Gwydion's fingers, as pale and thin as whittled wood, spun the twig so that its peeling bark shone in the glittering light of dawn. His honey gold eyes were almost lazy as he watched it twirl in his hand, paying no mind to Bryiaidd, who knelt amongst knotted oaken roots before him.

"So..." said Gwydion, woodlice crawling from his lips as he spoke in words that creaked with a painstaking slowness. "You beg my audience. Why?"

The man opened his mouth, but didn't know what to say. He was unsure if it was terror that gripped him, or if the ivy was squeezing deeper into the flesh of his limbs. His eyes scrambled in their sockets as he tried to find a way out, but there was nothing. Nothing. In every direction there was nothing but the endless tangle of trees and roots. Ivy crawled like spiders between the branches, and Bryiaidd did not doubt that, even if he were to break free and run, it would not take long for Gwydion to trap him again. This was his domain, after all.

Gwydion stopped twirling the twig, and in that pause he looked like nothing more than an old tree carving... Until, of course, he turned to face Bryiaidd and the foliage of his beard and long man of hair rustled with the movement.

"Why don't you speak?" he asked, "if you want something, you need only ask."

Bryiaidd shivered. "I... I just wanted a flower."

Gwydion raised his mossy eyebrows. "A flower? You came to me for a simple flower?"

Bryiaidd struggled with too many words before swallowing them and settling with. "Yes."

"Well..." Gwydion leaned over and lifted Bryiaidd's head by his chin, thorns from his fingertip cutting into soft flesh. "Who is this flower for? They must be so, so special if you've come to me for it."

Bryiaidd met Gwydion's gaze for only a moment before shutting his eyes. "They're... The king... It's his daughter. I just thought... I'm only a farmer, you see."

"Ah, a romantic."

"I only thought, if there was anyone who- If I wanted the best- the most beautiful flower... Well, it would be from you." He was shaking now, but the ivy was so tight about his body that he could scarcely do that, and the stench of wood and rot was so heavy in his nose that he thought he would choke.

Silence. There was silence for a long, long time, more silence than there had any right to be in a forest. But when Bryiaidd eventually dared to open his eyes, Gwydion was still there, staring at him.

"Well, you are in luck, farmer. I can give you your most beautiful flower." And with that, he released Bryiaidd's chin and began to twirl the twig in his hand once more, staring at it with what looked like curiosity.

Bryiaidd gasped, a smile breaking onto his face. "Oh... Thank you... Thank you!"

"But, of course..." Gwydion turned his green gaze upon the farmer once more. "What will you give me?"

Bryiaidd's mouth went dry. He dared not blink. "I... give you?"

Gwydion cocked his head with a creak of his neck and a snap of the brittler branches of his hair. "You came here, demanding the most beautiful flower I could give you, and you expect to give nothing in return?"

Bryiaidd's mind raced, but he could think of nothing. He had nothing. His fields were too small and even then he could barely keep back the weeds. He was not a warrior, and only had the one spear to his name. No torc adorned his neck and he bore no arm rings. He had songs. No legacy. Nothing. He had not a single thing to give.

Fear contorted on his face and he began rambling about how sorry he was, how he would leave without the flower and how he promised never to disturb the god again. But all the words came out too frantic to be intelligible, until he only managed to mutter a single word over and over and over again. "Please, please, please..."

But Gwydion put his finger to the man's lips and shushed him, and with his other hand he pushed the stem of the twig to the man's chest. All at once, the ivy loosened and Bryiaidd felt his limbs become freed. Yet, he didn't move, for at his chest he saw the stem began to bloom...

Violet petals opened up, the colour deeper than the most succulent blueberries, and then an inner ring of petals blossomed, a delicate pink that rivalled the sky at dusk. The flower held yellow stamens, a mixture of honey and sunlight woven into one, and the leaves of the stem itself had become fuller too, and as green as the brightest dreams of spring.

Bryiaidd stared at it in the purest wonder... It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his entire life.

He stared at it as he felt himself collapse to the ground, his flesh melting into the earth. Worms punctured his softening skin and wet moss spread through his fingers and toes until his nails cracked and his skin turned to rock. But Bryiaidd didn't have the breath to cry out as the pain blossomed throughout his body; the flower had stretched its white roots through his chest, stringing themselves past his ribs and around his slowing heart. The last thing he saw, before his eyes were overcome by fungal spores, was the wavering green of leaves, shining like emeralds in the golden sun.

The god stared at the corpse with the single most beautiful flower growing from its heart, and he smiled as a beetle crept walked across his cheek. Gwydion had given his gift, and Bryiaidd had paid the price.