Once upon a distant time, before the seed of the mightiest modern timbers of Brittany had germinated, when the sweet cadence of birdsong stirred through the majestically textured horizon, there lived a noble family. This family was famous for its tremendous affluence, and far and wide, the story of their splendor was proclaimed. The lavishness of their residence, the range of their estate, the jewels and metals that were worthy of Midas’s delight, was distortedly detailed in the tales of the rapturous people. They were regarded with the admiration of a noble duke, and certainly, they were envied much more. 

    A predominant topic at this time was the coming-of-age of the mightiest jewel in the family’s possession: their beautiful daughter. Candidates for suitors swarmed from the farthest of Celtic countries to their home in Dinan for a fleeting chance at her hand. Her parents were immodest in their praise for her, and each suitor that arrived was subject to strict censure. This much-abridged crowd then met the daughter, Gwen, one-by-one, in an attempt to charm and capture this wondrous prize. 

This particular night was like all other nights: the men entered, eager and zealous, and  exited grumbling, “Obstinate, headstrong girl.” So it was for every visitor, and the multitude took leave, muttering like the ever moaning sea about the unladylike impenitence of the ignoble girl. 

    The parents became dissatisfied at the impertinence of their child one day. 

    “My dear Gwen,” the mother said one day, “I speak to you now not as a mother, but as a Christian and a humanitarian. I must tell you that the Divine will for you to get married and that to resist the will of Him is to renounce the very values and religion on which you have been raised.”

    Gwen did not swerve. “Perhaps that is so, mother. Though perhaps it is not. Perhaps my rejection of all of these candidates is a sign from the Heavens, that I shall never be married, at least not to these pompous swine.” 

    Mrs. Rault fumed but said nothing. She stalked off, to the appeased smile of her rebellious daughter. 

    Though this smile soon dissipated.

    One day, Gwen strode through town, smiling inwardly at her courageous rebellion at her foolish parent’s wishes. The people around her pointed and whispered, a sight which pleased her immensely. So they’ve heard of my impudence? Excellent, she thought. She believed this may be a tale which will follow my parents wherever they go, a stain on their profligate, vain reputation. 

    One person approached her, beaming with unutterable delight. 

    “Congratulations,” he said to her with the utmost sincerity. “What a man he is!” 

    She was unimaginably dismayed by this. What could this lunatic mean? Who is this man she spoke of? 

    Two more people stopped to offer their “heartiest congratulations.” She sensed that something strange was afoot. 

    Walking through town, everybody congratulated her. She was driven to aimlessly wandering, accepting their words carelessly. She stopped walking at the window into the church. Through the luminosity of the stained glass, she noticed an illuminated manuscript that cheerily proclaimed in the calligraphy of shimmering silver “Ms. Gwen Rault and the noble son of the Duchy of Brittany shall be joined in holy matrimony,” and next to the words of this terrible wedding bann, her signature, forged shamelessly. 

No! How?

She wandered off, her head suddenly filled with a thick blanket of enigmatic mist. She staggered, her feet dragging in a sullen, uncommitted plod. Thus she walked, directly into a passing stranger. 

    Upon collision, she fell to the ground splattering her satin petticoat with mud. 

    The man she ran into looked directly into her eyes, and slowly a smile crept up his thin face. “I suppose you nobles consider this an act of God? Well, let me assure you, my tripping was quite autonomous.”

    “God?” Gwen asked curiously, her voice breaking in despair. 

“Yes,” the man answered. “That cruel beast.” 

She had never met one who spoke so freely about so sacred a creature. But she soon found why: he had no god, forever looking to himself for direction. 

“You underestimate me. I know an act of pure ineptitude when I see one,” she teased. A thin smile crept up both their faces. 

    Though finding him repugnant at first, an attraction between the two formed from the first conversation. Soon, their mutual regard blossomed into a devoted friendship, and soon after that into an ardent love for one another. The luscious timbers of their relationship thickened each day.