turning inns 

and houses into infirmaries filled with death 

as man, woman, and child took their last breath. 

The Northern Kingdom groaned, cried out. Myfanwy 

worked to nurse them back, but the curse of the century 

was running its course and would not be sated, 

and woe to those who caught it, for they were ill-fated 

subject to a death of blood and boils, pus and pain, 

no matter if they were rich or poor, humble or vain. 

Myfanwy wept o’er them, and love for her quickly died 

for though kindness she gave them, she seemed a guide 

to death, no longer to life and light, and she was cursed 

by those whom she loved and so carefully nursed. 

Cedwyn returned with his men, his horse weary, 

His and his men’s pain great, for they had seen the dreary 

Villages inhabited by corpses ravaged by plague 

blue and black, bloody and dirty, lying where they prayed 

for forgiveness and comfort in their last moments. 

He dismounted his horse with sharp fragments 

of this in his mind and as he embraced 

Myfanwy, her arms so desperately wrapped ‘round his waist 

the dread lump formed beneath his arm and he foresaw 

his death, his wife’s pain, and prayed for the awe 

of Ieaba to grace him when his soul was sundered.  

The fever soon came, the change in color, and he suffered 

as Myfanwy and the kingdom wept over the beloved 

prince. Blood stained the sheets and the dreaded doctor’s gloved 

hands touched the head that burned with fever, pronounced him 

as good as dead and Cedwyn’s life began to dim 

As his kin was forced to leave him to preserve their 

lives. But one stayed with him as he fought for air 

and kept constant vigil o’er his filth-stained bed, 

 prayed for Ieaba’s mercy, kissed Cedwyn’s head 

And blessèd Lady of Roses – Myfanwy’s time had come. 

Placing her hand upon his head, Myfanwy put 

forth all her power, and with eyes black as soot 

forfeited her immortality and took the plague 

upon herself, and she began to ache 

as her body began to die, the curse 

of mortality upon her as that perverse 

disease took hold in her blood, drained her life 

as Cedwyn’s life returned and that land was rife 

with healing. Cedwyn awoke from the shadow of death 

and gathered her in his arms, and her breath 

grew shallow, her pulse weak and he laid her on a  

bed soft and clean. Now the roles were swapped, her way 

leading to death, him standing vigil o’er her, 

weeping as he prayed for her life. And in a voice  

weak, she said unto him: “Do not cry, for ‘twas my choice 

 and my calling to take this mortal life, to marry  

thee, this was my sacred burden to carry. 

Cry not, my dear husband, for I return 

to my home, a land past this world, where we burn 

with the glory of Ieaba, that thou shalt find 

when thy soul quiteth this sad world and bind 

to Ieaba as one of his messengers. 

O! Cedwyn, my love, keep me! How my life blurs 

before mine eyes. I shall return swiftly home 

much humbled, for how short the life thou dost roam, 

how painful this life is, yet how joyful, 

how full of hope as thou lookest to thy awful 

fate as thy bodies die. Mortal thou art, 

but greatly blessed. Store this moral in thy heart 

that thou may not lose faith in the life thou livest.” 

And Cedwyn grasped her cold hand and took heart  

at her words though pain as though from a dart  

spread through him as he whispered his marriage vows  

into her ear, kissed her brow, and brought her boughs 

of evergreen and roses freshly cut, to  

cover the scent of death as the sickness grew  

and overtook her, who with Cedwyn prayed  

and said her vows, until her breath failed and she laid 

in her bed, her face still beautiful even in death.  

Upon it spread designs said to be from the Neath,  

theland of spirits and things unknown that  

no man alive had seen. It was at  

that moment that Cedwyn truly knew that she  

was no human maid, but a creature free  

of our constraints, a servant of the gods.  

His heart shattered, tears flowed in endless floods. 

He clung to her lifeless form, his sobs a mournful song,  

each tear a testament to a love so strong.  

Memories of their time together flashed before his eyes,  

each moment a precious jewel, now veiled in goodbyes. 

He cried out to the heavens, his voice raw with despair,  

“Why must thou be taken? This fate is so unfair!”  

His soul ached with a pain too deep to bear,  

as he held her close, whispering a final prayer. 

“Forgive me, for I could not save thee, thy sacrifice,  

thy love, I will forever pursue. In this life  

and the next, thy memory will remain,  

a beacon of light in my heart, amidst the pain.” 

As dawn broke, casting a pale light on her face,  

Cedwyn let go, though it felt like a disgrace. 

 With trembling hands, he laid her to rest, 

 his heart heavy, his soul distressed. 

He placed a single rose upon her chest,  

a symbol of their love, now put to the test.  

And as he walked away, his steps slow and weak,  

he vowed to honor her, though his heart would always seek. 

For in the depths of his grief, a promise he made,  

to live a life worthy of the love they portrayed.  

And though the pain would never fully depart,  

Myfanwy’s love would forever guide his heart. 

He buried her, the holy maid, on the palace  

grounds, and the kingdom came, once callous 

and cruel towards her, now thanking her for 

her sacrifice, singing her praises more  

and more unto the heavens. And there she lies 

still and there her beloved roses rise 

and cover the ground where she once trod with 

our prince, now long dead, said by some to be myth, 

but I shall let thee decide, weary traveler. 

*** 

“Thus the tale ends, the Tale of Myfanwy, our 

beloved Lady of Roses, whose flower 

now decorates the ground and whose praises 

we sing. But look now! The sun raises 

its first beams to grace the day, short though they may 

be. The play hast ended, and merry and gay 

we hath been on this festival day. 

Now come, for the morning sky turns grey 

and there is yet time for thee to sleep.” 

“Nay, kind woman,” Moireg spoke, belly full 

limbs warm, and heart content, he pulled his wool 

cloak ‘round him. “Matters of repentance 

that have plagued me long call me hence.” 

leaving the tavern, Moireg’s heart was light 

from the tale and as the stars took flight 

as the sun rose, he came to a clearing 

of roses unwithered and nearing 

the center, he knelt and cried out to  

the sky, “What am I, a poor soul, to do!? 

For I hath killed and sinned, brought pain to all 

I knew. I am faint. Tell me ere I fall.” 

And a voice from heaven called to Moireg – 

Varjo the dreaded who had forced many to beg 

for their lives only to kill them still – “Thou 

hast traveled far and repented and now 

thou art clean. Rest. Thy time hast come at last.” 

and thus, to Ieaba’s realm, Moireg’s soul passed, 

as the voice from heaven echoed, a divine song so blessed 

lifting Moireg’s soul, guiding him to his final rest.