Gwydion and his uncle had been wandering the garden for some time now, walking the graveled paths, talking quietly of personal things. Of Gwydion’s daughter and of Dinaswyn, Myrrdin’s sister, back at Caer Dathyl. Of the latest group of apprentices, of the most promising journeymen.
Gwydion only fully trusted three people on this Earth; his brothers Uthyr and Amatheon, and his uncle, Myrrdin. Myrrdin had not only always been kind, he had also been wise, seeing early on the damage his sister, Celemon, was doing to Gwydion and Amatheon, and doing what he could to minimize it.
During the time he was Ardewin’s heir, he frequently invited Gwydion and Amatheon to stay at Y Ty Dewin for as much of the holidays as his sister would agree to, sparing them lonely and tension-wracked days at Caer Dathyl.
All his life Gwydion had known that his uncle cared for him. But he also knew that his uncle cared greatly about his responsibilities as Ardewin of Kymru. And this was something he would find very hard to give up.
Their conversation grew more disjointed. Myrrdin was obviously waiting for Gwydion to unburden his heart. And Gwydion was waiting for the courage.
At last he swallowed hard and tried to begin. “Uncle . . .” He trailed off, not knowing how to say what he must.
“Ah, ready at last then? Here,” Myrrdin said, gesturing to a stone bench. “Let me rest my old bones while you tell me whatever you are trying so hard to say.”
“I tested Arthur privately. Just Susanna, Ygraine, and Uthyr were there.”
“Why would you do that?” Myrrdin asked, perplexed.
“Because I knew what we would see. And we did. He has the makings of a High King.”
Myrrdin blinked in surprise. “A High King? It is time again?”
“It is time,” Gwydion agreed, grimly. “If I can keep him alive long enough,” Gwydion rushed on. “I persuaded Uthyr and Ygraine to agree to have Arthur sent away and brought up in secret.”
“How were you able to get them to agree to that?” Myrrdin asked in astonishment.
“By telling them the truth. That Cerrunnos and Cerridwen have come to me in my dreams and warned me that there were traitors among us. Ygraine said that Uthyr would be able to protect his own son. But I said that he could not.”
“Traitors among us,” Myrrdin said quietly, “who seek to harm the boy. Who seek to keep Kymru without a defender. And who are these traitors?”
“The Protectors would not say.” He told his uncle of the recurring dream of the shadow that menaced the young eagle. “There was one other thing I told them that made them agree to it.”
“And that was?” Myrrdin asked softly, his keen eyes searching his nephew’s face.
Gwydion took a deep breath. “I told them that you would bring up Arthur.”
“You told them what?” Myrrdin exclaimed, stunned. “But Arthur has to be brought up in secret! I can’t do that as Ardewin!”
“That’s right, you can’t,” Gwydion said steadily. “Are you asking me to give that up? To step down as Ardewin and just disappear?” Myrrdin asked incredulously.
“Yes.”
“Gwydion,” Myrrdin said patiently, “I can’t.”
“Why?”
“For one thing, there’s nobody to take my place here.”
“There’s Elstar. It’s what you’ve been training her to do, after all.”
“Elstar’s too young,” Myrrdin snapped.
“Myrrdin, she’s my age.”
“Oh, Gwydion,” Myrrdin said impatiently, “you’re too young. Didn’t you know that?”
“What about Cynan at Tegeingl? He’s of the House of Llyr.”
“Cynan! Oh, he’s a good man and a good Dewin, but he couldn’t lead a horse out of a stable, much less the Dewin of Kymru.” Myrrdin stood, looking down at his nephew. “I’m sorry. You ask the impossible. Don’t you see that? Being Ardewin isn’t about power, or prestige. It’s about leadership and its burdens. It’s about understanding the people who look to you. And, by understanding them, giving them the means within themselves to be the best that they can be. It’s about guiding men and women to use their gifts, to explore within. I can’t give that responsibility into uncaring or unskilled hands. And I won’t.”
“Uncle—” Gwydion pleaded.
“I tell you no. Get someone else to raise Arthur. I have a duty.”
“Myrrdin, Arthur is your duty.”
“You know nothing,” Myrrdin said flatly. “Nothing.”
Myrrdin turned to leave determined not to hear another word. Gwydion grasped his uncle’s sleeve, refusing to let go. “Wait. He needs you. He’s going to have power at his fingertips that you and I could never truly imagine,” Gwydion went on, the words hastily tumbling out of his mouth. “And he’s going to have to be taught how to use it. And how not to use it.” Myrrdin stopped struggling to stare at his nephew as Gwydion went on, still clutching his uncle’s sleeve. “He will have to be compassionate, hard, honest, cunning. He’ll have to have a heart that can love but cannot be broken. Who else in all of Kymru could teach him these things? Who else but you?”