Princess Eilonwy of the red-gold hair stands at the gate of Caer Dallben, looking out across the farm to the forest that begins at the hill and spreads away into the distance. She twines a lock of her hair through her fingers uneasily and scans the horizon. She is waiting for Taran who is returning at last, she's been told, from some hare-brained trek across half of Prydain, but even as she waits she is not sure if she wants him to return. Not that she wishes him ill or any such silly thing as that, of course, but rather that she isn't entirely sure she wants to face him at the moment.
The two of them have spent a considerable amount of time together, and on top of that he was her rescuer, which tends to lend itself to the development of a certain sort of feeling between young men and women. That sort of feeling has long since duly appeared and Eilonwy is satisfied that Taran, at least, is properly aware of how things generally ought to proceed from here. No, the problem is with herself.
-----
After her rescue and the flooding of Caer Colur, Eilonwy told Taran and Gwydion and the others that she didn't remember anything after Achren's enchantment. It was mostly true, and what little she did remember didn't bear thinking about. She was a bit miffed that they'd invited Achren along on their journey back to Caer Dallben without so much as a by your leave. My kidnapper, thought Eilonwy scathingly, if you care to remember. But the look of pride and longing in Taran's eyes more than made up for his thoughtlessness, she supposed. Silly boy.
Once the party returned to Dinas Rhydnant and Eilonwy began her education as a young lady, however, the memories started to return in the most disturbing manner. At first they came in flickers, prompted by an image or a gesture that might remind her of the time she'd spent under Achren's spell. Once when Queen Teleria placed a friendly hand on her shoulder, Eilonwy shrieked, and stood shaking in the corner for fully five minutes until Prince Rhun was able to calm her with his solid, round-faced patience. Another time she caught sight of her reflection in a mirror tucked away in an oddly lit hallway and, horrified, threw her hands over her face.
Then she began to dream of her time under Achren's spell, dreams that faded as soon as she woke but which left her both hot and shivering. By day she was surrounded by what seemed like ten thousand silly women, chattering endlessly about the silliest topics. Their casual touches became more and more intolerable, not least because they seemed to bring forth a strange, uncontrollable ache in the pit of her stomach. Sometimes Eilonwy fought with herself not to throw off the hand on her arm or stretched over her shoulders, while other times she fought not to lean into the touch, to revel in the sensation of skin on skin.
Though she'd been pale and worn after her adventure, somehow she became even thinner. She saw the concerned looks that Queen Teleria and King Rhuddlum traded when they thought she wasn't looking, and could muster up only a minimum of scorn for their complete lack of subtlety. Then one night she woke in the dark and looked out the window at the snow, and her dream stayed with her.
They'd been the throne room of Caer Colur, she and Achren. The tall enchantress had dismissed Magg and all the other servants, and Eilonwy had danced for her along the length of the room. It had been a dance entirely unlike the ones she now learned at Dinas Rhydnant which were all formal steps and bowing. Instead it had been something fluid and instinctive, and it had contained rather much more movement of the hips than Eilonwy thought she could normally manage. At the end of the dance she'd presented herself to Achren, and the mask of stiffness and cruelty had been stripped from the woman's face. She'd laughed delightedly, and for a long moment, suspended in time, Eilonwy had seen a glowing loveliness in her wide open eyes. Then Achren had drawn her close and pressed their mouths together in a sensual kiss.
It was at that point in the dream that Eilonwy awoke. Her whole body ached with a strange longing and as the snow continued to fall outside her window she reached down and purposefully stroked the hot skin between her legs. She bit down on her lip to keep from crying out as she came. Was this a memory, or just a dream? she wondered, shaking half from fear and half in the aftermath of her climax. Was it real or is there something wrong with me, that I would imagine this thing between us?
In the morning, Queen Teleria tutted and made Eilonwy put ice on her lip until the swelling died away. As the cold numbed her face, Eilonwy remembered that Achren was now living with Taran at Caer Dallben. She put the ice down and picked up her embroidery. Soon, she told herself. Soon I will go back there and then I will know.
-----
Her homecoming to Caer Dallben was, on the surface, a joyous time. Dallben had sent for her and young King Rhun had escorted her back to the only home she knew. But Taran was gone, and Achren merely a silent presence at the hearth. She cast Eilonwy no heated glances, nor did she speak except when asked a direct question by Dallben.
Eilonwy was more confused than ever. Where was the fierce, spiteful woman she remembered from her time at Spiral Castle? Where was the proud, sensual woman who kept appearing in her dreams? Day after day as the inhabitants of Caer Dallben sat down to eat, Eilonwy's eyes sought out Achren's face behind the silvery veil of hair. But that face was a mask carved in stone, devoid of any expression or feeling.
One night after having the dream again, Eilonwy could stand it no longer. I am beginning to feel as trapped here as I once did at Caer Colur. Gwydion said she was harmless but what if he's wrong? Perhaps it is she doing this to me now. I must know!
She slipped from her bed and tiptoed out into the warm night air. Achren slept in the granary, she knew, and her steps did not falter as she crossed the yard to the small building. She opened the door and stepped inside.
The moonlight shining through the doorway illuminated Achren, wrapped in her blanket on a pallet of straw. Eilonwy fought to keep herself from crying out at the sight. In sleep, the mask that controlled Achren's features was gone, and her face was relaxed, alive.
She seems so lovely, so human, so... open! Eilonwy thought in shock. Before she even knew what she was doing, she bent down and cupped Achren's cheek in her hand.
"My Lord Gwydion," Achren murmured, and turned into her touch. Eilonwy sprang back as if burned. She huffed, forgetting to be silent, and then froze as Achren stirred. After a moment, the sleeping woman settled again, and Eilonwy slipped out of the shack.
-----
That happened only three days ago, and now they have heard from Kaw that Taran is returning, that he is only a few more days away. Eilonwy does her assigned tasks as quickly as possible and then stands at the gate for hours each day, watching and waiting and turning her thoughts over in her head. This day they are new thoughts, for last night she had a dream, a different sort of dream, one in which Taran gave her that same longing glance and then pressed his chapped lips to her palm, the crook of her elbow, the hollow place between her neck and shoulder. Thinking about it now, Eilonwy gets the same hot, aching feeling, but she can't stop imagining Taran's solid, smiling face, or the way he sometimes gazes at her protectively even though she's perfectly able to take care of herself. It gives her a pleasant feeling in the pit of her stomach, that face, and she thinks how glad she is that Taran is so easy to read, so perpetually human, so undeniably open.
He is a silly fool, she thinks, but he is my silly fool, and I'm fond of him. Putting her doubts away, she scans the horizon again and gives a shout of delight when she sees two familiar riders appear.