Chereads / Rise of Wales / Chapter 25 - Chapter 25 Return

Chapter 25 - Chapter 25 Return

The wind howled as men and Edmund Mortimer's horse carried him toward Harlech Castle's entrance, the stone walls rising against the sky like a fortress of defiance. The journey had been long and weary, but his return was a necessary one. As the gates opened to allow him entry, the first sight that greeted him was the familiar form of Catrin standing just inside the courtyard. Her face, a mix of relief and concern, softened as she saw him dismount.

"Husband!" she called out, her voice trembling with emotion.

Before he could even respond, she rushed toward him, her arms open. Edmund, despite the heavy burden of his thoughts, found himself pulling her close, inhaling the scent of her hair, the warmth of her embrace reminding him of a world beyond the war.

"You're back," she whispered, holding him tight, her voice muffled against his chest.

"I am beloved," he muttered, his hands gently squeezing her shoulders, his mind a whirlwind of worries. He could feel the tightness in his chest and the weight of everything he had seen in the south.

Catrin pulled back slightly, her eyes searching his face for any sign of injury or distress. Her two young daughters, looking hesitant but curious, stood by her side. Edmund smiled, bending down to scoop them up, one in each arm. The warmth of their small bodies comforted him in a way that nothing else could.

"How are my girls?" he asked, his tone softening as he kissed the top of their heads.

"They've been asking for you," Catrin said, a smile tugging at her lips. "But they miss their father in more ways than one."

Edmund met her gaze, his heart heavy with the knowledge that his absence weighed on her too. Still, he couldn't ignore the urgency that burned within him.

"Where is your father?" he asked, looking past her toward the castle entrance.

"He's in the chapel," Catrin replied, her voice tinged with concern. "He's been there for hours. Edmund, why not rest first? You look exhausted."

Edmund shook his head, his grip tightening on his daughters. "No time for that. I must speak with him." His tone was resolute, and Catrin knew better than to argue. She nodded and stepped aside as Edmund strode toward the chapel.

Inside the chapel, the flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the stone walls, creating an atmosphere of solemnity. Owain stood near the altar, his figure stooped, deep in thought. Beside him, his wife, Marred, stood quietly, her hands folded in prayer.

"Edmund," Marred greeted him, her voice low and respectful. She stepped outside, allowing the men space to speak.

Without wasting a moment, Owain turned to face Edmund, his expression unreadable. "What news do you bring?" he asked, his voice grave. "Though I'd prefer to hear how many men did you brought first?"

"Less than three hundred," Edmund replied, his voice filled with a mixture of frustration and disbelief. "Most men in Ceredigion have betrayed us. Traitors, all of them." His fists clenched at his sides as he struggled to suppress the wave of anger rising within him.

Owain sighed deeply, lowering his gaze for a moment before standing from the bench he had been sitting on. "We still have Harlech and the north. All is not lost," he said, his voice calm and measured.

Edmund shook his head sharply. "Their army is growing by the day! Are you suggesting we cower in this castle? They have monstrous siege weapons... I've seen their terror firsthand!" His voice rose with frustration, the weight of what he'd seen in the south burning within him.

Owain met his gaze, unwavering. "Their cannons are not accurate," he said, his voice firm. "They will be ineffective. Our castle is on higher ground. We will not fall."

Edmund's frustration grew, and he pointed sharply at the stone walls of the chapel, as though the very castle they stood in was the cause of his frustration. "And all of this," he said, his voice hard, "will be rubble. We will burn. The walls, the people. All of it."

Owain's face remained impassive, though there was a flicker of something in his eyes. "When you betrayed the crown and allied with me, Edmund," he said, his voice growing colder, "you knew the risks. Such a warrior you used to be, but now... is it regret?"

Edmund felt his chest tighten, his breath catching. The weight of the choice he'd made hung heavily on him, his past at odds with the man he had become. His thoughts, however, were interrupted by the memory of Catrin's face, of his daughters, and the future he had chosen. His response was quiet but tinged with bitterness. "Warrior? I have a wife and children," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Owain's eyes narrowed slightly, and there was a long pause before he spoke again. "I understand the weight of your family, Edmund. But don't forget—this is our fight, and our duty. You can't look back now, not when so much is at stake."

The words cut deep, but Edmund steeled himself, swallowing the bitterness rising in his throat. He stepped forward, closer to Owain, his voice dropping into a low murmur. "Then tell me, what are we going to do? How do we stop them?"

Owain studied him for a moment, as if weighing his answer. Then, with an almost imperceptible nod, he spoke. "We hold. We fight with everything we have left. And when they break, we make them wish they'd never dared to march against us."

Edmund stared at him for a moment, the weight of his words settling heavily upon him. He could feel the resolve in Owain's voice, and yet doubt gnawed at him. Was there enough strength left to hold? Could they endure against the forces closing in on them?

"I hope you're right," Edmund muttered, though he didn't fully believe it.

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The salty wind whipped through the air as Prince Henry stood at the bow of his ship, staring out at the vast, gray sea. The ship creaked underfoot as the sails billowed, catching the wind and pulling them away from the rugged coastline. His face was set, his eyes narrowed, a grim determination etched on his features. The sight of Aberystwyth Castle—now abandoned and crippled—lingered in his mind. The castle that had been a symbol of resistance had fallen, and with it, the last stronghold of Owain Glyndŵr's rebellion in this part of Wales.

Behind him, his men were securing the ship, preparing for the journey back to London. The faintest traces of sunlight broke through the overcast sky, but they did little to warm the cold that gripped the prince's bones. He felt the weight of the war on his shoulders. It had gone on far too long.

His squire, a young man named Ewan, stepped up to him, carrying a bundle of maps and letters. "Your Grace," he began, hesitant but respectful, "Was marching the army that early, the right choice if we waited...."

Prince Henry turned slowly, the edge of his cloak fluttering in the wind. His expression was cold, but his voice cut through the air with a sharp clarity. "No, they expect us to grow our army and we must not give more time to Glyndŵr and have him regroup . It is imperative we put an end to this rebellion once and for all."

Ewan looked startled but quickly masked his reaction. "But Harlech is well-defended, Your Grace. The Welsh have fortified it heavily."

Henry's eyes burned with intensity as he fixed his gaze on the young squire. "Let them fortify it," he sneered. "Walls and stone will not save them. They only delay the inevitable."

He turned his gaze back to Aberystwyth, now just a distant silhouette against the roiling sea. His voice dropped lower, filled with an almost palpable anger. "Glyndŵr's rebellion has been a thorn in the side of England long enough. We will not stop until the last of his supporters are crushed, and their castles reduced to rubble. Harlech will fall, just like the rest."

Ewan swallowed, his hand gripping the edge of the ship a little tighter.

The ship began to pull away from the shore, the distant silhouette of Aberystwyth Castle disappearing into the fog. Prince Henry stood tall, watching the fading outline as if it were the last echo of the rebellion itself. He spoke one final line, a promise to the winds. "Harlech will fall. And when it does, the rebellion will be nothing more than a memory."