The King of ancient Gwynedd ceased fiddling with his beard and called across to the dragons. Raising a hand towards the greatest of dragons beckoned encouragement.
“Tan-y-Mynedd, the table is yours, my old friend.”
Tan-y-Mynedd sat on his huge haunches, fluttered loosely folded wings and shook his head. Flaring those rather unpredictable nostrils, his proud chest expanded, taking in the deepest of breaths.
As the great dragon inhaled, everybody, including the other dragons, ducked to seek cover. The large goblin disappeared within a flash under the grand oak table, tankards and food flew precariously in every conceivable direction. Carron and his friend took to flight, joining the other ravens perched high upon an outcrop on the cave wall above our heads. The eagle spread his enormous wings and in three sharp flaps, alighted to accompany the ravens. Needless to say, a slight squawking of discontent and fluttering of wings welcomed their elder. Fwynedd and the elven seer joined the goblin under the table, also accompanied by several dwarves, including me. It was only those from the other world that did not flinch. Math Fab Mathonwy, Myrddin Goch ap Cwnwrig, and Llwyd ap Crachan Llwyd, remained in their seats, amused by the spectacle unfurling. Tan-y-Mynedd gasped, uttered a slight cough and very slowly exhaled. He surprised us all as he controlled the whirlwind gusts he usually created, thus no damage was done, save for the flying food.
The great dragon exploded into uncontrollable laughter. Within no time, everybody scrambled from under the table, attempting to return to their seats with as much grace as the situation would allow. We all joined him in seeing the funny side of our chaotic bid for cover. The eagle returned, landing on the branch of one of the Tree Folk. Carron and his friend fluttered down from the outcrop of rock, alighting gently on a chair close to Tan-y-Mynedd. Fwynedd regained his composure and gently assisted the Elven seer to maintain her dignity by lifting her light body back onto the seat. By now, the entire cave echoed with the sound of goodhearted laughter.
“You see, I can control myself when I am of a mind to do so!” Tan-y-Mynedd laughed again. “You always think there will be disaster when I prepare to speak. Well, my friends, the only disaster is with you for thinking such in the first place.” He laughed again, as did everybody else. “And now, we have had enough frivolity, it is to business.” Tan-y-Mynedd paused.
Calmness and silence eroded the humour which had now dissipated within the ether, replaced by attention and focus to the duty confronting this ancient Great Council of Blue Stone.
“We are familiar with all we need to be familiar with. We know storm clouds linger on the horizon and the English are behind such inclemency in our Kingdom. We will not waste time with whys and wherefores as we are beyond such trivialities.” A murmur of agreement whipped up a stir from the listeners, but a cursory snort from the great snout of Tan-y-Mynedd soon silenced them. “To continue, if I may be permitted?” He snorted again. “All is now in place, as predicted by ‘The Prophecy’. Owain Glyndwr is, as we speak, receiving news of yet more betrayal from Henry. He who sits on the black throne rules unfairly, and Glyndwr will no longer endure lies and deceit. In twenty-one months, as the clouds continue to gather before the great storm, the sun will blaze across our land, and our Prince in Waiting will at last take his rightful place.” Tan-y-Mynedd flared his nostrils, but this time, nobody moved a whisker. Spreading his wings and standing erect, he inhaled forcefully. “The rise of the dragon!” He exclaimed. Everybody applauded, banged fists and tankards on the table, cheering in agreement. It was at that moment, Tan-y-Mynedd sneezed!
Lazarus Carpenter - Author 