Rise of Wales

The long wooden table in the great hall of Harlech Castle gleamed in the dim light of the hearth fire. It was a space of ancient stone and rough-hewn beams, the walls adorned with banners and the symbols of the Welsh resistance. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows upon the stone floor, creating an atmosphere of somber warmth. The air was thick with the smells of roast meats, bread, and simmering stews. But the comfort of the meal belied the tension that hung heavily in the air.

Owain Glyndŵr, sat at the head of the table, his presence commanding despite the fatigue in his eyes. His long brown hair had strands of grey and thick beard framed his face, but it was the weight of his years—tired, battle-worn—that seemed most present tonight. His gaze, typically fierce, seemed distant as he stared into the fire, his thoughts far away.

To his left, Marred ferch Dafydd, his wife, sat poised yet clearly concerned. She wore a fine gown, stealing glances at Owain, but her mind was elsewhere.

Gruffudd, their eldest son, was sitting across from his father. His expression was set, his brow furrowed as he chewed on a piece of chicken, clearly troubled. Beside him, Ieuan, his brother, played with his food, his eyes nervously flicking between the adults. Often seen as the quieter of the sibilings, he had always looked up to his older brothers, but there was something in his eyes tonight that suggested even he could feel the growing pressure around them.

To the side, Catrin, th eldest daughter sat in quiet grace, though her usual composed demeanor seemed to have cracked this evening. Her husband Edmund Mortimer, a English nobleman married to Catrin for political alliance, was absent—part of the growing rift between Welsh nobility and their support for Owain. Catrin's worry was palpable as she tried to maintain an air of politeness, but her mind was with her husband, wondering if he was among those who might betray them soon.

And then, there was Ieuan, the youngest of the family, but no less sharp in mind. At 17, his eyes held the weight of his lineage, though he was still searching for his place in the world. His posture was stiff, his eyes darting between his family members. He hadn't spoken much this evening, but his mind was working, calculating, plotting. He knew the stakes of their conversation tonight.

The meal had begun in silence, each person pushing their food around on their plates, avoiding each other's gazes. The crackle of the fire was the only sound, followed by the clinking of utensils against plates and the occasional mutterings of the servants moving through the room.

Finally, it was Gruffudd who broke the silence. He set his knife down with a decisive motion, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. He turned to his father with a grim expression.

"Father," Gruffudd began, his voice firm but laced with a quiet dread, "We have received word from Aberystwyth.... The castle has fallen."

For a moment, the room was still. The fire crackled louder, as if trying to fill the silence that followed. Owain's face remained impassive for a moment, but the lines around his eyes deepened, and he let out a slow breath. His grip tightened on the goblet of wine before him, but he didn't immediately respond.

"Sooner than i expected," Owain said, his voice surprisingly calm. There was no anger, no desperation—just resignation. "We've been holding on by thread for far too long." He paused, his eyes staring not at his son, but through him, as if seeing something beyond the walls of the room. "It was only a matter of time before they took it."

Marred, sitting beside him, reached out to place a hand on his arm, her fingers pressing into the muscle of his forearm as if trying to steady him. Owain didn't flinch, but his eyes met hers for a brief moment, his expression softening slightly before hardening again.

Gruffudd, however, was not convinced by his father's calm. "What now?" he asked, a fire sparking in his tone. "Do we stand by and let them take every last hold we have? Every day they push further into our land."

Owain looked at his son with a steely gaze.

Ieuan, his youngest, stood across from him, offering a suggestion that was anything but what Owain had hoped to hear. The castle lost, the rebellion faltering.

"You should surrender, father," Ieuan said, his voice steady but carrying the weight of his belief. "Negotiate with the English. Offer terms before we lose everything. The war is not lost yet, but if we don't act wisely, we will be slaughtered."

Owain's gaze darkened immediately. His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowing as a surge of anger rose within him. The thought of surrender, of bending his knee to the English invaders, was anathema to everything he had fought for. His fists clenched at his sides, and the air in the room seemed to grow colder, more suffocating.

"You—" His voice was dangerously low, a snarl forming at the edges. "You sound just like your whore mother."

The words landed like a slap, ringing out in the tense silence. The shock in Ieuan's eyes was visible for a brief moment before they hardened, the sting of the insult cutting through the pain in his chest. His father's words were like knives, but the anger in his gut fueled his next move.

Ieuan took a sharp step back, his hand clenching into a fist, but he didn't speak. His heart hammered in his chest, but his pride, his resolve, refused to break. He didn't belong in this place, not when his father saw him as nothing more than the reflection of his mother.

He turned away, his breath ragged, a storm brewing inside him. "You are not my father!" he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling with a mix of fury and grief.

Without waiting for anyone to stop him, Ieuan stormed out of the hall, his boots thundering on the stone floor. His departure left the hall in an eerie silence. The family members present exchanged glances, caught between the desire to console Owain and the shock of what had just transpired.

Gruffudd, still sitting at the table, was the first to speak, his voice careful, hesitant. "Father, calm yourself. He's only a boy. He didn't mean to—"

"Shut your mouth, Gruffudd!" Owain barked, spinning on his eldest son with venom in his voice. His fists were clenched, trembling with anger. "He is no son of mine! He is a coward."

Marred, who had been standing nearby, moved closer, her eyes wide with concern. "Owain, please," she said softly, her voice gentle, though the tension in her voice was undeniable.

Owain's voice was filled with disgust as he paced furiously. "That boy! Would have us bend the knee to those English cunts who take our lands, surrender everything we've fought for. He is not worthy of this family!"

The words stung more than Owain realized, but he didn't care. The walls were closing in on him—his rebellion falling apart, his own flesh and blood questioning his leadership. The weight of it all was suffocating, and the only way he knew to release the pressure was through his rage and breath coming in short, furious bursts.

The room was silent for a long moment as Owain sat there, his shoulders hunched in defeat. The storm outside seemed to reflect his inner turmoil, relentless and unforgiving. Marred stood still, her expression a mix of sorrow and concern, while Gruffudd and Maredudd exchanged uncertain glances.

Maredudd, trying to break the silence, spoke up quietly. "Father….what is the way forward?"

There was a heavy silence, the only sound in the room the crackle of the fire. The tension was thick, "We fight, as we always have. But this war... Gruffudd you will ride for Llangollen as we planned to rally our allies and take that boy with you," Owain said with an authoritative tone.

There was an uneasy silence as Gruffudd took in his father's words. Marred glanced between her husband and her eldest son, her eyes flickering with an unspoken question. She could feel the tension in the air—the undercurrent of a conflict neither of them was ready to face but could not avoid.

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Many of the characters have Welsh names that carry deep meanings rooted in the language.

1. Owain

English Equivalent: Owen or Eugene (meaning "well-born" or "noble")

2. Gruffudd

English Equivalent: Griffith (meaning "strong" or "proud")

3. Ieuan

English Equivalent: John or Evan (meaning "God is gracious")

4. Catrin

English Equivalent: Catherine (meaning "pure" or "clear")

5. Marred

English Equivalent: Margaret (meaning "pearl")

6. Maredudd

English Equivalent: Meredith (meaning "sea lord" or "great ruler")