Igerna returned to her place on the bench and looked to her husband, pity and hope reflecting in her eyes.
“As a token of my sorrow,” Owain said, “I bring you a gift.”
He called Merlin, who stood and stepped over to Owain. Receiving the sword from his son, he unwrapped it and held it carefully by the blade with the hilt aloft. Reflecting the morning light, its newly polished steel blazed forth before the silent crowd. Its bronze handle glowed warmly, and the red glass inlay on the guard and pommel shimmered before the High King’s startled eyes.
“My lord, I failed to be the blade beside you, so I now offer you this blade. I am but a smith now. A swordsmith. And I give to you my most excellent work.”
Stepping forward, Owain placed the hilt in Uther’s hand, then backed away.
Uther looked vacantly at the blade … and then his shoulders began to shake. He raised the sword up, and shouted, “I should strike your head off for all you deserve.” He threw the sword down on the Rock of Judgment with a clang and turned away.
Sadness rolled through Owain as part of his soul dashed away with the discarded sword. It had been bitter parting the first time. Could he bear it twice? How could he show his sorrow? Was there anything to break through Uther’s pain?
Movement from behind caught Owain’s eye. Colvarth, the old bard, took a step forward, holding his harp and staring with luminous eyes. At Owain? Or someone else? Who was the man looking at?
Merlin.
The bard gazed at Owain’s son, who was sitting on the grass and had unslung his own small harp from its bag. Merlin’s eyes were tightly shut, and he silently fingered the strings as if to relieve the pressure of the situation.
Colvarth. Yes, of course. An idea buried deep within Owain sprang to life. A chance, though slim. Owain raised his voice. “My king! If you cannot forgive and if you cannot receive my sword, then in sorrow and grief I offer you my most cherished as a gift.”
“What can you offer me?” Uther said, not bothering to turn around. “There is nothing more precious than your life. Begone from here, or I will take it from you.”
“My king, please …”
Uther turned in a rage. “I said —”
“I offer you my son!”
The king faltered.
Like a partridge from the brush, Merlin burst upward and gripped Owain’s shoulder tightly. “Tas,” he whispered, “what are you doing?”
“What I do is for your best. You’ll be provided for when I’m gone.”
Worry lines knotted his son’s brow. How had Merlin aged so much in these few short weeks? Would he be grateful for being placed where his needs would always be met? His future had always weighed heavily on Owain. One day his own arm would fail by injury or old age, and he dreaded to see his son a beggar.
But what would happen if Uther agreed? Owain prayed he would allow Merlin to serve Colvarth, as the two were so alike in spirit. Otherwise, his son would be forced to do menial chores at Uther’s fortress in Kembry. Owain consoled himself that at least the work wouldn’t be harder than smithing. If only they’d spoken about it. But he’d not fully foreseen this, and now it was too late.
“Your son?” Uther asked as he surveyed Merlin.
“Yes.”
“How is it he wears a torc of such majesty? And yet … and yet …”
The High King stepped closer and peered into Merlin’s disfigured eyes. “Are you the son of Gwevian myr Atleuthun? Though you have suffered, you bear the face of that house.”
Pride coursed through Owain as Merlin answered the king with shoulders square and head high. “I am of that lineage, my lord. And though not wholly blind, I am told eyes are ever deceptive. I also know God’s strong hand holds more boons than just sight.”
“Well said.” Uther answered. “And what are you called?”
“In the tongue of the Romans, I am named Merlinus, but my mother named me Merlin.”
“Where is your mother?” Uther stepped back and scanned the crowd. “Is she present? It’s been many years since your father and I stood upon the great rock of her house.”
Merlin blinked a few times and then answered. “She is dead, my lord. Fourteen years.”
Uther looked to Owain for confirmation. Blinking back tears, Owain nodded in confirmation. The king closed his eyes, tightened his lips, and nodded.