The Hall was not completely insular however. A steady stream of pilgrims visited P'ellyn lands each summer in order to bath in and imbibe the crystal waters of the Afon Gydrfai, or one of it's tributaries, arising as they did upon the slopes of the holy mountain. Still these folk were loyal subjects of the High King, Llyr, and rarely harkened from further than Cornwall, or Caer Ludd. Ascetic, as pilgrims most often were, seeing their aflictions as a sign of past personal decadence, these people generally roughed it, sleeping out of doors and shunning social situations. Except for their passings to and fro upon the old road one would barely know they were about, in general. There were some however who put more faith in the waters, and made a holiday out of their travels, visiting whom ever of their station would receive them, sharing news and tales in return for room and board. Generally these made themselves pleasant company and were an interesting break from known faces. The only other strange faces to be seen in Cwm Ellyn were the Druids, who kept workshops and a school in an upland vale, midway to the sacred peak. The belchings and distant thunder of their forges inspired simple folk with awe, and indeed dread. These persons were not uncommon visitors at Penellyn Hall.
The family of The P'ellyn was not large, as was more usual in those times, his offspring being only six in number. Gruffedd was exceedingly proud of his brood though, for not one of the children born to him of Brangaled, his wife, had succumbed to the usual illnesses of childhood that claimed so many from other families. They had not even contracted such. Nor had Brangaled herself ever contracted childbirth fever after her deliveries. Indeed, even her old mother still lived, and was quite as able as many women half her age. "Good stock," Gruffedd boasted; but most believed the credit went to the healing waters of the Holy Mountain. The children were: Gwair, who was the eldest son at fourteen; Morus, second eldest at thirteen; the two girls Goewen and Elwen, ages eight and seven respectively; Clwyd, age six; and the youngest son Gavynn, age five, who was also the last. There had been no more since Brangaled left the King's service five years earlier, and there was a certain amount of tongue wagging about that. Some speculated that she, being wise in herb lore, simply had the knowledge of curbing nature's ways. There were rumors of such things being possible. It also could have been that her last delivery had damaged her in some way. Many an over burdened mother prayed for such a malady. There were those, however, who pointed out the dark hair and green eyes of the youngest boy, Gavynn, so unlike the fair coloring of his siblings, and so like the foster child, Creiddylad; indeed so like Queen Penardim, the girl's mother. These ones hinted that Llyr had renewed the olden custom of taking ones female relatives for the purpose of siring an heir, but this was foolishness, for all knew Vran was heir. The good people scoffed at such gossip, for was not the Lady Brangaled Llyr's cousin, and so likely to have children of his mold?
Lord Gruffedd himself seemed to harbor no resentment against his wife. And if he was perhaps rough on the boy at times, likely it was because of the child's strong-headed personality and youth. Gavynn was in most ways everything a man could want in a son. He was respectful and obedient. An eager worker, he had to be told when a task was too great for one of his years. Brave, he had fearlessly stood down his father's prize bull when only four, and the beast had been as docile as a dairy cow with him ever since. Gavynn was tall for his age, and handsome beyond the beauty common to all children. In all ways but one was the boy all a man could hope for. His failing was his devotion to his foster sister, Creiddylad, myself, as I was know in those times.
I was his sun and moon.
For my sake Gavynn fought with his siblings, for he would tolerate no insult or injury to my person, even in jest, even in play. Neither would he tolerate being long separated from me. If his chores kept him away from my side too long he was certain to leave them in order to look in on me for a moment, or if that wasn't possible, he would become irritable, defiant even. He was jealous of my favors as well, sulking when I spent time with his sisters or accepted small gifts from Clwyd, who was also quite fond of me. His older brothers scorned him for it, telling him girls came to think too highly of themselves when boys acted so besotted. But even they dared chide him only so far, for he was a deadeye when it came to stone tossing, and was certain to retalliate.
Clwyd was Gavynn's chief rival for my affections, and, though slow to anger, it was Clwyd who most often cruelly taunted him with the obvious truth - that I, The Princess, must marry a prince; and that the King would certainly marry me to someone of much greater standing than the youngest son of a vassal lord. Thus Gavynn suffered consumed with fears beyond his age. And each night, when he lay down beside me, on the pallet beside the kitchen fire that we had shared since infancy, he felt compelled to ask again if I would promise to marry him when we were grown. Always I laughed at his fears, blithly unaware of his pain, answering: 'whom else would I marry but you'. Every night, all through the night, he held me close, but too often sleep eluded him.
In spite of Gavynn, perhaps, the other children of Pellen Hall welcomed me in their home. They did not think of me as, 'The Princess', or even as their cousin, but included me almost as one of them. Often the other children had me lead them in their quests, for they had learned that when I led they were certain to discover the richest berry patches, and where the does had hidden their fawns in the long grass beside the lake. I was sure, as well, to be the first to spy the robin's nest in spring, and to carve the most frightful gargoyles for Sawan eve. They had seen that the wild bee could not hide it's honey from me, and knew the winter days passed more quickly when they played my games of makebelieve, which often involved pirates, treasure, and magical beasts. Many a baby creature owed it's life to my minstrations. And though I was the object of Gavynn's adoration, contrary to the wise predictions of his elder brothers, I was a modest and kind child, quick to laugh, and slow to take offence. I might have become the family pet, were it not for a certain oddness that made me seem perhaps more adult than my years, and somehow above people's likes and dislikes. There was an elusiveness, an other-ness about me. In truth, I did not seem quite human, even then, when I was. I had a way of knowing things there was no usual means of knowing. I knew when a calf lay the wrong way in it's mother's womb, and how best to turn it. I knew when it was best to delay the hay mow. Often I answered questions before they were spoken, or gave warning of visitors before they appeared.The children, and some adults, thought of me as their good fairy, their luck bringer.
