Disclaimer: I hereby present the chapter with the most original content in the story. Nevertheless, it is NOT original. Honor to Lloyd Alexander, the originator of the material.

Bravery More than Success; Goodness More than Sense

GWYDION

The Horned King burned and the ground shook. Gwydion watched without pleasure as the Death Lord's puppet burned out. He saw the first of the warriors tremble in fear, saw the first man catch sight of their burning war-leader. He saw the ripples first of unease, then of panic and terror spread through the Horned King's former army. He watched the Sons of Don burst forth from the gates of his home behind their golden banners and run the broken forces into the hills and beyond. It was a rout. The invaders were totally defeated.

Gwydion turned to look beside him. The younger of the two children that had been lying at the feet of the Horned King when he had burst out from the woods had risen to her feet and was standing beside him. Her eyes watched the rout gravely, but then she turned to look at the smouldering remains of the Horned King, and shuddered. Blackened bones and bits of charred flesh still lay there, glowing with the embers of the fire that had destroyed him. He could not withstand the ugliness that was the truth of him.

The girl's face was dirty and tear-streaked. Her robe was torn, and it was impossible to tell what colour it had been to begin with. She was tall and slim, but she looked no older than twelve, nonetheless. Gwydion had not the faintest idea who she was. The strange fledgling gwythaint had told him of Hen Wen and a number of travelers. The oracular pig herself had told him that one of the travelers was the Assistant Pig-Keeper he had thought dead and buried beneath Spiral Castle. This, he supposed, must be another, but Gwydion Son of Don was at a loss as to who she might be or how she might fit into this.

On the plain, down the hill and out of the trees, the Sons of Don were tying up surrendered prisoners and tending to the wounded. Gwydion's companion turned then to him. "Please, sir," she said. "My friend is wounded. He still has not arisen. You saved our lives. Save his again."

Gwydion turned to look to the boy. He had not died yet, but it seemed the lad was always getting himself into trouble. Just then, out from the trees, Hen Wen came trotting anxiously. She ran over with a concerned grunt, and nosed with her pink snout at the inert body of her Pig-Keeper. Taran groaned, but did not regain consciousness. Gwydion picked up Taran's wrist. "Fear not, damsel, he lives yet," he said.

The girl scratched Hen Wen's ear in a familiar, friendly way. "So you've come back to us, Hen," she said softly. "Oh, I do hope he'll be all right."

Taran's pulse was strong, and his breathing regular, but Gwydion turned over the wrist he held. The sleeve of the boy's jacket and tunic had been burned almost completely away. Only a few threads of blackened fabric hung down around his arm, and that was badly scorched. And yet he had not been near enough to the Horned King to be burnt by the flames that had consumed him. "What has happened to him?" he asked the girl. "Do you know?"

A fat little pearl of a tear glistened at the corner of one brilliantly blue eye, and the girl's lip trembled. "He tried to draw Dyrnwyn," she said. "That's what's done it. I told him! I told him not to. It said, 'Draw Dyrnwyn only one of royal blood', but he always wanted to wield it anyway, that stupid Assistant Pig-Keeper!

"When the Horned King shattered his weapon," the girl continued, "—there are the shards, over there—well, he took it from me. I think he only meant to defend himself, and me, but…he wasn't strong enough. He was like a mouse trying to wield a lance. And it…it burned him. The Horned King would have smote him where he lay, if you hadn't come." The girl looked up at Gwydion hopefully. "He'll be fine, won't he, sir?"

Gwydion frowned. "The wound is grave," he told her. "And it is beyond me what harm the magic has done beyond what we see here. But I think he will live. He may bear the scars. But tell me, damsel. What is he to you? And what are you called?"

The girl somehow managed to curtsey gracefully from where she knelt by Hen Wen. He didn't know quite how she managed it. "I am Eilonwy," she said. "Daughter of Angharad, Daughter of Regat…of Llyr, sir. Taran of Caer Dallben is my friend. I rescued him—from Spiral Castle."

Gwydion stared at her. Of all the unearthly coincidences. Belin and Don the Mother! But yes, beneath the dirt the girl's hair was the same red-gold for which her mother had been so renowned. And those eyes! He ought to have known! But the princess of Llyr had been missing these twelve years!

Achren's prisoner, all this time? But it would be like Achren, he thought, to steal the girl away and train her in the ways of magic. Achren would like the idea of a powerful enchantress of Llyr under her command. So Gwydion bowed from where he knelt, and deeply. "Then Princess, I am in your debt," he said simply. "Before Hen Wen found me, I feared my young companion had perished in the collapse of Spiral Castle, and he had been in my charge. I am Gwydion, Son of Don."

Eilonwy looked at him very hard with those piercing blue eyes. "I thought you might be," she said quietly. "We thought that you had perished when Spiral Castle collapsed, too, you know. But who else could destroy the Horned King like you did, with only a word? Taran of Caer Dallben told us much about you. He admires you, like a chicken might admire an eagle. He has been grieving for you deeply, my lord. He led us all this way for your sake, to try and warn the Sons of Don of the army.

"It didn't exactly go as planned," she admitted. "Still, it all worked out in the end. Well…almost," she said, looking down at Taran. Then she pursed her lips and looked back up at Gwydion. Deftly, she reached out and grabbed a sword in its scabbard- not the broken one. "My Lord Gwydion," she said, politely and a little shyly. "If you would, I think this ought to belong to you. You killed the Horned King and saved both of our lives. And you are a prince, after all."

"What's this?"

"It is Dyrnwyn," Eilonwy said. "I found it in the barrow Taran and I discovered in the passages far beneath Spiral Castle. Here- take it."

Gwydion took the proffered weapon, looking at it. He bore no sword now. He had never recovered his own after escaping from Oeth-Anoeth. His hand quivered. He knew at once that here was a blade of ancient lineage, from before the Sons of Don had come to Prydain, even. And he knew it was a weapon of great power. Without hesitation, he drew the sword in one smooth movement from its black scabbard. The blade blazed forth in the day, but it did not burn him. He sheathed it and handed it back to Eilonwy.

"Would the princess do me the honour of girding it on?" he asked her softly, standing.

The girl flushed, but stood. "No one's called me a princess since Achren," she said. "I don't think Taran and Fflewddur Fflam knew what Daughter of Llyr meant. It sounds so different when you say it. Like the difference between a nightingale and a crow. Of course I'll gird it on you," she said. "If you really want me to."

Hesitantly she reached her arms around Gwydion and attached Dyrnwyn to his belt. "I ought to say something, oughtn't I?" she said, as she refastened his belt. "At least, the ladies always do in the books I used to read in Achren's library. But I can't remember just now, what it was that they used to say."

"All's well, Princess of Llyr," Gwydion laughed. "There's time aplenty to learn. Did I hear you say a moment ago that Fflewddur Fflam is of your company? Fflewddur Fflam of the north?"

"He's traveling as a bard now," Eilonwy nodded. "I rescued him from Spiral Castle, too. Taran thought that the other prisoner in the castle must have been you, but it wasn't. Where did Achren take you, my lord? It must have been somewhere dreadful, and the dungeons were quite bad enough..."

"Later, Daughter of Llyr," Gwydion said, laughing at the girl's chatter even as he shuddered, remembering the tortures of Oeth-Anoeth. "Fflewddur Fflam son of Godo."

"Yes, he's been traveling with us. And Gurgi, and your horse Melyngar, and Doli, of the Fair Folk. They, aside from Melyngar, just there, stood against them down in the valley so that Taran and I could get away. Oh," she said, and her face went white beneath the dirt. "They might be hurt, too. Or slain! Oh, I must find them!"

She bent down again then, and tried singlehandedly to lift the Assistant Pig-Keeper. "It's…it's your steed of course, Lord Gwydion," she grunted, before Gwydion stooped to help her lift him. "But mightn't Melyngar bear Taran someplace…someplace he can get better?"

Gwydion lifted the Assistant Pig-Keeper from Eilonwy's shoulders, bearing him up. Hen Wen grunted anxiously. "Melyngar has borne a wounded Assistant Pig-Keeper before," he said. "She shall do so again, and gladly."

He called to his mare, and she came, nickering in gladness to see him, and in concern for the wounded boy. He placed the unconscious lad in her saddle, and turned to Eilonwy. "Let us go down to the valley," he said to her. "We will bear our friend to be healed in Caer Dathyl, find your other companions if we may, and…" he looked down again, "We will call someone to come collect what remains of the Horned King for burial."

The next hours were full of the sort of business that only exists after a victorious battle. There were surrendered prisoners to be taken to dungeons. There were the wounded to be taken to the infirmary, or to guest rooms, depending on the extent of their injuries. There were the dead of both sides to be buried. And there was the victory banquet to be planned.

But at last Gwydion sat in Caer Dathyl, washed and dressed in his citadel raiment, with his kinsman Fflewddur Fflam, son of Godo, a king of the north. They were in a sitting room adjacent to Taran's chamber, where Eilonwy and Hen Wen stood watch over the still unconscious Assistant Pig-Keeper. His wound had been dressed and wrapped in clean linen, and the healers judged he would awake sometime tomorrow morning. There would be some scarring, they said, but it would not be bad, and might fade in a few years' time. Nevertheless, the Princess of Llyr and the oracular pig refused to leave Taran of Caer Dallben, and Fflewddur Fflam, the Gurgi, and Doli of the Fair Folk (a quite capable dwarf- Gwydion was most anxious to know how the Fair Folk got mixed up in all this) would not stray far from him, either. The Gurgi had been wounded in the battle, and was even now having his hurts tended.

"I must know what has befallen you, son of Godo," Gwydion said. "At first glance it seems a most strange adventure. How did you come to be imprisoned in Spiral Castle to begin with? Why did you come all this way? And when and how did your company encounter the Fair Folk and find Hen Wen?"

Fflewddur laughed, delightedly. "Well, yes, I suppose it has been rather of an adventure, hasn't it? I shall have to write a ballad of our quest to save Caer Dathyl, even if you ended up saving the day in the end, as usual. I was wandering in the hills, barding and all that, you know."

"Yes, Taliesin has told me of your new calling," Gwydion chuckled. "You should thank the gods you have a good and trusty steward, my friend."

"Yes, well," Fflewddur said, slightly embarrassed. "I was roaming the hills, when I came to a castle. I thought I'd play for the lord and lady, earn some supper. Of course, the audience adored my playing. They clapped their hands and cried great tears…"

Three harp strings snapped in succession on the harp at Fflewddur's feet. He coloured. "Drat and blast!" he muttered, picking up the harp and deftly knotting strings together. "The truth was my audience was Achren and her guard, Gwydion. If I had known, I never would have gone there in the first place. They aren't kind people at all, Achren and her guard. No ear for music. No sense of humour. Achren had me chucked in her dungeon for my trouble."

He shrugged self-consciously. "I was there for three days when Eilonwy came to my cell and said my companion wanted me rescued. She led me out through the tunnels beneath that castle with that bauble of hers to your mare and went back inside. The castle collapsed. Then Taran comes in charging at me with a sword and yelling at me because I'm not Lord Gwydion." He paused. "I say, where were you, Gwydion? Why was I rescued instead of you? Not that I'm complaining, mind you. But we all thought you'd died. Crushed by castle."

"I thought that Taran of Caer Dallben had been slain the same way," Gwydion said. "But let us not speak of what befell me, my friend. Suffice it to say I was taken to dark places and learned many secrets, and escaped days after you did, barely alive, but a wiser man."

"You always are doing things like that," Fflewddur remarked after a short pause. "I am sorry for what you suffered. And I am glad that you didn't die. In any event, Taran told us- Eilonwy and I, that is, what the two of you had discovered about the Horned King. A Fflam is loyal! It was clear at once that the Sons of Don must be alerted to the danger. So the three of us fell in together- me out of loyalty to the Sons of Don, Taran for the love of you, and Eilonwy—well," he said, a little awkwardly, "Eilonwy because she didn't have anywhere else to go. She risked it all for us."

"She is Princess of Llyr, you know," Gwydion told him. "I suspect Achren kidnapped her years ago to use her powers of enchantment."

"Really?" Fflewddur said, laughing. "Eilonwy, of lost Llyr? She said, didn't she, that she was Daughter of Llyr. I never made the connection. What do you know?" He chuckled some more. "She's about as likely to settle down and be a princess as I am to be king," he told Gwydion.

He continued. "Gurgi joined us that night. Taran had little love for him at first. He blamed him for his cowardice when the two of you were in peril. But he pitied the creature, I think, and he fed him out of what little we had anyway. And so Gurgi joined our party. The two of them have some sort of understanding now. I believe Taran will take him back to Caer Dallben and give him a home, after he leaves here. Gurgi found Hen Wen, and he fought in the battle just now, for Taran's sake.

"We were chased by Cauldron Born and wolves until Eilonwy was ill and Gurgi hurt," Fflewddur said further. "We were chased right into Medwyn's Valley. Taran said you told him of it?"

Gwydion went still. "You have seen that place?" he breathed. "You have been there?"

"We couldn't go again," Fflewddur said. "'Twas Melyngar that found it for us. Medwyn healed Gurgi, and provisioned us. It was strange, Gwydion. Passing strange. Good, but an older good. Not for the likes of men, I don't think. Great Belin!" he shook his head, remembering. He made a face. "I say we couldn't go again," he qualified. "I suppose I really mean I couldn't go again. Taran and Medwyn talked a great deal together, and the old man spoke of a choice the boy had made, when we left. If you would know more of that, though, you would have to ask him.

"We left Medwyn's valley, and following his instructions, went from there through the Eagle Mountains. We might have made it, too, if Taran hadn't decided to take a short cut through a valley and by a lake." He grimaced.

"Taran decided?" Gwydion demanded, suddenly very interested.

"Yes, he thought it would be easier and faster. And indeed it did look so. But the lake was a trap. We got sucked down it, like bugs in a gutter, and wound up in the realm of the Fair Folk. We had a little spat with the ruler there, but it turned out for the best, because King Eiddileg's people had rescued Hen Wen from pursuers near Avren a few days ago. She joined us in the Fair Folk realm, and there also Doli joined us as guide."

"So he led you from the Fair Folk realm. I think I understand what happened next," Gwydion said. "This must have been what? Three days past?"

"Yes," Fflewddur said. "I think so."

"Two days ago, then, your party found an injured fledgling gwythaint. For whatever reason, you chose to rescue and nurse it, not kill it, and it delayed you badly. Hen Wen left, and you found that the armies of the Horned King had reached the Valley Ystrad before you. There was a battle, and you, Doli of the Fair Folk, and Gurgi were somehow separated from the Assistant Pig-Keeper and the Princess of Llyr. And now here we are. Is this not so?"

"It is," Fflewddur said, "But, Great Belin, Gwydion! How did you…?"

Gwydion shook his head in amazement. "'Twas the gwythaint, Fflewddur Fflam, that informed me of Hen Wen's whereabouts, and Hen Wen it was that gave me the knowledge to destroy the Horned King."

Fflewddur sat back heavily. "Well," he sighed. "What do you know? Great Belin! I thought for sure Doli was right and that monster Taran insisted on saving had gone straight to Annuvin when it escaped. So. The creature did have some notion of gratitude after all."

"More than that. Taran has forever freed one of Arawn's minions. The gwythaint can never return to Annuvin. Arawn would destroy her for the service she has done us."

Fflewddur shook his head. His expression was frankly admiring. "That boy," he murmured. "Great Belin! Dallben ought to know the worth of the lad he's raised. An Assistant Pig-Keeper! He's acted like a prince."

"You spoke more than once, Fflewddur," Gwydion said, returning to what interested him most, "of the boy taking a shortcut, of the boy deciding to spare the gwythaint."

Fflewddur turned faintly pink. He scratched his unkempt yellow head. "Ah, I see what you're getting at. Yes, Taran of Caer Dallben did make the majority of the decisions on our journey. He made a few mistakes, too. But he's a good lad. And it was just so important to him to do his duty by you, Gwydion. And you know I've never been one for lording it over others. I did my best to advise him. To keep him and the girl out of trouble if I could. It's a herculean task, believe you me! You've never seen such a pair of bickering hotbloods! More bravery than sense, the both of them!"

"Then I suppose you were quite helpless to stop them, son of Godo," Gwydion said, raising an eyebrow good-humouredly, "since your blood is hotter and braver than any I know. You've done well, though. Write your ballad. I'll be anxious to hear it, come autumn."

Fflewddur smiled. "Of course, of course! I'll have it out in three days!" he cried. A string broke again, and he scowled. "Oh, that is, I shall take care and have it to you when I am satisfied. I'm not an official bard, you know." He knotted up the string. "For curiosity's sake, Gwydion," he said in the nonchalant voice he only ever used when he was very interested in something. "What's to become of Eilonwy? She says she won't go back to her kinsmen, but if she's the princess of Llyr…" he trailed off.

"You are right," Gwydion sighed heavily, sinking back into his own seat. "The nearest relatives Eilonwy daughter of Angharad has are the ruling family on the isle of Mona, and they more neighbors than relatives. The family was connected with the princess' great-grandmother, but it has been years since they have had anything to do with Llyr. Her father, mother, and grandmother all are dead, and her kingdom absorbed into Mona. She has been brave and good, I see. If she wills, she will have a home here in Caer Dathyl. Math son of Mathonwy will make her good cheer and give her the honour and instruction she deserves."

"I thought you'd say something like that," Fflewddur said, taking out his tuning key. "If I may be so bold, Gwydion, I don't think living here is what the lass would want. Nor really what would be good for her. She's lived all her life shut up with Achren. Great Belin! It's amazing she's turned out as brave and kind as she has, but I imagine the girl's had quite enough of castles and stone walls. I think she might prefer rather a more…er…agricultural environment, if you take my meaning. Indeed, I think you'd be hard-pressed to get her to agree to any other arrangement, if you understand."

Gwydion did understand. He stroked his chin. "I see," he said quietly, looking towards the door that connected the sitting room to the chamber in which Eilonwy and Hen Wen were keeping vigil over Taran. He had offered the girl her own chamber, but she had been as obdurate as the oracular pig. She had declared that she would leave Taran when and only when he decided to rouse himself and rejoin the land of the living like a sensible person, even if she had to wait a week for an Assistant Pig-Keeper to decide to be sensible. She had agreed that she was hungry, but requested that food be brought to her, if it wasn't too much trouble.

"I will think on your words, son of Godo," he said, standing abruptly. "Your tale and your recommendation regarding the Princess have given me much to consider." He started to go, and then stopped. "Alert me when he wakes. Taran of Caer Dallben and I have much to discuss."

Fflewddur rose, and bowed, and Gwydion left, deep in thought. He paced the corridors without a thought of the splendid tapestries, nay, nor even of how good it was to be home. He was thinking, for the time being, of Dallben's ward. As far as his self-undertaken mission had been concerned, Taran of Caer Dallben had failed. Caer Dathyl had not been alerted of the armies of the Horned King, and if Hen Wen had not found Gwydion in time to make known to him the secret name of the Horned King, all would have been lost. He doubted the Sons of Don could have beaten back an organised army with Arawn's fearsome servant at its head.

Still, any other lad of fourteen might have been killed, had he undertaken such a quest. Somehow, Taran of Caer Dallben had managed to convince the Princess of Llyr to escape her long-imprisonment by Queen Achren of Spiral Castle to aid him. He had spoken his plans, and Fflewddur Fflam, a brave and trusty man and king, if a somewhat flighty and lighthearted one, had agreed to them and accepted his leadership. He had inspired the Gurgi, the cowardly sniveling half-man, to feats of bravery and loyalty that Gwydion could have hardly imagined possible coming from him. He had befriended Medwyn in his secret valley. He had allied with the Fair Folk. And with his compassion and kindness, Taran, Assistant Pig-Keeper at Caer Dallben, had helped even a dread gwythaint to break ties with the Lord of Annuvin.

Gwydion laughed a little. And this the ignorant, rash boy that had plunged into a thorn bush. What might he do in ten years? In five, even? Thinking over it now, Gwydion Son of Don realised that what set Taran apart was not his skills, nor his knowledge, and certainly was not his birth or position. If he did at last achieve the destiny Dallben saw for him, if he did rise up to lead the land should some dark fate drive the Sons of Don from Prydain, it would be because whatever his task, whatever his calling, Taran set about it with a will not to be broken or bent, and more than that, a love that could never be shaken.

In the end, Fflewddur did not come to get him. In the morning, when Taran of Caer Dallben woke at last from unconsciousness, Gwydion was already on his way to see how his young friend fared. When he arrived, Fflewddur, Gurgi, and Doli had all been shoved out of the room.

"And stay out!" Eilonwy was crying. "No one's to come in until I say they can."

Fflewddur caught sight of him and bowed. "Good luck," he mouthed.

Gwydion only smiled. "Not even I?" he asked, stepping inside Taran's bedchamber without waiting for an invitation.

Eilonwy looked rather irritated, but swept him a curtsey nonetheless. And Taran- Gwydion would have paid much for a portrait of the Assistant Pig-Keeper's face the first moment he caught sight of him- something to take out every now and then, look at, and laugh over. He sprang out of bed at once. "Lord Gwydion," he said in a low, respectful voice.

"That is no greeting from a friend to a friend," Gwydion said. Taran's face flushed with pleasure to be so recognised. Gwydion did not begrudge him the honour. He felt a surge of fondness for the boy. He had mourned, and in earnest, at the ruins of Spiral Castle when he thought Taran dead. "It gives me more pleasure to remember an Assistant Pig-Keeper who feared I would poison him in the forest near Caer Dallben."

Taran grinned, then, unexpectedly, his eyes filled with tears. "After Spiral Castle—I never thought to see you alive." He grabbed Gwydion's hand and the tears fell.

Gwydion threw an arm about the boy's shoulders to help him back to the bed. He was still weak on his feet, and Eilonwy was glaring at him from the corner in reminder of the fact. "A little more alive than you are," he said gently.

"But how did…" Taran trailed off, noticing Dyrnwyn at Gwydion's side for the first time.

Gwydion informed the Assistant Pig-Keeper of what had befallen him. He did not even hold back when it came to speaking of Oeth Anoeth, though he softened the story for his young listeners. He chose to tell this one who had suffered so, and undertaken so much for his sake, what had become of him.

When Gwydion told Taran of the gwythaint, the boy's face lit up. He smiled slowly, and thoughtfully, and when the tale was done, he asked about her again. Gwydion could only tell him that he did not know, and leave. He clasped the boy's shoulder. "Rest now," he told the Assistant Pig-Keeper. "Later, we shall speak of happier things."

"Lord Gwydion," said Eilonwy, before he could be gone. "What was the Horned King's secret name?"

Gwydion smiled at her. She had washed since yesterday morn, and a new robe had been found for her. She really was a very pretty and engaging girl-child. He patted her cheek. "That must remain a secret. But I assure you, it was not half as pretty as your own."

The brave company that had tried so valiantly to alert Caer Dathyl to its danger and had accomplished so much besides that would none of them stay. It saddened Gwydion a little. The ragtag group of friends, thrown together by circumstance and danger, enlivened his stately home in no small measure.

Gwydion had not known of Doli of the Fair Folk before this adventure, yet he was more than glad to make the grouchy dwarf's acquaintance. Doli was, as Eilonwy said, not half as disagreeable as he pretended to be. In faith, Gwydion knew he could have left days ago now, when the Horned King fell. The job he had not wished botched was done, and if he was as contemptuous of these long-legged lumpkins as he said he was, he could have been long back with his king underground. But he insisted that if he returned to his home he would only be sent out on some other arduous, stupid task. And anyway, if he didn't stick around a little longer, that Assistant Pig-Keeper and that harpering idiot would be bound to get into trouble. Gwydion saw through his excuses. He had become fond of his charges. And besides, he had made many useful suggestions for the improvement of buildings around the town.

The companion Gwydion was most surprised to find he would miss was the Gurgi. The creature was quite changed from the beggar and half-brigand he had known from the forest. He called Taran of Caer Dallben friend, and master, without any prompting or resentment on the lad's part. He would be going home with the Assistant Pig-Keeper, to help out on Dallben and Coll's farm. And Gurgi had found pride and happiness in his service, both past and future.

For once Fflewddur Fflam had not exaggerated, when it came to the Princess Eilonwy's sharp tongue and headstrong opinions. As Gwydion had got to know the Princess of Llyr better, her initial shyness had disappeared. She chatted merrily with him, and laughed. She was always laughing. It put Gwydion in mind of the girl's mother, the Princess Angharad, as she had been. She brought youth and merriment with her as a gift, and she kept Taran on his toes, which was enough of a reason to bless the girl.

Gwydion would be sorry to see the back of Fflewddur Fflam, too. He always relished his visits with the brave hearted king-turned-bard. He was as rash as the Assistant Pig-Keeper, and as merry as the Princess Eilonwy, and as true a kinsman as Gwydion knew of. Yet he knew the adventurous bard would not long in any place. His heart was far too wild.

As for Taran the Assistant Pig-Keeper, Gwydion spent much time with the boy in the days following the fall of the Horned King and his army, talking, instructing (for talk always seemed to lead to instruction, with Taran), and sometimes, just being silent together. He knew now that whether or not the lad grew to become the king Dallben thought he might, he would grow into a fine man. And he would always be a good friend.

After the ceremony he had called in their honour, where King Math, High King of Prydain, thanked the company for no one knew exactly what, Gwydion knew that his time with his friends in his home was come to an end at last. At the end of Math's speech, he called them up.

"These are small gifts for great valor," he told them all. "But it is in my power to bestow them, which I do with a glad heart, and with hope that you will treasure them not so much for their value as for the sake of remembrance."

He nodded first to his kinsman, senior in his years as well as in friendship to the others. "To Fflewddur Fflam shall be given one harp string. Though all his others break, this shall forever hold, regardless of how many gallant extravagances he may put on it. And its tone shall be the truest and the most beautiful."

Fflewddur was both embarrassed and pleased. He accepted the string Gwydion offered him with a bow and a murmur, and got out his harp at once to attach it.

"To Doli of the Fair Folk shall be granted the power of invisibility, so long as he choose to retain it," Gwydion said, bowing to the dwarf and saying the words in his mind he had prepared for days beforehand just for this purpose. Doli blinked, then began to grin. It quite changed his face.

"To faithful and valiant Gurgi," Gwydion went on, "shall be given a wallet of food which shall always be full." He handed the wallet in question to Gurgi. "Guard it well; it is one of the treasures of Prydain."

Gurgi accepted the wallet, unusually grave. Then he actually gave a jerky little bow.

Gwydion turned to Eilonwy, holding aloft her gift. "To Eilonwy of the House of Llyr shall be given a ring of gold set with a gem carved by the ancient craftsmen of the Fair Folk," he said. He decided, for the moment, not to explain the true value of this gift. He knew that one day, should she need the wish the ring contained, she would become aware. "It is precious;" he said instead, simply. "But to me, her friendship is even more precious." Eilonwy offered her hand and Gwydion placed the ring upon the index finger of her left hand. It shrank at once to fit, as magic rings of that sort do. She swept a curtsey.

Gwydion turned to Taran. He smiled, at a loss. "To Taran of Caer Dallben…the choice of his reward has been the most difficult of all."

Taran shook his head violently. "I ask no reward," he said, quietly but firmly. "I want no friend to repay me for what I did willingly, out of friendship and for my own honour."

Gwydion almost laughed. He had more than half expected the Assistant Pig-Keeper to say as much. "Taran of Caer Dallben, you are still as touchy and headstrong as ever. Believe that I know what you yearn for in your heart. The dreams of heroism, of worth, of achievement are noble ones; but you, not I, must make them come true. Ask me whatever else, and I shall grant it."

Assured of such an open promise, lesser men might have asked for wealth, for a mighty weapon, or for jewels finer even than that Gwydion had given Eilonwy. They might have asked for land, or position. Not so Taran of Caer Dallben. He merely bowed his head. "In spite of all that has befallen me," he murmured, and Gwydion had to strain to hear him. "I have come to love the valleys and mountains of your northern lands." He looked up, and his voice grew louder, more sure. "But my thoughts have turned more and more to Caer Dallben. I long to be home."

Gwydion smiled sadly. This, too, he had predicted. "So shall it be," he promised. And then, both to honour the lad, and selfishly to keep him in company a little longer, he promptly decided to accompany him.

A/N: I think I got Fflewddur's reporting-voice right. Not quite so sure about Eilonwy's. Please let me know what you think.

Dallben will have the last word of the story on 2/19.

God Bless,

LMSharp