cydlawenhau: the blog

Once there was a young princess by the name of Ang­harad who lived in the cas­tle Caerblodeu deep in the heart of a for­est. She was renowned through­out all the lands about as quite pretty and rea­son­ably smart. She was not a clever as the prince in the king­dom by the moun­tains and she was not beau­ti­ful like the princess in the king­dom by the coast but she wasn’t a witch either so that bode well for her future career as monarch.

The princess was fond of tying rib­bons through her long chest­nut hair and Emyr, the prince from the king­dom to the South, liked her so she was always in good sup­ply of ribbons.

The princess from the king­dom by the coast – like most of the princess in that area – was a witch. Lleucu was not a pow­er­ful witch, but she car­ried the air of pos­si­bly becom­ing one once she sorted out the pim­ples and grew into her crown a lit­tle. This is impor­tant to know, because no per­son in their right mind slights a soon to be pow­er­ful witch queen.

Emyr did not like Lleucu – mostly because Ang­harad hated her – and when they were both six­teen, rejected her not so sub­tle hints to have him offer her mar­riage. This turned out to be a very bad idea and although she took it with good grace to his face, Lleucu began to plot his down fall.

It took a year for her plans to fall into place, and within that year Emyr’s father’s for­tunes fell mak­ing it nec­es­sary for him to marry as soon as pos­si­ble. There was a great deal of fuss made over who he should marry, but really there was no bet­ter choice than the girl of his dreams: their king­doms were side by side and Angharad’s father was rich enough.

At Ang­harad and Emyr’s engage­ment ball Lleucu pre­sented Emyr with a small pack­age to give to his intended on her behalf: “I can not deliver it myself,” she said, “for she will not talk to me, but every young woman deserves a beau­ti­ful thing.”

Emyr duti­fully pre­sented the pack­age to Ang­harad, say­ing it was from him because they both hated Lleucu. Ang­harad unwrapped the small box to find a plain but beau­ti­ful hair rib­bon within. It was cobalt blue with gold edg­ing. By coin­ci­dence the colours matched her dress and she com­manded Emyr to plait the rib­bon into her hair straight away.

As he began a silence fell across the room as the crowd watched. With each twist of her hair Ang­harad winced, though Emyr’s plait­ing was as gen­tle as could be. She felt as though her din­ner dis­agreed with her. But as the last twist of hair and rib­bon fell into place Emyr was thrown away by a pow­er­ful kick from the hind legs of an enor­mous chest­nut mare. Lleucu had tricked them both.

“Oh dear!” the witch explained. “Was that that rib­bon? Oh curses, it appears Ang­harad will have to remain a horse and you will have to marry me.

“Non­sense. Off with her head,” Emyr’s father cried.

Lleucu turned on her smoothest voice and turned to Emyr. “But dear prince, if you unknot your beloved’s hair for more than an hour surely you both shall die. Unless you were to take her place, of course. I leave you your deci­sion to make and your king­dom to ruin.” And with that Lleucu charged out of the hall.

Angharad’s father did not take his only child’s trans­for­ma­tion well and within a month was on his death bed. Emyr called upon all of the wise men of all the lands and the lawyers too. It was decided that unless she was a human in her king­dom for half of every month Ang­harad could not be Regent. It was fur­ther decided that a horse could not marry a man, no mat­ter his per­sonal pref­er­ences and the king­doms would remain separate.

A plan was devised. Each sec­ond evening, Emyr would unplait Angharad’s hair and then she entwine the rib­bon in his own within the allo­cated hour so that the princess might rule her king­dom and they might each find another suitor.

How­ever, on the first evening, the moment they caught sight of them­selves hold­ing each other in the mir­ror, moments before Emyr blew out into a silky white charger, they knew there was no other per­son either could love. For a year and a month and a day they kept up their switch and swap rou­tine, tak­ing their time as humans to bravely and fairly rule their respec­tive king­doms whilst spend­ing the evenings rid­ing the other through the for­est that strad­dled the two kingdoms.

Mean­while, Lleucu took a prince from a king­dom in the far north as hus­band and Prince Regent. He was a dullard and Lleucu found he did not sat­isfy her. When she learnt that Ang­harad and Emyr’s strange rule she sent the prince to deliver a mes­sage of war to the monarchs.

“Take this mes­sage to Caerblodeu and return to me when you have done so. But there is a strange curse in those lands. Be sure you do not take rib­bon, nor thread from any­one there, oth­er­wise you shall surely die.” Huw was well aware of his wife’s grow­ing power and pledged to him­self not to for­get her admonition.

He set off the same day and trav­elled over many moun­tains, each day for­get­ting a lit­tle more of what he was told.

One day, Emyr was rid­ing the princess through the for­est when he came across a small hut in a clear­ing. Light fil­tered down through the leaves cast­ing green light across the ruin. Across the clear­ing he spot­ted a tall, dark man to whom he was not acquainted.

“Ho, who goes risks their life by hunt­ing in the For­est of Ang­harad?” the prince called to the stranger.

“I am no poacher,” the stranger called back, “I am Huw ap Hywel, Prince of the king­dom by the coast, rid­ing to Caerblodeu to see Lord Emyr with a mes­sage from my Queen.”

Emyr and Ang­harad both knew that Lluecu had taken a prince from the far North as her hus­band, and they knew that he was quite dumb and did not know of their fate. Ang­harad whin­nied in excite­ment at the oppor­tu­nity for revenge.

“I am one of the Lord’s mes­sen­gers,” Emyr lied, “let me take the mes­sage for you.”

“I can not, for my queen’s com­mand pre­vents me. How­ever, may I have your assis­tance for free passage?”

Emyr pointed down to the rib­bon that snaked through Angharad’s mane. “If my steed will let you take the rib­bon from her mane and tie it in your own hair you may freely pass. No man shall hurt you when you are thus adorned.”

Huw and Emyr both dis­mounted and Huw approached the prince and princess care­fully. The horse did not shy though and he reached up to take the rib­bon, she bowed her head. He quickly loosed the rib­bon and stopped to admire it. There was a dis­tur­bance in the forest.

“Quickly,” Emyr urged, “tie it in your hair or else the peas­ants shall assume you are attack­ing me.” Huw for his life so he reached behind him and tied his hair into a sim­ple pony tail. As he did he could feel the mus­cles in his arms grow stronger but before he had a chance to realise what was hap­pen­ing, he found him­self on four legs and with a bit in his mouth.

Huw then realised what had hap­pened, remem­ber­ing too late his wife’s admo­ni­tion to not take rib­bon from any­one in the king­dom he vis­ited. Emyr and Ang­harad then rode Huw home and were mar­ried the next day.