Ethan sat at the table, his eyes lingering on Callwen, who was noticeably tense. The man, in his late twenties with reddish hair, looked unsettled. His hands were trembling, and despite being in an alehouse, Callwen hadn't touched any ale.
Ethan nudged a cup toward him, watching as the young man stared at it for a moment. "Why don't you drink?" Ethan asked, his voice laced with curiosity. "You look terrible."
Callwen's eyes flickered, and with a rush, he grabbed the cup and gulped down the drink in one swift motion. Almost immediately, he choked, his face reddening as he spluttered, trying to catch his breath.
Ethan chuckled softly at the scene, leaning back in his chair. "Easy," he teased.
After a moment of silence, Ethan's expression turned serious. He leaned in slightly, his tone shifting. "Can I ask you a question, Callwen?"
Callwen, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, gave a quick nod. "Of course, my liege," he said, his voice now attentive.
"If you had the power to end this war by ending the lives of thousands.... would you do it?" Ethan asked, his words deliberate. His thoughts lingered, dangerous and tempting—What if I could create something to break them? Firearms... diseases. His mind raced with possibilities. He knew how to craft weapons of destruction, things that could cripple civilizations.
Callwen's heart skipped a beat. He stared at Ethan, wondering why such a question was being posed to him. His mind raced, and the words formed in his throat before he could stop them. "The rebellion took everything from me," he said quietly, his gaze dropping. "My family....killed, everything was burnt down." He paused, his chest tightening with the weight of old wounds. "I became a bandit, just like my uncle who took me in. The english cunts.... would take our land, kill our men, and take our freedom …" His voice hardened. "The world's just a pile of shit and well lord, I would."
Ethan let out a deep sigh, nodding gravely. Of course a bandit say such a thing, why did i even spare his life.... He sat back and gestured toward Gruffudd. "Callwen," he said, "Tell my brother to meet me outside, I need to speak to him."
Callwen, still shaken, stood up, brushing past the others in the alehouse. He moved to Gruffudd's table, where the man was lounging with a woman on his lap, laughing softly. Callwen whispered to Gruffudd.
Gruffudd, still chuckling, gave the woman a playful tap on her back. "I'll be back, little bird," he said, standing and winking at her before heading out the door.
Outside, Gruffudd rubbed his hands together, his mood shifting to one of impatience. "You better have called me for a good reason out here brother," he said.
Ethan met his brother's gaze, his face tight with worry. "Lord Waladr has betrayed us," he said, his voice loud. "As we speak, his messenger is preparing his horse to ride for Chirk, to alert the English.... He plans to keep us here, delay our movements, and sabotage us!"
Gruffudd stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide with disbelief. "Hold on, hold on," he said, raising a hand. "How do you know all this?"
Ethan swallowed, "A dream," he said quietly, locking eyes with Gruffudd.
"A dream?" Gruffudd raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "Is this some kind of joke?"
Ethan leaned in closer, his voice low and urgent. "This is no joke. These dreams… they've started to come true."
Gruffudd's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
Ethan pressed on, "I dreamed of you, telling that man to lose the drinking contest..."
Gruffudd recoiled slightly, his hand freezing mid-motion. "How do you know of this?! Did he tell you??" he demanded, his tone now serious.
Ethan's chest tightened, but he didn't back down. "I just know," he said quietly. "And I know Waladr's planning to betray us. Please, listen."
Gruffudd studied Ethan for a long moment, before finally nodding. "Fine. I'll send my men to look into this." Ethan eyed him, did it work...
Meanwhile, the messenger preparing to leave for Chirk was unsuspecting of the impending danger. As he readily prepared to mount his horse, he was approached by two of Gruffudd's men—Gwyn and Tarwyn. The messenger, confused, saw Gwyn and Tarwyn swiftly closed the distance. Tarwyn unsheathed his sword slightly, signaling the man to come along.
The messenger, realizing he had been compromised, broke into a run. Gwyn, however, was faster. He tackled the messenger to the ground with brutal force, knocking the wind out of him. "You little rat!" he spat, his fist landing with a sharp crack against the man's head, knocking him unconscious.
Outside a room, Ethan and Gruffudd listened to the distant sounds of the struggle, hearing the man's screams. They exchanged a glance before Gruffudd sighed heavily. "We'll deal with this," he muttered.
In the morning, as Waladr took his usual walk from his manor, he was met with the unexpected—Gruffudd's men, who seized him without warning. "What is the meaning of this?!" Waladr sputtered, struggling to break free.
Gruffudd stepped forward, his voice cold and unwavering. "Lord Waladr, you have conspired with the English against your own people." He raised a hand dismissively. "Well, we were not really your people, were we? You'll be tried, and if found guilty... you'll be hanged."
Waladr's face twisted in shock. "No, Stop this nonsense! you can't do this! Unhand me!" He shouted, but it was futile. His wife and son watched from a distance in horror, unable to intervene as Gruffudd's men dragged him away.
The scene was set.