Hello there,
So I've always been a fan of the Chronicles of Prydain, too big a fan in fact. One thing that always bothered me was a lack of attention given to Fflewdeur's mourning of the man who was described as one of his dearest friends. Adaon as a fellow bard and a young man whom he looked up to should have been mourned more than, "There are few like Adaon, we can ill afford the loss". So, this is a headcanon of mine that has been building for years now about Fflewdeur's backstory at the academy, his friendship with Adaon and his fiance Arianllyn, and an exploration of what may have happened between Fflewdeur and Arianllyn after Adaon's death
Just then a horseman cantered up and called to Fflewdeur by name. The bard gave a cry of pleasure."That's Adaon, son of the Chief Bard Taliesin," he told Taran. "Caer Dallben is indeed honored today!"
...
Fflewddur looked after him with affection and admiration. "It can be no small matter if Adaon is here," he said. "He is one of the bravest men I know. That and more, for he has the heart of a true bard. Someday he will surely be our greatest, you can mark my words."
The Black Cauldron- Chapter 1 Pages 11-12
"It is true. Indeed, that is why I dared not speak. I have yearned to be again at the side of my beloved Arianllyn, and my thoughts are with her now. But had I chosen to return, I would ever wonder whether my choice was made through wisdom or following the wishes of my own heart. I see this is as it must be, and the destiny laid upon me. I am content to die here."
Adaon's dying words
A Fflam never mourns, his heart is too full of music and honor to be weighed down by grief...he glories in battle, both in its victories and even in loss, for tragedies often make the greatest tales... at least, that was what Fflewdeur Fflam repeated to himself as he looked over at the injured form of his dearest and oldest friend.
However; he did not feel like writing great ballads or singing.
Adaon, son of Taliesin, a truer bard than Flewdeur had ever been, lay prostrate over his beloved Lluagor's mane, wounded by those vile Huntsmen of Annuvin. He gasped and winced in pain as he cradled his wounds. The rearing over his horse only further opening his wound which gushed an alarming amount of blood.
Adaon looked across the field and his eyes, beneath strands of raven black hair plastered with sweat to his forehead, found Fflewdeur. Those dark serious eyes which Fflewdeur had only ever seen at peace, were shaken with an awareness of something, and a well of sadness. It was like seeing the mountains get angry, or watching an ancient tree shake its leaves in grief, those two things just did not seem to belong. Fflewdeur felt a jolt of fear so strong that it burned white hot in his gut, making him both nauseated and angry.
How dare they...how dare they lay a hand on he who is...next to Gwydion, the best of men.
Time on the battlefield seemed to slow as the gangly king surveyed the action around him. Doli yelled furiously, his face as red as his ears as he wielded his ax atop his little pony. Taran leaped from his horse and desperately tried to reach Lluagor's loose reins. He endeavored to put himself between the enemy and Eilonwy with his free sword arm while the startled princess stared white-faced from behind him, her lips moving constantly in some attempt at a spell.
It was too much too fast.
He needed to give them all some time. Any time to get safe.
Fflewdeur brandished his sword furiously, shouting out his rage until he managed to make it to Doli's side.
"Doli!" He shouted over the din. "Doli, we need to draw the enemy away from the others. I need your help, Doli!"
Drawing his horse around before the retreating companions and the angry horde, Fflewdeur raised his sword at Taran imperiously. "Get him to safety!" He demanded, unaware just how much he sounded like his kinsman Gwydion.
With a loud 'Hyah' he spurred his horse to leap with a grandiose bound over the hedge, the taunted huntsmen following in pursuit. Doli groaned and whipped his pony to follow the crowd through the thicket and away from the others.
He would not let them kill his dearest friend.
"A Fflam never fails!" The bard yelled defiantly at the heavens. With a discordant jangle, two of the lowest strings of his harp broke with an ominous ring.
They rode hard and fast for many minutes until both Fflewdeur and his horse had worked up a lather. Doli popped in and out of visibility to lead the huntsmen away from the straggling bard whenever necessary. Just when Fflewdeur wondered if he could go any further, and he turned back to look at the proximity of the fiercely shouting Huntsmen, a branch caught under Fflewdeur's satchel, pulling him harp and all off of his horse and flying through the underbrush.
At first, the world was a blur of dirt, leaves, and blue streaks of the sky until he smacked his head upon the trunk of a rather unnecessarily large oak tree.
The world spun and danced so much that the bard could not discern from which direction the marching feet approached.
He hung his head low and waited.
At least he had given them a good chase. He hoped Belin would take mercy on his soul, seeing the good intentions behind his works.
He instinctively reached around to clutch his harp and began to mutter a prayer for the afterlife. A moment passed...then a minute...then finally Fflewdeur opened one eye in a nervous squint and peered around.
The forest lay quiet, the distant yelling of the Huntsman of Annuvin fading in the distance, no doubt chasing Doli.
"Good old Doli" He muttered, thumping his head down to the ground in relief.
Now he only had to find the others.
For the remainder of that day, Fflewdeur kept up a noble search. Though honorable in intentions, he internally realized that his lack of tracking acumen was most likely leading him to march about in circles. Finally, as the day faded, Fflewdeur found himself a safe glen of weeping willows in which to sleep. He set his harp up against two large roots to prevent it from being dirtied and balled up his cloak to serve as a makeshift pillow. But try as he might, the bard could not get to sleep. After many minutes of tossing and turning, he rose up to wander about
He anxiously paced the length of the glen and rubbed the back of his neck with his long musician's fingers.
Adaon is wounded...where had he been hit? Fflewdeur struggled to remember.
He could see Adaon's silent plea across the battlefield as he flopped wearily over his horse's neck. Flewdeur followed the memory down the length of Adaon's body where he saw his hand gripping his lower chest as blood poured out.
Though Fflewdeur had exaggerated many a battle, he had seen a fair amount of action, and he knew a fatal wound when he saw one. There was little chance that Adaon had survived it.
If anyone could it would be his strange, wonderful, mystically gifted friend...and yet Fflewdeur doubted.
Fflewdeur leaned heavily on a weeping willow's trunk and thought of Adaon laying dead on a field, as peaceful as it had been in life. Adaon's shoulder length black hair lay to either side, a few strays hairs stuck to his forehead from the sweat of battle. His mild yet strangely firm features lay in a perfect state of repose, and barring the wound that glistened with blood, he looked to be asleep.
It cast Fflewdeur back to his years at the bard academy when they had shared a room. As the son of Taliesin, Adaon need not sleep with the other students in the rather limited dormitories. And yet, once he had observed that Fflewdeur was almost always alone with all the other bard students wisely avoiding the presence of such an energetic and foolish young man, Adaon requested to be Fflewdeur's roommate. He would look just like that as he lay on his bed, a soft smile, eyes closed, listening to Fflewdeur's piteous attempts to make music.
The young king's heart gave a piteous cry of pain and Fflewdeur reached up to rub his chest wearily.
Great Belin...what a perfect waste of a life.
Fflewdeur had never thought of himself as a self sacrificing man. He knew his own weaknesses all too well, and barring the children that had become so dear to him, he was sure that his first instinct would be to save himself...that is, except for Adaon.
Oh, Gods, not Adaon. He was everything I was and better, he was a better leader, a great bard, an honest man. Why would you take someone like him and leave someone like me? He had everything to live for! His father, his home and his fiance...
That thought rocked Fflewdeur back, sending him sprawling to the ground in grief.
"Oh Gods, what would I tell Arianllyn?" He cried out to no one.
And no one answered him.
Fflewdeur remained there the rest of the night, one arm propped over his raised knee, his hands covering his face as he silently wept. Hundreds of memories of his friend flooded his mind until his harp, stirred either from pity or from the breeze, began to play a soothing melody until he fell asleep.