Work Text:
A dhuine mo chroí
(AD 964. Dinas, Cymru)
Godric sighed as he sat himself up, looking over to the one he had been told to keep an eye on – the lump of blanket and spill of black hair upon the cot in the main room. This one had been like this for the past week, moving not much more than sliding a light olive hand from the blankets to retrieve a bowl of water from the table. Neither Godric nor his aunt really knew who he was, in fact, all Godric knew of him was his name.
Salazar.
(1 week earlier, Abergwaun, Cymru)
“Salazar,” the note had said, “a wizard in need of help. He will be arriving at Abergwaun either by the dawn boat from Ros Láir or by apparition. Can yourself or anyone meet him there, Bronwyn?”
(Dinas, Cymru)
A strange green snake had been draped before the sunniest windows all week, noisily hissing at the approach of anyone. There then, the sound of one of the children, crying, hungry, echoing through the small house in Dinas. The blanket covered lump and mess of black hair that was Salazar shifted in response as he made to follow it. Godric ran over, just as Salazar's weakened form attempted to stand and promptly fell to the ground. Temporarily freed from the tangle of blankets, Godric got a pretty good look at the black-haired wizard – though his hair was wild and his grey eyes darted about the place, he seemed to be much improved from that night.
(1 week ago, Abergwaun, Cymru)
Godric was standing among the cargo at the harbour in Abergwaun. It was some time before dawn – his aunt Bronwyn had asked him to come in her stead, to help with the wizard described in her friend's letter. Staying in this area, his broom standing ready nearby, a precaution in case any Muggles that were waiting for the return boat were to see. He did not expect much but to just wait for the boat, surely that will be how he arrives, no matter what the situation.
In the corner of his eye, Godric suddenly spotted a figure appear from thin air. A man, perhaps in his mid thirties and with long black hair, apparated into the harbour. The man lifted his head, showing a neat and decorated beard framing a light olive face, a light olive face that suddenly turned very pale. Grey eyes showing a shock of pain before rolling back, the man collapsing entirely, seeming to twist in mid air before landing hard upon the dockside on his back.
Godric ran quickly over, punctuated not only by the man's fall but also by the unexpected sound of children – clearly more than one! - crying loudly at the man's impact upon the dock. The letter had said nothing about children! Had this man, that he believed was this Salazar, seriously side-along apparated with several children?
He would find out this and what the problem was as he approached the man laying upon the dock. Barely conscious and wrapped in a travelling cloak, he lay with blood pooling by his right foot and staining his seemingly green silky robes. The sound of the crying was coming from his cloak, which had come open in his fall, his arm was wrapped around three infant children, along with a strange dark green snake winding towards the top of the same arm. The man had, very urgently from the looks of things, not only apparated himself all the way from Ros Láir, but also with three infants and a long snake. He had clearly splinched himself, not good.
Godric lifted the man lightly, supporting him so he did not injure himself any further. He needed to keep the man conscious.
“Salazar?” he asked. The barely conscious man's grey eyes slowly flickered open, at least Godric was assured this was the man he had been sent to find. He smiled, checking on the man's injury, though it elicited a pained response from him. “Let's get you some help...” He spoke in Saxon.
“...cé...” came Salazar's response, “...cé thusa...?”. This had made no sense to Godric, but hoped it was something positive. With a bit of effort, he lifted the older man – along with all children and lightly hissing weird snake – and took them toward his broom.
“Let's get you safe quickly. Sorry, I only have a broom, but it isn't far. Try holding on, okay?” With that, he took up and mounted his broom, positioning the barely conscious man behind him and ensuring both he and all other occupants were secure.
“...cabhair liom...le do thoil...”
Salazar had said some other things that night, while drifting in and out of consciousness, however, none of it in any language that Godric knew.
(Dinas, Cymru)
He lifted Salazar back up off the floor, sitting himself on the edge of the cot and laying the older man back down upon it. Bending over to retrieve the blanket, he felt a light pressure on his arm. Salazar had sat himself up and had a light grip on his arm, grey eyes looking into Godric's green.
“Táim fíorbhuíoch díot.” Salazar smiled at him. Though Godric still didn't understand a word, the tone sounded thankful, and so he smiled in return.
“You're welcome.” He responded, though instead of Saxon like he tried a week ago, he had instead switched to speaking Welsh – some of the words Salazar had been using sounded quite similar, though not the same. Godric had assumed he therefore must be speaking some kind of Celtic language, so had decided to try another Celtic language.
Those grey eyes widened at this change in language, and much to Godric's delight, the smile on Salazar's face grew wider.
“You do understand.” Salazar was speaking in confident and quite clearly fluent Welsh. “Might I ask, who-” his voice cut off as he heavily winced in pain from his wounded leg, falling in the moment of weakness. Godric quickly moved to catch him, supporting him into sitting up again, allowing the older man to lean on his arm.
“You're still weak,” he cautioned, “careful not to overdo anything. Oh, and as you were about to ask – I am Godric.”
“I'm sorry, Godric...” Salazar's voice was quiet, sorrowful, “I am doing nothing but imposing upon you. Please...” He made to move away, but Godric held him tightly.
“It's alright, you're safe, and so are your children.” Godric spoke reassuringly, moving the blanket he had now retrieved from the floor back around Salazar's shoulders. He was about to move the older man back to laying, until he felt a weight on his shoulder, and a damp patch forming on his robes. Salazar had started crying.
“Thank you...” he said between sobs, “thank you.”